Epilogue

Charged English phone? Check. Caribou Espresso and Fireside Decaf? Check. All toiletries from arbitrary locations around the house? Check. Travel Documents binder? Check. One more bag than what I left with? Check.

Because really, Julia and Rose's American Adventure is a misnomer. Julia and Rose's Immense Shopping Spree (punctuated by chucking ourselves into lakes and seeing people) is far more accurate. Though Rose did manage to close her suitcase by herself earlier, which I was wildly impressed by.

Last night that same lady cooked up a classic Spagh Bol and we had it with a lovely 2000 Graves which Dad had been saving for just such an occasion. I must be honest -- it was one of the nicest wines that has ever passed my lips. However, it was not the only wine to pass my lips so, feeling a little maudlin last night I reached for the melancholy genius of Mr Charles Dickens. That and the fact that I'm American means I am incapable of leaving well enough alone. So that, dear readers, means more blog for you!

I will take my final inspiration from the musical. Typically, the finale of either Act will take bits of music from the whole show. So, here are a series of blog quotes to sum up our adventure. Look upon it, if you will, as a piece of experimental poetry...

I'd rather starve than eat their plastic food out of plastic containers
I was interrogated for ten minutes
Pizza was very nice
Darkness-friendly modification of the Rizla game
Off to that monument to capitalism
Looking cool in an idyllic setting
Squeltching your feet in fresh mud
We at Julia and Rose's American Adventure retract our previous statement
My heart skips a beat
A small faux pas
Looking fabulous as ever
I'm not just a pretty voice you know
For good or evil in the superlative degree of comparison only
These foolish things remind me of you

Revelation

It was the best of times (pedicure), it was the worst of times (the thunderstorm wended its way around us despite impressive clouds), it was the age of wisdom (I haven't spent all my money yet), it was the age of foolishness (I've spent nearly all of it), it was the epoch of belief (we've managed so much), it was the epoch of incredulity (how have we been here nearly two weeks already??), it was the season of Light (and heat, too), it was the season of Darkness (no! darkness!), it was the spring of hope (the flight's shorter on the way back), it was the winter of despair (eight hours is still way too long), we had everything before us (home!), we had nothing before us (holiday is over boo hoo), we were all going direct to heaven (London actually), we were all going direct the other way (back to work) -- in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities (me for instance) insisted on its being received, for good or evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

Dear Minnesota,

A cigarette that bears a lipstick's traces (well, your rolling tobacco is terrible), An airline ticket to romantic places (I'm talkin' 'bout the lakes), And still my heart has wings (like the aeroplane we'll board tomorrow), These foolish things remind me of you...

A tinkling piano in the next apartment (we did that!), Those stumbling words that told you what my heart meant ("your accent is so cute!"), A fairground's painted swings (okay, not quite, but you do have an amusement park in the centre of your mall), These foolish things remind me of you...

xxx

Hahaha Only In America

Londoners: You Think You've Got Rain?

Our Rain > Your Rain.

(It doesn't last as long here though...)

Dolphins and Mermaids

Girls In White Dresses (...no satin sashes)

This Weekend: A Novel

Apologies for the long gap - we've been terribly busy and now we're going to tell you all about it...

Thursday marked my first trip to Uptown. Julia was getting her hair cut at a salon in some warehouse that looked remarkably like something you'd find in Shoreditch. "Walk down Lake Street," she says. "There are loads of cool shops along Lake Street." So I walk along Lake Street. I walk for quite a while and all I see are diners and parking lots and I find myself wandering into the road and getting confused with which way to look for traffic and I'm feeling, well, disappointed.

Until... There in the distance I see an Urban Outfitters. My heart skips a beat. She's right! There are shops! They might be three miles down the road but there's an Urban Outfitters! I run across the street - I'm still not sure if it's a mirage - and yes, there it is. "Can I help you?" says a friendly shop assistant. "Why yes," I say. "Could you tell me the limit on how many items one can take into the fitting rooms at a time?" "Oh, there's no limit," she says. "You just go ahead and take however much you like in there." "However much I like?" I ask. "Oh yah, for sure," she says...

So it's about an hour, give or take fifteen minutes, until I'm done with my haircut. I text Rose to find out where she is. Urban Outfitters, she says. So I say I have to move the car and could she let me know in about five minutes where she is. She informs me that she'll still be there, definitely. Great, I think. I park in the Calhoun ramp and make my way over to Hennepin, to the shop and wander in. She's not on the shop floor, I figure she must be in the fitting rooms. I wander back look at the fitting room doors. "Are ya lookin for someone?" asks the shop assistant. "English girl," I say. "Curly hair." "Oh," says the girl, indicating a door. "She's in there. Yup." The girl goes back to folding rejected clothes. "Rose?" I call. "I'm nearly finished," she says, "just need to get some different sizes." "Great," I say.

Then I'm waiting and I'm looking at these little retro mirrors on the outside of the fitting room doors. I examine my haircut, but my reflection is obscured by a number written in whiteboard marker on the mirror. Same problem on the next mirror. And the next. I realise that these numbers must be the number of items in the room with the person. The first door says 5. The next, 2.

Rose's says 29. Twenty nine. XXIX. Wouldn't it have been more convenient to simply use the room as the shop and use the shop as a fitting room?

I got overexcited and had to be dragged out the shop and up the elevator to Stella's Fish Cafe. After a snack and a small faux pas I made by putting my hand up to get the attention of the waiter (I've been told that's very rude here - it implies that the staff don't know what they're doing), we headed back for a Polish supper and a few games of pool (see previous post).

To be fair, though we didn't know it at the time, the waiter didn't really know what he was doing, so no harm, no foul. And Rose did get some fabulous stuff.

Anyway, so the next day was Friday. We met my mother, brother and my brother's girlfriend at beautiful Cedar Lake in Uptown Minneapolis. We brought veg and fruit and potato salad and Dana and Manda brought lovely chicken which they'd made that morning (mmm) and crisps (American crisps!) and so we had a lovely picnick complete with pink lemonade. We left for home to get ready then for the evening -- a night out with the girls and Kyle.

After both chosing LBDs and black heels, doing hair and applying makeup and other such ablutions we got in the car with twenty minutes to drive a twenty five minute journey. And I had no cigarettes. I had booked a taxi, you see, to go from Heather's flat to the restaurant at six pm. Heather, who is a sweet person, was worried that we would miss the cab. I was momentarily concerned that she was confusing "taxi" for "train" and then I realised she hated to make the guy wait. So I told the guy about the little excess tip he'd be getting and he was happy as a lark. And thus we were on our way.

Looking fabulous as ever we met with Eryn and Kyle, who had kindly agreed to drive so we could all drink. We dined on the roof of Solera Restaraunt in downtown (see photograph), a Spanish-American tapas joint. Much of the food was excellent. The company was infinitely more so. The cute little waitress was kind enough to take the photo above, in which Kyle is doing his best impression of a pimp. After dinner we headed over to Grand Avenue and spent the remainder of the evening at Billy's (a bar, not a person's house), sitting outside and nattering. Alex, Heather's dude, and some of her friends came by as well which was lovely. Photos will be available, taken by all parties concerned, on facebook at some juncture in the future.

Being English at a bar in the Midwest certainly draws attention. I had to say to one man, who upon hearing me speak started extolling my virtues to anyone who would listen, "You only like me for my accent," followed of course by, "My perfect boyfriend in London appreciates me for who I really am. I'm not just a pretty voice, you know."

The man cried and dragged his sorry carcass away while muttering something about losing the will to live.

On Saturday we were hungover, and most of the day was a blur for me. I woke up later on when we spent a lovely evening singing musical theatre songs at Julia's Mom's, on a piano which Dana had very cleverly tuned. Just like being at home then!

The blur was mainly seeing my extended family, throughout which Rose was a trooper. Or just too dazed for it to make any real impression on her. Whichever's fine.

That's enough writing for one morning - let's go to the pool!

Pierogis and Pool Halls: Promise a Prosy Piece Post-Haste

A Correction

We at Julia and Rose's American Adventure retract our previous statement that the MoA is the third largest shopping centre in the world. It is the seventh; most of those higher on the list are in Asia. It is the largest mall in the US, as well as the second largest on the North American continent.

We apologise for any inconvenience caused by this gross oversight. Should you wish to register a complaint, please do so with the management at 1-800-LOL-ROFL.

Thank you for your time.

Nature vs. Materialism

Thought we'd do a bit of nature first, you know.

I'll tell you about the Mall of America (if you don't know already). It's a huge indoor organism - huger than the portions here - and there's even a theme park in the centre, and it's only the THIRD biggest mall in the world. We managed about four shops in four hours. I spent most of my dollars in Victoria's Secret and Julia spent an hour and a half in Express, which we decided is a bit like Zara but two years ago.

An hour and a half isn't the only thing I spent in Express darling (loosens collar). But you have a point, the MoA is... hugeantic. Gynormous. And we have to go back as well. We didn't manage everything we wanted to. Poor us. How will we survive?

[Rose sniggers.]

So we thought that in order to offset the offensive amount of money we managed to spend today, we'd subliminally influence you by starting this post with a photo of us looking cool in an idyllic setting (Minnehaha Falls).

Ha ha ha!

Yes Rose, hahaha. I have never thought of it that way ever before in my life, and in particular not when I was about five years old, nor did I beat this joke like a dying horse in the presence of anyone older than me who would listen. [Rose has only just picked up on the sarcasm, readers. You're a writer, love, you speak subtext, right?] But it was a lovely afternoon. We walked down to the Mississippi, I skipped rocks, Rose exfoliated her feet in some unsuspecting mud. The mud, readers, was delighted to be of service.

There's not much in life that tops squeltching your feet in fresh mud. Well, thinking about it there probably is, but it felt good. I'd have to say that so far I prefer the beautiful lakes and rivers and waterfalls around here to the shopping. Having said that, we're visiting Uptown tomorrow, which I'm told is much more 'up' my street. How's that, Julia?

[Julia sighs.]

On that, dear readers, I bid you good night.

She's Still, She's Still, Julia from the Block

So after two days of swimming and sun, Rosie and I found ourselves in Ma's front garden, drinking a rather posh bottle of Chardonnay and playing a darkness-friendly modification of the Rizla game with my brother and his girlfriend. It was a good night.

Don't forget the 'block party'! I've never been to a 'block party' before - it's a party on a block. There was lemonade and pasta salads and melon soup (???) and a raffle where you could win three tickets to the Nickelodeon ride at the Mall of America. We're going there this evening, but we didn't enter the raffle.

I'm currently eating amazing scrambled eggs and bacon as created by My Brother The Chef (who knew?). They are absolutely delicious.

I'm eating a banana!

My food wins. Mum's three cats are stalking around and eying my food, but they can't have any. Earlier Jackson played the piano for us, so maybe I ought to share. The piano movers, by the way, were the most cross people I've ever met in my life.

Not as cross as the Official Dick at the airport...

Alright, this time you win. The only time I saw the piano mover smile was when I handed him a check for rather more money than we'd initially thought the move would cost. (I've been dictating to Rose by the way, just while I was eating... remind me to get a PA, it's awesome.) At any rate, we're hanging out with Dana for a while and then off to that monument to capitalism, the Mall of America, which by the way is not large enough already and is being expanded, to spend money on Stuff. My inner materialist is dancing with joy at the thought of the corridors and corridors of consumer heaven which we will be enshrouded in like a plastic cuddle.

On a more serious note, our thoughts today are with Ollie, who this morning locked his keys in the flat. I'm taking it as a big romantic gesture that says "I Cannot Live Without You".

And We Also Did This...

Guess What We Did THIS Afternoon?

Guess What We Did Yesterday Afternoon?

Good Morning America

Ten hours later we arrived at Minneapolis St. Paul International Airport and queued separately. The good news was that my queue was much shorter, the bad news was that I was interrogated for ten minutes by a mean looking border guard who, when I asked why I was having to answer his questions, said "Because you're coming into my country, that's why". I finally got through and promtly bursted into floods of tears. Mid-crying session, whilst sitting on the floor with my baggage waiting for Julia and Don, I was told by another employee of US Customs and Border Protection that if I didn't move from there then my bags would be searched. I didn't want them to find the drugs and weapons, so I went outside to smoke and cry some more before making a very expensive call home from my mobile (sorry, cell phone).

But things got better. The air is very warm, which I like, although walking into a shop or a restuarant is like walking into a fridge. We shared a pizza at the Italian Pie Shoppe - it's true, the portions are huge here - we couldn't finish half the pizza between three of us.

So dad and I are going to write our congressman regarding the guard's obscenely stupid behaviour. Unfortunately for him, he didn't manage to smudge Rosie's stamp enough to make it illegible. The stamp itself lists two numerical pieces of information, a two digit airport code and, too bad for evil guard-man, a four digit code that identifies the agent whose stamp it is. Ha ha. Enjoy your disciplinary action, asshole.

Anywhoo, the pizza was very nice, I have missed pizza with more toppings than crust... om nom. And this morning I remembered something I never do in the UK -- Sun Tea! Six decaf teabags and a jug of water later, there's some brewing out on the porch. Which is where I'm going for a cigarette.

On that note I bid our faithful adieu, we have to go to the Minnesota Department of Motor Vehicles and get my liscence renewed. Wish me luck. I think the only thing that will console us after a visit to said cesspit of buracracy is some time by the pool with a bottle of sparkling...

News from the Plane

So. Six am my alarm went off (well really it was J's alarm, who are we kidding?), and out of bed I rolled (read: I was forcibly ejected from bed by that same man). A shower, a couple last checks for things to pack, a croissant, and of course some fabulous coffee and cigarettes later the cab arrived. Jason and the cabbie wedged Dad's and my suitcases into the boot and we were off to collect Rosie. The American Taxi Service arrived at the premises about a quarter after eight to collect that siren of song, her suitcase, her carry-on, and her hummus sandwiches.

Yes it's true. I hate plane food. In fact, I'd rather starve than eat their plastic food out of plastic containers. Luckily, I didn't have to starve because I was made some delicious sandwiches for our epic journey from the East End to the Midwest. The sandwiches were made from hummus, tomato, avocado and love. Love tastes best in person, but when you're thirty five thousand feet in the air, a hummus sandwich is better than nothing...

Was it a wise decision for me to agree to write a blog with someone who is an actual writer? I can't compete with this!

But it is the lover who speaks, and not the writer.

I stand corrected.

The Midwestians are sometimes difficult to understand. Earlier, when a rather rude and big-bottomed flight attendant barged passed me with one of the more fortunate looking members of cabin crew, I mistook her calls of 'digi-player?' for 'did-you-pay-her?'. Needless to say, I was outraged. Nevertheless, I am very excited about my stay in the Twin Cities, and will be updating our loyal readers with news of our American Adventure.

I'm with you on that one darling. Can I just mention that after J's cooking, all other food is plastic?

Testing... 123 Testing...

Just to make sure it works.