"For in this world I'm bound to ramble"

This year, the Fourth wasn't spent huddling in air-conditioning and eating fried chicken (with much carping about turning on the stove in the middle of the day), emerging at dusk to battle mosquitoes and reflect--once again--on what a shame it was that the local Jaycees couldn't stay away from the bottle long enough, a few years ago, not to blow multiple fingers off multiple hands with the fireworks display. Even watching every third rocket head into the trees on the other side of the river--not the best thing in a Virginia summer--was more amusing than the pathetic display put on by the people the city is paying to do it now, with at least three times the actual bang. Maybe the day is interrupted by a dash with the hose to revive the wilting garden or the like, and I did spend it, rather coincidentally, one year whitewater rafting with a guy who didn't bother to mention beforehand that he couldn't swim. But, in all, it tends to be a rather boring bank holiday sort of experience. Yesterday, I could have used more predictablity (and potato salad, come to think of it).

Instead, we had the joy of getting up at 6:00 to don our best thoroughly boring middle-class drag and head for Central London, for an immigration hearing. If the scheduling irony was unintentional, someone deserves a hefty Humorless Government Employee bonus.

( No, things are still not sorted out with IND. )

In other "news", I seem to be due more than a few English Acclimation Points. This afternoon, I hiked to Sainsbury's with a jacket and an umbrella, then came home and put on a pot of stew. It only struck me while I was actually enjoying the warmth coming off the pot, and half-huddling around it, that this is unusual behavior for early July. *chuckle*