Countdown to Downton

I fell in love with the British series "Downton Abbey" last year, and am waiting with baited breath for the second season to begin (two weeks!!). I think I would have loved to live during those times... for the hats alone! Of course, I'd probably end up a ladies' maid or a cook, so perhaps not.

It's been a year since series one aired to critical acclaim. The series has a terrific cast (including the venerable Dame Maggie Smith) with a few great new additions joining this season (Maria Doyle Kennedy who played Queen Katherine of Aragon in another great series "The Tudors"-- whoop-whoop!). Filmed at Highclere Castle, methinks there may be another adventure in England on the horizon...

 

Missing the boat

First Jamba Juice and Trader Joes, then Chipotle and now?? TARGET! Why is it that all my favorites came to NYC after I moved? I think the universe may be trying to tell me something.

Okay, okay-- so technically Target was in the City before I moved-- in Queens, in fact. I'd get a trip in every once in a while when I had a rental car for work, or could talk my then boyfriend into a jaunt (usually accompanied by a bribe of Outback Steakhouse... yes, the way to a man's heart...). Way back then (stretch your minds to circa 2004) Target was still in its turn-around phase: pre-designer dumbing down their expensive lines for more affordable fare for the masses. In a time where brands are diversifying and diluting their value, Target has found a way to defy all odds. High end designers-- Michael Korrs, Zac Posen, Liberty of London and my personal fave, Orla Kiely, have managed to keep their couture street cred while still bringing fashion to us normal peeps. Pretty impressive.

Growing up, Target was more of a discount store. Not quite Pic-in-Save (a Southern California version of a dollar store only, pre-dollar story. Holy crap, I'm old), but not up to Wal-Mart standards. Target is a rags to riches story to the nth degree. And I'm happy to say I was along for the ride.

I often bemoan the fact that there isn't a Target equivalent in this country. Nothing even close. It's a must-stop when I'm home (as in, anywhere in America that has one... watch out Chicago!). Maybe when I leave England Target will open its first international location here. Bad timing-- the story of my life.

A hand model I am not

My hands, and particularly my nails, are always mangled. I don't know if it's a matter of the inordinate amount of typing I do on a daily basis, the fact that I wash dishes and take showers with no cold water, or simply don't moisturize. But my cuticles are always a mess and my nails always uneven (okay-- may also have to do with the nervous picking that I inevitably do when stressed or upset). Manicures, despite obvious need, have never been my cup of tea. Mostly due to the nail polish being chipped the same day as the manicure because I can't sit still long enough to let my nails dry (oh, okay-- my consummate clumsiness may be the culprit). Even when I got engaged I wasn't that girl who got manicures to show off the ring. Any way you slice it, it was never worth the investment. Pedicures on the other hand are a different story. I love foot massages, getting callouses buffed away and toes painted. It's a little slice of heaven. Another entry for another time.

Since moving to England, pedicures have gone away simply due to the fact that it's not an every corner business like it is in NYC and Chicago. In fact, I've yet to see a nail salon anywhere-- even in London. I know they must exist... people have nails here too, after all. But the McDonaldization of nails has not yet hit this country.

Yesterday I was killing some time waiting for MRN in Manchester and happened upon a nail bar in Selfridges (think Neiman Marcus). Operated by Nails Inc London (see? I knew there had to be one in London!), they offered a number of options including a "3 week manicure." Intrigued, despite not being a manicure girl (as my man hands will attest), I decided I'd try it out. Until I saw the price tag.

50 GBP. That's a whopping $78 folks. For a MANICURE. Ummm... I could get two a week for three weeks for those prices in New York or Chicago... NEW YORK CITY OR CHICAGO! Paying nearly $80 bucks for a manicure in Manchester??? I don't think so.

But my nails were in such bad shape, I did spring for the 15 minute manicure at 27 GBP ($42). Given a simple file and paint was 20 GBP, it seemed the prudent thing to do to at least get my cuticles oiled, trimmed and some lotion rubbed on my hands. Even though the sushi that I ate for lunch was HALF the price (and I ate a lot of sushi), I figured, what the heck. Nail salons here are, after all, a commodity. It was a decent manicure-- but certainly on par with the fast food chains in the U.S. (but really, how would I know?). And the technician (that's what they call them here) was super friendly and we chatted about The Hills and Laguna Beach and whether I'd ever seen any celebrities when I lived in LA (yes). All in all, 15 minutes well spent.

So far I haven't botched the job yet... and I even veered from my normal clear (or pale pink... because then at least I don't have to whip out the nail polish remover on day two) for this on-trend, super dark purple (the photo looks black... and MRN thinks it's black, but the description on the bottle said "sultry black grape" darn it. Yeah, okay. Either way-- I'm liking it, despite my man hands. I guess it's good that I [mostly] work at home. Oh well-- it will likely be gone by tomorrow.

(P.S. The nail technician did in fact say that I had very nice nails. I am wondering if that's like when aestheticians tell you that you have really nice skin while their squeezing all the crud out of your pores...)

Coveting

Even though I am on a self-imposed shoe ban, boots are a must-have English year-round item. You see, it's cold and rainy ALL THE TIME, so investment in boots is justifiable. I'm still waiting on my Wellie's, which enough hints to MRN might bag them this birthday... but in the meantime, I'm coveting these babies from Anthropologie. I mean, what could be more perfect? Leather with ruffles? Sure, not so versatile, as I couldn't really use them for work... but lots, and lots of leisure. Plus, no heel, so I could actually walk around in them. I love all things Anthropologie. They opened their first European store in London last November, and I've made frequent trips. It's massive, but they don't have the same great sale rack as my beloved State Street store in Chi-town, and buying retail is not as satisfying (or wallet-friendly). Of course, I do indulge in small items (hats, headbands, socks) but mostly save for impromptu US trips (while the GBP has taken a massive hit in this downturned economy, it's still a bit better than the USD). The new Fall catalogue just came out and I'm drooling over all the wool skirts, cardigans and checkered tights. I think a trip to Anthro will be in order for this month's trip to Chicago!

Oh Summer, Wherefore Art Thou?

So, this winter thing is getting old. And no, that's not a typo. It is June 8th, and it's solidly still winter in England. Okay-- so, we did have a day where it was hot (80!) with sun... and one where it was hot (78!) without sun. And now we're solidly stuck in the 50s. In JUNE. I attempted to will it into summer by wearing shorts, but all I ended up doing is putting on knee socks and a sweater. I try to console myself by saying that I'd be complaining about the heat if I were somewhere, well, that had summer. And who am I kidding? Summer's my least favorite season. But don't you always want what you can't have? I do miss seasons, though. I always thought I'd be kissing them goodbye when I moved back to California and the land of perpetual sunshine. Instead I've moved to the land of perpetual rain. Good thing love can cure all ails, conquer all evils and all that fun stuff...

Small Town UK

Despite my rather dubious surroundings, one thing I do love about this little town is the teeny tiny neighborhood post office on Coal Clough Lane. Sure, it's jam packed and smells a little; but it's visibly tidy (in a haphazard kind of way) and efficient if not a little slow in a lazy, small town manner. And despite the fact that I can't quite make out whether it's a post office or a bank (very few patrons seem to be there to post anything; but there is always a long line and money being exchanged. Here the post offices exchange foreign currency-- US, Euro and Turkish lira (yeah, I don't get that either), cash checks and even act as ATMs, as far as I can discern), I do find the experience amusing. Especially when the post office employees rather apologetically tell me how much it will cost to mail a package or letter [to the US]. Today, when mailing some packages to my nieces, the post lady very reluctantly told me the cost... she was afraid it would be too much. How nice is that?! You're lucky if you get a US post office employee to say HELLO when you approach the counter. So, there are some nice things to small towns. Now, if only I didn't have to weave around broken bottles and dog poop to get to Coal Clough Lane.

You Know It's Time to Move

When your neighbor leans out her window and calls down that we can use her husband's sharp object disposal container (that he uses for his insulin syringes) if we were to find any used needles in the yard of the house down the street that we were cleaning out (we bought it a few months ago and people had been using it as a makeshift garbage dump for nearly a year). We had, in fact, paid a professional waste company to do the majority of the clean up last week for that very reason... today we were putting a new gate in the back (because the hoodies at some point had burned the old one down).

Well, it was a nice offer, I suppose...

Alms for the Poor

Today I ventured to a new part of England-- the East Midlands. To Nottingham I went, home of Robin Hood, Sherwood Forrest and the like. There's even a statue (of which I unfortunately did not get a photo of). Alas, I was there on official business-- work-related with the UK arm of Experian-- yes, the credit reporting giant is omnipresent. I actually drove past Sherwood Forrest in February when my beloved Aunt Anne was visiting (and we drove her to her family friends, The Harrisons, in West Markham, just outside of Nottingham). It's certainly a place that I feel like I need to visit again to properly see it, rather than the industrial park I was privy to today. The word on the street was that Nottingham is not a great place to be-- dangerous, high chance of being robbed, especially in / around Sherwood Forrest (well, duh!) and in all, a little city wanting to be a bigger one. From what I saw, it was perfectly nice-- young professionals, good town center, basically loads better than where I live (granted, not that hard). I'm determined to see all of England before I move (not that there are plans to move... but eventually I'll move, as it's what I do...)... so Nottingham is another check on my long list of things to see in England.

Next up: Football match this weekend. Green Street Hooligans? Hope not... but you never know...

Living it up in the UK

"How are you adjusting to London?" she asked.

"Well, first of all, I live in Manchester-- and not even in Manchester but north of an actual city... because there's more to the UK than just London... which is in the southeast of the country... and, it's really just the same as moving anywhere... new people, new shops, new weather... oh. That is, if you've ever moved..."

That's the gist of most of the conversations that I have with folks-- friends and work people alike... in my head. Of course I'm not brave enough to say those things out loud. BUT, it is the frequent refrain inside this sometimes too active brain of mine. To most Americans (and some Londoners), there is no other city in England except London; the same, I suppose, as for some Europeans who only know NYC, LA and Chicago (based on the number of television shows-- which are 90% American, that are set there). And although I've tired of correcting the fact that I don't live in London... in fact, I live a good four hours away by car (two by train), I do believe that it's the same as moving anywhere... if you're used to moving, it's about settling in, getting to know your 'hood and developing your routine.

I'm used to living in small spaces... only not with another person; and while it's working out great, it's also because 90% of my belongings are not actually here yet... I shudder to think of what this place will look like when it all arrives... because, contrary to my previous post about buying a house, it looks like we're going to be stuck in our present surroundings for a few months.

That's because banks don't like expats on term limits (translation: work permits)... despite the 20% down payment, good income and the fact that I'm virtually the only one buying. Well, they're loss. The upside is that Mark owns the existing house... the mortgage is super cheap... and, despite the shady location and the fact that we can't park our car on the same street as the house b/c we're not sure if it will still be there in the morning... the reality is that my apartment in Chicago and NYC were probably smaller than this house (maybe...).

So, now it's on to the dilemma that every newly co-inhabiting couple faces... making all the stuff fit. Given I can't buy and in this market, Mark can't sell, we've gone to plan X and will likely be staying in this existing house, saving for the wedding and crossing our fingers that friends and family don't plan to visit because this place leaves MUCH to be desired. Making it all fit is the the only option we have, it seems... and I'd love visitors, so if you don't mind a crowded little terrace flat with no central heating (IT IS COLD), colorful neighbors (translation: drunk, loud, bottle-breaking on the street...), in the middle of nowhere, please do come for a visit... at least it will be an experience!