Sunday in the Park

Ah...finally, we get a day free (the usual Sunday football match was cancelled. I silently rejoiced. My boyfriend all to myself? And no standing in the freezing cold for 90 minutes hoping he won't injure himself!) to escape city life and go for a bracing walk, taking in some Royal flora and fauna.



Richmond /www.royalparks.org.uk/parks/richmond_park/ is the largest of all the Royal Parks, home to at least 650 deer.

We live really close to it, and I've wanted to take the man on a stroll around it for a while. So here we are, with a hot dog to share (you can't see it, but I had a hot chocolate too!) on the sunniest day of the year so far.

We managed to catch a few sightings of this Robin. Nothing really says English Winter like the red-flash and chirp of one of these birds!

We parked in the first available place we saw (decent days in the UK in January, on a day off=busy parks) and walked through the nearest gated wildlife preservation area, the Isabella Plantation.

It's name is something of a mystery (no Princess Isabella, then?) but it offered much in the way of the afforementioned f&f.

There's this babbling stream,

these weird ducks (have you ever seen these?)

this gnarled old tree that had been fenced off due to it's significant age and value I guess (reminds me of an Ent in Lord of The Rings)

and these new Crocusses.

I was having a discussion with one of my Actor friends the other day, and they had a soliloque that included the word crocus. If you're English and have ever tried to say the word "Crocus" in a New York accent you'll see how difficult it is! Anyway...The star of the day was this Stag. He had let the rest of the herd roam, but seemed authoritative and magestic to me totally disinterested in my presence.
And look! An even better sighting!
Man and beast together!

A New Life (and I should probably change my blog header, too!)

My oh my. Time has passed. There is a reason, dear reader, for my lack of blog-work other than laziness. I was reluctant to write about it before, just in case it never actually came into fruition (counting eggs before they've hatched etc. etc) but What-the-Hell, it's happened now: ERIC AND I HAVE LEFT THE CRUISE-SHIP GAME, AND MOVED TO LONDON! This is the face of Freedom, waiting for the Airport transfer to leave, folks. We had a 12-hour wait at LAX before we could even check in for our flight, but do we look like we care?

I love this shirt (Christmas present from my Mum!) as does The Bass Player in question.
We officially left, having given 4 months notice (you see! It seems like it never WILL happen, you have to wait 4 months 'til they deign to let you loose!) on Dec 21st, and went on a celebratory 10-day vacation in Barbados, where we met up with my sister and my parents (whose 30th wedding anniversary was incidentally during the 10-day stint, on NYE! Nice!) where a good time was had by all. Here are my folks on their anniversary, where we ate a super-swanky West Coast restaurant called Tides.

There was one hiccup (well, it turned into more, if you'll pardon the pun) in the form of food poisoning, caught from a fast-food outlet called Chefette, native to Barbados and a place I've frequented with no adverse side-effects on previous visits to the island. See, all looks well here...

but half an hour later, don't these two look ill?

Anyways, we rallied well, and soon enough Dad was hanging with the locals

and Eric and I were playing at all the activities a good Caribbean beach affords a healthy tourist.

Just because I want to put a picture of my gorgeous sister in, here she is, at our favourite drinking venue, with Eric.

So, back in the U.K., Eric and I have done what's been coined the "IKEA Boogie" twice now and I'm becoming a dab-hand at flat-pack furniture assembly. Check it out!

This is the 'Before'....

but the place still doesn't look quite wonderful enough for the 'After' (check back in a month...maybe)!

So how are we readjusting to "Land life"? Well, the weird-but-wonderful realisation that we don't have to be back on for All Aboard, EVER is still fresh, and comes in waves over me (wow, another pun?) still, each and every day.

I've auditioned for various West End shows with relative success ("Well done Rebecca. We'll call you...") and am currently doing a Short Film.

Eric is doing some jamming (musically, as shown here at The Grey Horse Blues Jam)

and is excited about going to play with a good fusion band (not sure what they fuse yet) on Friday. He's proved himself to be something of a footie player too...

Now, how to change my blog...

Progressing from Progresso, scooting on to Cozumel

I must be honest, Progresso in Mexico isn't much to write home about. This is it.

One strip of beach with not-too-clear water, and a few streets like this. The main convenience store is called Oxxo, where we bought this interestingly named treat (which was supposed to be tamarind flavour, but was definitely not to my taste although I like fresh tamarind) and here's a street.

Why are all these people waiting here?


The best thing we found in Progresso was a particular restaurant called El Viero e el Mare or something like that, translating as The Old Man and the Sea.

Together with Vampiros (a bloody Mary, but made with tequila naturally) we made friends on two separate occasions with this small cat. The owners of the restaurant told us she just showed up, about two months ago and just stayed, the same day as the restaurant next door had acquired a new inhabitant also. This cat is called Pantera, and they'd named the one next door Tigro.

She was gorgeous, I fell in love. She chilled with us, wanting to be stroked and thrown the occasional chunk of fish from our fish platter for a good hour.

She was fiesty too, as you can see, but mostly she just wanted love and attention.

So, moving on to Cozumel and Eric's Birthday, we rented this "sweet ride" for $30, and went to explore.

It was at least 15 years old, backfired when we slowed down and stopped of it's own accord at traffic lights.

Once you get outside of downtown, Cozumel becomes rugged and beautiful, with unspoilt beaches and only occasional bars or basic hotels.

The roads are falling into disrepair, scooters, beware of pot-holes!

We stopped for lunch at this restaurant, which I'm pretty sure had no electricity.

A big plate of barbeque fish later, we went to the beach, swam (here's the Birthday boy!)

and slept on the sand for nearly two hours. We'd gone all the way down the West Coast of the island (with it's excellent snorkelling opportunities!) to the southernmost tip, and so all that remained was for us to carry on in a loop along the East coast, past scenery like this, and then across the island on the one main road there is, to get back.

Blonde ambitions of my Birthday-boy Boyfriend!

Reader, this post must begin with an admission. Although born a natural blonde, I must admit to "helping the colour along" with a bottle of dolled-up bleach. Here it is.

Now, I do not know exactly why, maybe it was his impending 29th Birthday, but when I embarked upon the latest root-retouch of my hair, Eric became quite involved in the proceedings, helping me with the back bits and generally asking questions.

No sooner had I turned my back than Eric, colour-brush in hand had turned the remnants of the bottle towards his own head.

When I realised he was quite intent on colouring his hair, I tried to help out and was carefully told "I just want an even sheen of colour". These are unusual words from my boyfriend. The same thing applies for his next phrase: "Do you have a hand-mirror?"

Here we are, then. Yes, that is bemused confusion on my face.

After 20 minutes I washed my hair as usual, checked the colour and had to leave for a cut appointment in the spa, and so left Eric with clear instructions on the next step in his colour treatment.

When I returned, Eric informed me he'd already applied extra bleach to some "uneven spots" and unveiled his new look proudly. I'm the girlfriend of a Nordic Blonde, reader!

Eat your heart out, Johnnie Rotten!

Scooter? How very French West-Indian of you

St. Barth's is, I've decided, best seen via scooter, and with a French-speaking companion (boyfriend:check!).

We rented our scooter from this man, whose store was right along the main drag, for 35 euros, not bad considering it's more powerful than the standard model (good for more than one body when going uphill, and St. Barth's has a few....um, hills, not bodies!)

From Gustavia, where the tender boat left us, we headed east, past St. Jean/Nikki beach with it's airstrip on the North coast and along the whole of the rugged east coast with it's various beaches.

This was taken at Petit Cul de Sac if I remember correctly.

And this one. My helmet was way too big for me: anyone can tell I'm nowhere near a 7 and-a-quarter!

The first beach we stopped at was the Grand Saline, on the south coast.

It looks like a river when you first drive in. The beach is approximately a ten minute walk,

but look, it's worth it.

We swam in the clear, turquiose water, lay on the beach a while, and then walked back to have lunch at a place called Le Grain de Sel (grain of salt, reader!).

This was my view.

And this.

One appetiser and one main dish plus a beer and a rum-punch came to $99 without tip. St. Barth's isn't cheap, but it is movie-set beautiful.

Heavier on our scooter but lighter in pocket, we headed to another beach, known to be one of the loveliest, called Gouverneur. There was a steep decline to get down to this beach, but as you can see it was easy on the eye, if not so easy for Eric doing the driving.

Again, beautiful.