Nailing the Fourth of July

I love the Fourth of July. It took me a while to get used to the flagrant patriotism. I know that's the point of the Fourth of July, but the sheer volume of stars and stripes still surprised me. I'm from a generation of Brits who are raised to be slightly embarrassed about our nation's past. With the exception of skinheads and everyone during a world cup, we don't fly our flag quite proudly. 

But if the idea of a day of national pride and the preponderance of patriotic outfits took me aback at first, it didn't take long before I was decking P out in red white and blue and asking friends what they were doing for the Fourth.

Having said all that, this year we didn't quite join the party. The last couple of years we went to a workout buddy's massive beach party, but he switched gyms, and now I haven't seen him since the last Fourth of July, so the ratio of catching up with him vs making small talk with hardbodies I don't know from Adam is all out of whack. We could have joined our good friends' block party, for a more wholesome option. That'd  be fun, but it's not our block and our neighbours, after all. We could have gone to a party in Silverlake, but who wants to drive for an hour on the Fourth of July?

It turns out we didn't want, or need to drive anywhere.

Instead we made the most of a day off in the middle of the week the best way we know how. An early surf for TLOML, and a run for me, and then we wore our smuggest smiles down to the beach. It was crazy busy but we found a quiet patch with space for P to dig in the sand while we did very little. 

TLOML body surfed for ages, and not to be outdone, I took my first - very brief - ocean swim of the year.  P collected about a hundred shells. We enjoyed some late afternoon margaritas and burgers on our deck with a couple of friends, and fell into bed feeling sun kissed and tipsy by 10pm.

It's no pool party, but I think we may have found the perfect way to celebrate America's birthday.

Friends in high places

Oxford is apparently a springboard into positions of great power. Although I didn't read PPE, 'the degree that runs Britain', I have some friends who did. I should have a network to serve me well for life. So I've been waiting since Michaelmas term, 1993, to feel the benefit of having friends in high places. In over twenty years, not once have I been given the nod for a seat on a board, or a cushty Civil Service position.

Now, the reality of life in the South Bay is biting and I'm discovering exactly what kind of friends, and in what kind of high places, I should have been nurturing all these years.

First of all, the friends on a walk street. Walk streets, for the uninitiated, are idyllic blocks where all the houses' front yards butt up against a wide pavement, with no cars (the garages behind the houses open onto an alley). Kids play barefoot in the street, neighbours sit in their front yards drinking sundowners, and sometimes they have block parties. The long running 31st Street Chilli Cook Off being a good example.

Residents set their stalls out in front of their houses and compete for Best Chilli and Best Booth by serving up good food and friendly vibes. There's a petting zoo and a bounce house too.

It's a pretty great block party and fortunately, I have a good friend who lives on 31st Street so I got to pretend I lived there too, for a day.

On the subject of good block parties, friends on any street which hosts good block parties are a must. Our street is both busy and steep: not conducive to any kind of party. Thank goodness then for our good friends who live on a wide, leafy street in Manhattan Beach's tree section. Their Fourth of July block party featured two bounce houses, a taco stand, and water bombs. And a neigbourhoody vibe which we, cuckoos in the nest, enjoyed.

On the theme of real estate, let's not forget our dear friends with a pool. I'm not sure I'd want the maintenance of a pool (even if our yard was more than 10 feet long), but I'm certainly glad to have friends who are already doing that maintenance, and are happy to share the benefits once in a while.

Then there's the Manhattan Beach Country Club. TLOML has been quietly hankering to join for a while, so he can swim there and P can play there and we can all just hang out there on days with nothing else to do. I'm not so keen (I'd rather walk to the beach than drive to a pool) but am very very happy to spend an afternoon there with friends who signed up.

Until we can spring multi-millions for a walk street home, or want to invest in Country Club membership, or a yard with a pool, we will stay very close to our friends in high places. But what can we offer in return?

I'm starting to pour Pimms, properly served, to friends when they come over. It's unusual, only Brits serve it (and know how to do it right), and of course, it's intoxicating. Perhaps if I serve enough Pimms they'll forget to answer that question 'what did they ever do for us?' and think, instead, 'those guys are fun! we should have them over to the club/ walk street/ pool party'.

Meanwhile all my Oxford education brings me these days are pale-faced house guests who use all the sunscreen and need 'tacos' explaining. Just kidding, love you guys.

Adulting

A lot changes when you become parents. We knew this. But if you'd have told me five years ago, that I'd consider a school fundraiser to be a good night out, I would have hoped you were dead wrong.

In fact TLOML and I pride ourselves on the fact that we have proved wrong those friends who said 'you'll never enjoy a leisurely coffee with the Sunday paper again'. We do just that, every Sunday, thanks to Disney. Our lives don't completely revolve around P. Oh, who am I kidding, of course they do. Still, we make time for ourselves and each other, we manage to enjoy a steady stream of happy hours, dinners with friends, and date nights with cocktails, or opera, or dinner, or all three.

Rarely is there dancing, however. (Well, there was that one time the New Yorker was in town. But we were in jeans and flats, in the spit-and-sawdust Hermosa Saloon, and someone on the dance floor was wearing a beanie hat. It wasn't exactly high glamour). And equally rarely am I wearing heels. And never, not since P came along, has there been dancing whilst wearing high heels. It's partly just because that's not how Hermosa rolls. Locals consider you dressed up for dinner here if you wear jeweled flip flops with your beach dress.

This time last year, when we saw a lot of people our age wearing heels and cocktail dresses/ suits, tottering into a marquee in downtown Hermosa Beach, we were intrigued. Who were these people? They looked like our demographic. Only more glamourous. It turns out the one event in Hermosa Beach that people do get dolled up for is the Hermosa Beach Education Foundation annual fundraiser. We diarized that event right away - even though P won't actually be in the Hermosa school system for another year or two - and I'm so glad we did.

I wore sequins and gold heels. TLOML wore his nicest suit with his spiffiest shirt. All the brightest stars in the firmament that is Hermosa parents of K-8 children were there. We mingled with neighbours and people we see around town, and bid at the silent auction, and enjoyed quality booze and food from some local eateries, and danced. Oh we danced our socks off! To covers of Warren G, and Journey, and every other 80s and 90s act in between.

 A rare sighting: Hermosa mums in heels

We felt we were adulting pretty hard, to be honest. An education foundation benefit? We're really doing this! When we tottered out of there, TLOML carrying the two chairs we won at the auction aloft, we decided not to go on for a drink because the chairs would be a bit cumbersome. Also an adult choice. On Monday I met the education foundation president to see if I could get involved. Which is also pretty adult of me. What have we become? A couple of settled-down, community-minded parents, that's what.

Whooo hoooo! Where next?!

I'm happy to say that despite all the changes in our lives, TLOML and I still know how to tear up a dance floor. Even better, thanks to the Hermosa Beach Education Foundation, we might still get to do that thing. At least once a year.

Hosts with the mosts for the guests with the bests

Not sure the title quite works, but go with me here. I'm talking about the challenge of hosting house guests who  - as well as being dear, old friends - have previously welcomed us with impeccable hospitality.

I've visited these dear old friends, who also happen to be two of the best people I know, in various places (because they live abroad for work). On visiting them in Tallin, they planned boat trips to Helsinki, Medieval breakfasts involving brandy, incredible Estonia spa treatments, and walking tours of the charming old city. Staying with them in Dubai, they took me camping in the desert, on a dhow trip around the fjord-like Musandam peninsula, and we sailed around the Burj. And these are just the highlights.

So, no pressure then. What can sleepy little Hermosa offer, in return? The worst of it is, they've already visited once. So we've strolled the Strand, had ice cream from the Creamery, all that nice local stuff.

The best I could think of was trip to Downtown LA. We took in The Broad, in its gorgeous new space, with a fun collection of contemporary art which is happily not too big (is it bad that I think of that as a plus?). They loved it. Then we walked a couple of blocks - past the novelty of the world's most ridiculous tramway, Angel's Flight - to Grand Central Market for a juice and lunch at Eggslut. The walk back to the car took us through the civic center, and past the Walt Disney concert hall, which rounded out our downtown tour nicely.

Art...

...and hipster egg sandwiches 

It was a good halfday, but that was it. All my chips were down. What else did Hermosa have to offer?

I know. It seems obvious now.

So for the rest of their stay, we made the most of the final blast of summer sun, and our beloved guests whiled away their time very happily at the beach. Phew. Challenge met. And I think they'll be visiting again.

Keeping it real

One of the many things I love about Hermosa Beach is a faintly scruffy, surfy vibe. I like to kid myself it's a little more real than neighbouring Manhattan Beach - with its pristine boutiques and bankers driving Teslas.

Painting a town where real estate costs $1k a square foot and we have an IV hydration clinic across from the library as 'keeping it real' might be a bit of a stretch. Still, there are enough barefoot surfers walking from the beach, and tattooed punk kids skateboarding along the Strand, and cottages with peeling paint and massive collections of tchotchkes on their front patio, to allow me to delude myself. I'm not the only one. Hermosa is frequently described as a 'sleepy beach town' in press.

Meanwhile, gentrification marches on, relentlessly. Pier Plaza, which mainly exists for drinking purposes, is going upscale. A new hotel is going to be built here soon which will be quite swanky, in a very beachy way of course. A crappy souvenir shop was replaced by a hipster coffee shop (which failed - gentrification too soon?) and is now a nice looking poke shop, and our favorite coffee shop which was always beset with pigeons and a little tired looking has had a facelift.

New poke shop: cleaner and fresher than some of Pier Plaza's occupants

But is it all getting a little anodyne? The plaza remodel involves some totally generic white planks in the so-called coastal chic style you see everywhere.

Also cleaner and fresher: our favorite coffee shop on the pier

It does seem that our City elders are doing their best to retain a little Hermosa spirit. Punk and surf-themed graphics pepper the improvements.

Punk surfers

I think as long as Scottys retains the same paint job its had since the 1950s, Yer Cheating Heart tattoos and Sharkeez bar are still in business, and there are tattooed skateboards in knee socks and bikinis cruising the pier, the scruffy heart of Hermosa is still beating.

The unimproved (unimprovable?) side of Pier Plaza

Prime beach real estate and also the tattiest breakfast place in town

All (soul / scruff) is not lost

Nothing says Hermosa like a tattooed skateboarder in bikini and knee socks

Santa Barbara, where even the no smoking signs are Mission-era

A couple of weekends ago TLOML, Lady P and I drove up to Santa Barbara for a weekend at a friend's place. Besides the obvious pleasures of a mini break, eating and drinking and catching up with friends, and exploring new playgrounds, I especially loved Santa Barbara itself.

After life in Hermosa (founded 1907), it was really lovely to be somewhere with more than a hundred years of history. Santa Barbara was established as a Spanish mission in the 1780s, and much of it was built in a grand colonial style after an earthquake in the 1820s destroyed the adobe huts they'd been living in before then. Which is to say, it is an old city, by Californian standards at least. And it's architecturally coherent, in a way that Hermosa, with its Portuguese castles next to modernist white boxes, is just not. Much of the city's roofs are red tiled in the Spanish style, and there are some really well preserved buildings.

Take the courthouse, and this fire station, for a couple of examples. Both still functioning with their original purpose, and in their original form.

The courthouse

An actual working fire station

Then there's this charming multistory carpark, beautifully preserved from the colonial era with the original signs and all.

Wait... what? The dudes who ran the Mission had the foresight to build parking structures? No, you're right, it's just a modern car park that has been designed to meet Santa Barbara's code for downtown construction, and blend in.

Much like these signs, which I'm guessing weren't there when the courthouse was built in 1850.

Hey, I'm not hating this faux-old stuff. Santa Barbara is such a beautiful city, and much of its appeal lies in the visual unity of its architecture. It's entirely fitting that the powers that be would want to preserve that appeal. I felt rather shame-faced about how little regard I paid to the 16th century buildings of my college.

Still, it was refreshing to get back to messy, chaotic, apparently unplanned Hermosa with all its quirks.

The beauty of June gloom

June gloom this year is absolutely glorious. It barely lifts at all! Never mind the bold blue sky that usually emerges around noon. We are in wall to wall grey. And it makes me want to put on The Smiths and have a nice cup of tea.

Glancing down a walk street on my way home I could almost have thought I was back in Yorkshire. Sigh.

4.30pm on a June day!

 Our deck is positively autumnal all day long.

Mellow mists...

Admittedly it does spoil our peek of a sea view. But think of the time and money we are saving not having to bother with the daily chores of sunscreen application.

The Pacific is definitely over there somewhere

No-one else seems to like it much, but I am feeling right at home and I love it.

Holidaying with intent

Most Bank Holidays in the UK are fairly aimless affairs. With the exception of Christmas, New Year and Easter, the rest are just intended to enable an afternoon in a beer garden, a day of DIY, or a mini break, depending on your inclinations.

By contrast, most public holidays in the US mark something. This is true of all the minor ones - like MLK Day, or Cesar Chavez Day, Columbus Day  (i.e. the ones only schools and Post Offices close for). And the big ones too, of course, like Thanksgiving or July 4th.

This weekend, while the UK was aimlessly enjoying a long weekend, the US was purposefully celebrating Memorial Day. This is a day to remember those who have died in military service. It is also officially the start of summer.  And the first long weekend (unless you're a teacher or Post Office worker) since New Year. It's a big one. Hermosa being where it is, it plays host to everyone who wants to mark the start of summer with a drunken day by the beach, by putting on a big street fair.

If we were younger we would no doubt spend the weekend hellbent on getting wasted at Fiesta Hermosa. The number of discarded solo cups on our walk to the beach suggested plenty of people had gone that route. They come by the bus-load, buy cheap hats and heavily discounted t-shirts, eat from the food trucks and drink and drink and drink.

Since we are 40 something parents, we chose instead to get to the fair early - at 10am, when some kids are just embarking on the walk of shame from the night before - so Lady P could enjoy the childrens' rides and the ukulele music before the serious, drinking-oriented crowds not to mention the out-of-town kids swept in.

TLOML went back to the Fiesta with friends on Sunday and reported it to be 'messy'. I stayed home, and sober, in order to be prepared for another big Memorial Day activity: the Murph workout at my Crossfit gym. Some people do it in uniform, some with a weight vest, to honour military heroes. My only equipment was a band to assist my pull ups. I plan on doing it again next year, and maybe if I work hard I won't need a band.

In fact I think we plan on doing almost all of this again next year. It's a good template for Memorial Day Weekend: take in the Fiesta time, a workout, catching up with friends, and some time on the beach. But at the point that Lady P wants to go down to the Fiesta to hang out with her mates, we'll reverse the plan and get as far away from the crowds as possible.

This is cute now. Fast forward 12 years and I don't think I'll be so keen.

Stay young and beautiful

...if you want to be loved, as the song goes. Or, if you want to be socially acceptable, as is the case in Los Angeles. The pressure is on, in this shallow city, to look good.

Hermosa Beach and the surrounding towns of the South Bay don't have it so bad. I'm sure plenty of Hermosan women get a little help from botox and fillers, but you don't see anything like the volume of frozen faces and implausible boobs that you do in, say, Beverly Hills. I think that's because our vibe down here is all beachy, and casual, and natural beauty is part of that.

Still, 'natural' beachy beauty might mean no surgery but it for sure doesn't mean no effort. The weather and the lifestyle here mean you're always at risk of having to wear shorts or a bikini. That's why wannabe hardbodies like me spend so much time in places like this...

If you'd told my London self I'd EVER join a gym, let alone one like this, I'd have laughed into my pint of bitter

...doing things like this...

I pay good money to do this several times a week. It's a must.

Because it turns out the beach-ready, 'sure let's have a playdate by your pool' look takes a lot of work.

Almost everyone around here looks like they work out constantly. They probably do.

And it doesn't end there. In case just working out and the odd injectible isn't enough. there's Cryotherapy. It's a whole body deep freeze for 50 quid a pop and I think it promises everlasting life. Seriously, can you believe I have a local Crypotherapy place? And that they sell a monthly membership where you can go once a day?! Even better, on Main Street (actually Pier Ave, but same diff), a new IV place just opened up. That's right, you can go - like any washed up celeb with a show to do, or perhaps just before a big event at your child's school - and get all pumped full of vitamins and stuff.

It may not be Beverly Hills but the good(looking) people of Hermosa Beach go to great lengths to stay young and beautiful. I just hope I can keep up.

And now my diamond shoes are too ... dusty

As the weather gets warmer (from the bitter depths of 15c we have suffered through this winter) I am reminded again of one of the biggest downsides to life in Hermosa Beach.

This is the combined effect of two factors:

1) Flip flops or sandals are a must here from April to November. Its too warm and too darn beachy for closed toes.

2) We walk along the Greenbelt to get to most places – downtown, to see friends, to go to the park. And the Greenbelt is paved with woodchip and dirt.

Hence: dirty dirty feet. My feet are never clean. They are somewhere between mildly dusty or absolutely filthy at all times.

That diagonal stripe of dirt is semi-permanent, April-November

And dirty flip flops too.

This is AFTER I washed them. They will never be clean again.

I don't know what the solution is. A deeper tan? I’ll try but I’m really not made that way. Darker flipflops? I’ve tried that too - but my new red ones already look as grubby as last year's neon yellow. Closed shoes? Never. Not in this weather.

No, I think it’s just a cross I’ll have to bear. Another heartbreaking story of life in Hermosa Beach.

St Patty's Day

Yes, that's right, St Patty's Day. For that is what they call it here, in this bastion of Irish culture, Hermosa Beach.

Just wondering, though... don't they abbreviate to Paddy's Day in Ireland? I've never heard Patrick shortened to  Patty till I moved to Hermosa Beach.

Mind you, I've never seen St Patrick's Day celebrated with swirling Latin American folklorico skirts...

... nor Bolivian dancers with bells on their boots either.

These guys were so popular I had to tape bells to Lady P's wellies the next day to recapture the vibe.

I've also never seen so much orange on St Patrick's Day. Guess this youth music group didn't get the memo about how people marching in orange don't go down so well in much of Ireland.

I wasn't too clear on the connection between a cavalcade of DeLoreans and Ireland's patron saint, either.

Still, they were pretty cool.

Of all the many groups who made their way down Pier Avenue in the Hermosa Beach St Patrick's Day parade, the only ones who really seemed to know what it was all about were these guys, who I'm pretty sure heading straight to a bar:

Meanwhile, at Lady P's school, they are celebrating 'St Patty's Day' with a themed breakfast (I guess Guinness and black pudding are not part of the plan) and sugar free treats. Again, all news to me.

In all my years living in North London's Irish strongholds I've never seen St Patrick's Day ever celebrated in anyway other than drinking many many drinks.

If this sounds a bit negative, that's not quite how I feel. Confused, but delighted, would be more accurate. We all had an absolute blast at the parade. It might have nothing to do with St Patrick's Day but it was a whole lot of fun.

The all new South Park

All hail, the advancing gentrification of 'South' Hermosa.

I'm not sure whether a town that's only two square miles merits a North vs South demarcation, but ever since we moved south of Pier we noticed the invisible line. Yes, the Strand down here is still lined with multi-million dollar bling pads, but a few blocks east of the beach there are far more renter units, scruffy old beach cottages and yes, that sad excuse for a park I posted about last year.

Finally, our end of Hermosa has a beautiful park all of its own. The new South Park is open, and it's pretty amazing. There's a tot lot, a long slide down a little hill that has 'sensory huts' on top of it, a roundabout that can hold about a dozen kids, a climbing net, and a strange see-saw. Oh, and rocks, and sandy areas, and a 'dry creek bed', and just all sorts of cool spaces for kids to run about in.

 South Park was absolutely packed last weekend, and I think it might be a place where Lady P gets to know some of our neighbourhood's kids. It's also a big step up from her former outdoor playspace, the workout station she wistfully called 'the seesaw'..

'The seesaw' at the end of our street: no longer the best park in our 'hood

... or hunting for Gruffalo caves on the greenbelt which was my go-to solution for those times when I felt she needed to play outside for a while but couldn't be bothered to schlep to the beach.

Now we have an incredible park just 5 minutes walk from the house, we feel very spoiled. Lady P is delighted and I'm sure will spend many happy hours of play and adventure there. And I'm sorry that we're so prosaic, but we think it might have increased our property value too.

Preparing for the worst

Hermosa Beach is battening down the hatches in anticipation of some El Nino storms and heavy rain. Free sandbags (10 per household) are being given away at City Hall, and the gateways in the low wall that runs along the beach have been bolstered with heaps of sand. We are advised to keep the petrol tank at least half full, and to make sure we are stocked with enough food and water to keep us going for a few days. So far we have survived a couple of days of intermittent rain, but apparently there is more to come.

Lady P doesn't mean it, of course: the thrill of her life is a rare rainy day

At the risk of sounding complacent, I don't think we have too much to worry about. Our house is on the crest of a hill and elevated from the road, so someone else is welcome to our ration of sandbags. We have - as always - enough food to keep an army marching for at least a week. And if the town is flooded so badly the gas stations are shut, I won't want to drive anywhere, so I am not worried if the needle on the gas tank dips below halfway.

Perhaps some of this complacency also stems from a sneaking suspicion that the people of Southern California overreact somewhat to bad weather. Playtime outside is cancelled at Lady P's preschool when it's raining - a shame as it's not often she gets to wear her favourite red wellies and her cute little rain coat. Loved ones (who shall remain nameless) say things like 'Are you sure we should go, in this weather?' even if where we're going involves getting into our car inside our (weatherproof) garage, driving a couple of miles, and walking 20 feet into a (weatherproof) restaurant. People drive inexplicably slowly, as if through a blizzard. The big joke at the gym is when the coach says 'Okay, go warm up with a 400m run... Ha! Just kidding! I'd never make you run outside in this weather!' because it drizzled a bit earlier in the day. And then I see footage of the Cumbrian town my sister lives in, flooded again, and everybody just going about their business and getting on with it and can't help but roll my eyes a little at the softies of SoCal.

It's probably not just people being soft, to be fair. This town is not really built for wet, cold weather. Lots of people keep a lot of stuff outside - toys, cushions on their deck furniture - all year round. Many of us don't have much clothing to straddle the gap between beachwear, and full on ski gear. Half the seats at half the restaurants in town are on outdoor patios - currently blasted with heatlamps to recreate that balmy feel that comes naturally the other 9 months of the year.

I do know, that El Nino is an actual phenomenon. And one which has caused carnage in many places, in other years. And while I teased the apparent overreaction to Hurricane Irene in Manhattan, I know Sandy more than vindicated that response. But in this city of high drama and easy living, I suppose I'm just hoping it will be a few days of the kind of weather Yorkshire people describe as 'spring showers', and that sandbags and emergency supplies will be left unused.

The historic sights of ye olde Hermosa

I just overheard a woman telling her daughter, as they walked past our house, 'Hermosa Beach is an old beach town'.

I suppose everything's relative. But only in California, surely, would Hermosa be considered old. It was farmland up until just over 100 years ago and was incorporated as a city in 1907.

The woman's bold claim reminded me of this tourist map I picked up a couple of months ago. We were expecting an influx of visitors, including my parents, closely followed by my sister and her family. I wanted to be sure I had all 'things to do in Hermosa' bases covered.

As you can probably tell from the map, even at this size, there's not a lot of ground to cover. All of those blue and red dots are shops, gyms, bars and restaurants. The squares are historical sites. Not a tonne of them, are there?

They include some murals painted in the 2000s, a 9/11 memorial, and the surfer's walk of fame which I believe was started in 2003. So far, so not very historic. Oh, and a windmill from 1903. So there is that, at least.

The thing is, Hermosa just isn't old enough: there haven't been many people living here for long enough to create any real (as in, old) history.

Fortunately for our guests, if you like wandering along the greenbelt, grabbing a coffee, and relaxing on the beach there is still plenty to do. So my parents were happy enough. And we found enough to amuse my sister, her surfer husband, and their 5 year old twins on the days they weren't driving to Disneyland or the California Science Center. On top of the beach, the strand path and the parks, there is Hermosa Beach fire station: children who ask nicely can look around, and will even be given a fire hat and a sticker. Now that's something they should put on the 'Sights of Hermosa' map.

Weather conundrums

For most of my adult life I had no problems wearing weather appropriate clothing. A quick glance at the weather forecast and I had an outfit all figured.

Now, living too long in LA has ruined me. On a business trip to Portland last week I saw that the forecast was 12c and had to ask myself 'what does that mean? Is it a jacket, and trousers, but bare ankles? Or does it require tights, a wool coat and maybe a scarf?' I chose the former but (and maybe I'm just getting soft) I think I should have gone with the latter.

The clocks have gone back, and the shadows are longer for a greater part of the day. And sometimes in the morning it has felt a bit chilly.  So I have ended up dressing Lady P in something autumnal a few times recently. Only to strip her down, apply sunscreen, and roll my eyes at this ridiculous climate, a couple of hours later.

Looks pretty autumnal, doesn't it? She was actually sweating.

Lady P abandoned her leggings to play in the water feature

TLOML and I even lit our fire last week, and made S'mores. An hour later we had the doors and windows open because it was too warm. I should be more British: we know that there's no need to light a fire if you're sitting around in shorts and a t-shirt.

If it helps, I'm not the only one who's confused. I saw this good looking Hermosan family at a beach diner this morning:

Getting some wear out of their snow gear

The girl was wearing a woolly hat with a t-shirt. The mum was wearing a padded gilet with shorts and flip flops.  Maybe they, like me, are hankering for some cooler weather.

They might be local and not know any better. For me, well, I've forgotten what real weather is like, and I miss it. Pictures like this one in Lady P's book always tug at my heart strings, but they have a particular resonance this time of year. I crave a rain-heavy sky.

Grey skies, a scarf, and falling leaves. Sigh.

File this post under 'High Class Problems' too, I guess.

The highs and lows of Halloween on 8th Street

In accordance with our Halloween tradition I bought about 400 pieces of candy, only for TLOML to say ‘that’s not nearly enough’ and go out and buy the same amount of sweets again. I was expecting, in accordance with our Halloween tradition, to have to concede to TLOML over an empty bucket that he was right all along and we did need a tonne of sweets.

But no. The bucket remained untouched. Admittedly we do live on a block that isn’t very conducive to trick or treating. It’s a busy through street which is a little short on sidewalks and single family homes. Still, there are some families, and we trick or treated them successfully. When we ventured further down the street, we left a lit jack o’lantern glowing brightly on the drive, which is the time honoured signal for ‘we have candy!’ and I left a little bucket full of Sour Tart Zombies out for people who called while we were out.

When we returned an hour later that little bucket was still full.

Meanwhile we had ventured just four or five blocks west where we found the most Halloweeny street ever. One guy built an actual haunted house in the walkstreet, full of dry ice and spooky music, for kids to walk through in order to get their treats.

This was a lot spookier after dark. Kudos to the man who built it.

Another guy was dressed as the Joker and danced out across his front yard screeching ‘whaddaya want’ at enthralled/ terrified children. A witch a few doors down cackled as she handed out M&Ms over her white picket fence. There was a ten foot tall inflatable black cat outside one house, and another one at the end of the block. And plenty of families sitting out on their porches with Jack O'Lanterns giving out sweets to happy trick or treaters. Lady P and her two cousins had an absolute blast, and we headed back up the hill feeling all caught up in the spirit of spookiness and tooth rotting treats.

And then we got home to find our bucket was full. I left it out anyway, to save us answering the door, and thinking maybe some of the 20 and 30 somethings who walk down our street to head to the beach bars might enjoy a sweet treat en route. During dinner on the deck TLOML even shouted down at a couple of passers by 'hey, help yourself to candy' to which came the reply 'no thanks man!'. We literally couldn't give the stuff away. I left the bucket out overnight thinking that maybe some late night drunks might enjoy the treats. By morning it was still full.

So now, for the first time, we have a significant surfeit of Halloween sweets. And that's over and above the surplus in Lady P's haul (fortunately she can't count much above 10 so we are okay to whittle her sweet collection down).

TLOML suggests we save the excess for next year. But I'm not sure next year will be any different. Unless, of course, we have won the lottery and moved to a walkstreet by then. So now I'm weighing up the merits of giving them to troops vs just eating a couple of treats a day for the rest of our lives.