Backblogging and Beirut

I am not even sure if "backblogging" is an actually term, but for now lets define it as when a blogger gets really busy due to the end of school term, goes home for a holiday and leaves her fans (yes you are my fans) in dire suspense - Grey's Anatomy dire suspense - as to what is going on in her life until she "backblogs" her stories . . .

(Photo to the left: Jay and I Posing for Country Living Magazine)

So here it is . . . the weekend after thanksgiving about 12 of us head to the English Countryside for a “mini break”. My car - the first car to head out - gets a late start, attempts to navigate through the city without paying the congestion tax (London is such a traffic heavy city that they charge a “congestion tax” are the central roads in London, something 5 post grads don’t want to pay) and without fail hits London Traffic at rush hour . . . so that leave us steering down unlit long country roads in the dark. Just getting there was a scene out of a horror movie . . .everything from the desolate village town consisting of a church, a pub and a general store down to the owners of the house who are very nice people but “not all there”. We arrive at our “Dairy Barn” converted country home and settle in . . . no ghosts the first night.

(Photo Right: Saftety in numbers . . . from ghosts)

The weekend follows a typical getaway with friends (almost) . . . we explore the family farms, take a long walks in the country side, and then the Americans attempted to teach the Europeans how to play Beirut using the dining table. I felt proud teaching the great games of Americas College Students to my friends. It was intense, first I had to field inquisitive questions like “Is this game named after the city?” and watch at their disappointment as I shook my head. My next challenge came the beer . . . while bud light or miller light are the usual choices, aiming dirty ping pong balls at a cup of Grolsch is just not the same. But the game fell to its death when we saw the cups . . . tea mugs. Yes, tea mugs. You cannot find a standard Solo cup ANYWHERE in London never mind in the countryside. For those of you who forgot to send me a birthday gift . . . two words . . . Solo Cups.

(Photo Below: Our Beirut Table)

Set for dinner cooked by yours truley

Backblogging will continue tomorrow with tales of the Boston Christmas Holiday, elevated dance parties in Killington and the still missing car key . . .

More Photo's . . .

Not our house . . .

Our House . . .

Our Neighbors . . .

Two Americans, a Canadian and Dutchman blending in to the country side . . .
can you spot the American? Answer below. . . . Starter Jackets are back in Style