I don't want to leave. I know that putting down roots in Buckinghamshire isn't at all feasible, but I don't want to leave.
Yesterday was spent leading yoga routines and preserving plums. I have now created a spicy chutney, a tart plum sauce with a chilli kick, and a cardamom plum jam.
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| Plum tree out back. |
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| Different variety of plum tree. These are the only plums I've used thus far, as the super purple plums are only pretending to be ripe. If you actually remove the fruit from the tree and take a bite, you'll chomp into a hard, tart fruit and probably discard it immediately. Which Lucy and Oscar will appreciate. The dogs eat so many plums that when I take them on walks, I can always tell which excrement belongs to them. I just see random little piles of plum pits. |
I am reminded of the time I spent in Kilkenny, happily boiling down red onions in mass amounts of balsamic vinegar.
These jars of red onion marmalade spread far and wide. During my time in Wales, Kim introduced me to her nephew by asking, "Remember that red onion marmalade you liked so much? Yes? Aimee made that."
My marmalade went to Wales before I did, and made a good impression, apparently. I wonder where my plum jams and chutneys will run off to.
Language has been a bit of a challenge for me. Between the cockney rhyming slang, the pronunciation differences, and the words that just mean different things, I find myself having to ask, "Excuse me? What? So, "going on a hack" is equivalent to "trail ride?""
The other night was by far the most hilarious mistake, though. The kids had gone to bed and Charlotte and I were lounging in the living room. Jack came home late from work (he's in the middle of a massive deal right now that consumes loads of his time), poured himself a glass of wine to go with the chicken breasts stuffed with sundried tomatoes, Camembert, garlic, onions, rosemary and wrapped in bacon I'd prepared, and the hilarity commenced. Rather than write it all down here, I'll just include the amusing comments that found their way onto my facebook page.
*ahem*
Note
to self: "spunk" means "sperm" in England. Try not to say, "she's got a
lot of spunk in her" with the same congratulatory manner I'd use in the
States.
Ha ha!!!
It means that here too. You mean to say that you're just figuring out why I was giving you weird stares?
If you say she has a lot of spunk in her, that's ambiguous around here. But if you say she had a lot of spunk on her, well.......- I think there's a huge difference between she's full of spunk versus there's lots of spunk in her.
So I should not describe you Aimee as a "spunky gal"?
My host said something about how he sends his Australian/Irish employee to haggle with French people, as opposed to his more reserved English employees. I said, "good god, bet she's got a lot of spunk in her." My other host burst out laughing. After a few moments, I figured out what was happening and I laughed even harder. It NEVER mentioned that spunk and sperm mean the same thing in the "Guide to Getting it On" book I used to understand all the jokes made at my expense in college. So there.
Once I was in Ireland at the college I was showing photos of a beautiful rooster that my uncle has to a female friend, then my tutor and a male student arrived, and I told them "Look! I was showing Marie photos of my uncle's beatiful cock, look! Is huge isn't it?!!" You HAD to see their faces, I was confused and couldn't understand why they refused so intensely to look at the photos. I realized what happenned when I told an Italian friend about it. I never explained that situation to my tutor...
French "excited" means "horny". Always funny to hear an english speaking girl saying "i'm so excited!"- I believe this is the funniest thing my facebook page has ever seen. Would anyone mind if I kind of just transferred this to my blog? It's so good.Such good fun.
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