Glory be...

We get wireless at the new abode March 7th! Whoo-hoo, boys and girls. Jacki's back in b'ness and outta the public library.

And just to let all you concerned citizens know, my cold is now over. O-V-E-R. The whooshing sound in my head is now history, and I can breathe normally. Best part? No more green gunk. And I will leave it at that.

Oops. Public liberry computer says my time is out. I guess I have to leave it at that.

The spirit is willing but the flesh is withering away from what appears to be consumption.

I have not abandoned thee or forgotten thee, but I am without home internet service. Take pity on me. I have been reduced to the public library--a nice enough place within easy walking distance of our new abode but full of screaming English children and their semi-literate parents. "Hey, Tommy, how do you spell 'guest?' I've gotta log on to this bloody thing." Oh dear. Note to self: When one has children, one should send said children to private school.

I now fully appreciate why English novels were chock-a-block with dying consumptives. I am on English soil two minutes when I pick up this horrible eye-ear-nose-throat-and chest cold. And I never get chest colds. The damp. The horrible damp. My voice is borderline scratchy/sexy, and my head is pounding. And I won't even go into the now routine early morning blow-my-nosathons that have reached new levels of nasty. Suffice to say, I think there may be an infection.

And now my allotted 30 minutes of public library computer time has ended. Pray that our wireless is installed. Soon.

Yup. They hate us.

And "by us," I mean we atlantically challenged Yanks and by "they," I mean one nasty old codger on Portobello Road who would like (and I quote) to "boil all Americans in a vat and send the remains out to sea."

Oh yeah. Feel the love, baby.

All nastiness aside, may I just say that I am totally, utterly, madly in love with London's Borough Market. A veritable orgasm of cheese, wine, truffles, organic fruit, veggies, and beer-- homemade and inexpensively priced and packaged (in jugs) for your consumer pleasure. Our friendly neighborhood brewer barely got the words "jug, ale, 5 quid," out of his mouth before Stu was offering his wallet up before the great malty gods. I haven't seen such quick-draw action since...well, since, our last trip to the pub, really.

Ah, London. Civilization. Why must you price gouge us? We love you, really we do. But you're an expensive mistress who just keeps taking and taking (though you give us some beautiful markets.)

What has British television taught me?

1. The Brits are every bit the potty mouths I hoped they would be. And their public service announcements? Horrifyingly priceless. (Think graphic image of dead child with mangled limbs on the side of the road.) I promise I will never do 40 in a 30 mile per hour zone ever again. In fact, I think I will never drive over 30 miles per hour ever again. Maybe I'll just walk. Really slowly...

2. Who is Russell Brand? I mean...Oh my God. Yesterday, I laughed so hard, I peed my pants. Just a little. Is this cool? (Not the wetting of the pants, the infatuation with this Brand character.)

3. I am addicted to Waterloo Road, primarily because of that young hottie, Tom Payne. I mean, hello...And no-oo, this is not at all gross and inappropriate because he's probably the age of consent in real life. I hope. Otherwise...Oh dear.
(Aside: You know, I see a pattern emerging. Men with beautiful eyes...I love 'em. And that includes you, hubby dearest.)

4. It is just weird the amount of food-based reality programming on British television. If you want to get in shape, lose weight, eat to love better, eat to eat better, then there's a program out there for you. Personally, I've learned a lot. Do you know eating soup can help you feel full for longer? Damn hell, I'm getting on that.

5. Thank you, British television, for giving us female characters that actually look like real life women. They are sassy, funny, foul, fat, thin, beautiful, and not-so-beautiful. They burp, they fart. They even have cellulite! These women are actually women I might know, and that's truly beautiful.