Behold! Everything is brighter and more dazzling!

Nice try, Britain, but no cigar. As in so many other areas, the US busts your ass when it comes to large scale, over the top celebrations.

There are a couple of candy cane lanes (i.e. self-styled festive light shows) near us. Last week we went to the streets in Torrance known - probably just by estate agents, but still - as Sleepy Hollow, to witness their 'Christmas Lights Extravaganza'.

Extravaganza is not too grandiose a term. Every house for several blocks is festooned with masses of lights. This substandard picture (sorry, but in my defense I think only a drone could capture the scale of this thing) shows just one block out of probably ten which get involved.

Obviously it's mainly about the lights, but lots of houses also have traditional festive displays like Nativity scenes and illuminated ferris wheels carrying soft toys. Wait, what? Yes, the people who live there are completely nuts - possibly driven nuts by the flashing lights and hordes of sightseers? - and some of the decorations make no sense. Snoopy in a hot air balloon, a Chicago Cubs billboard, lots of it is just a bunch of random stuff people put outside with lights on and call it Christmassy.

The whole effect certainly is festive though. And the spirit of giving is alive and well. There were cheerleaders selling hot chocolate to raise money for some cheer related charity, and a guy dressed as santa taking donations for a cancer fundraiser. Then there are all the cars (albeit unwittingly) giving the gift of a free ride to the local skater kids, making the most of the opportunity to 'skitch' on the slow moving vehicles circling their neighbourhood.

Here's a good example of a participating house, with a captivated P gazing in wonder. Mind you we also saw her gazing in wonder at a pile of bin bags, so I guess she lost all her limited critical faculties in the dazzling lights.

Here's another example. This is a house who got into the true spirit of Christmas. I bet they tut at all their neighbours' Simpsons cut outs and Christmas trees made of minions.

It's hard to read but in the left of this picture you can see a sign. It says 'Christmas waves a magic wand over this world, and behold, everything is softer and more beautiful'. Or, as I would put it, 'Christmas sends the people of this neighbourhood completely bonkers and behold, everything is very brightly lit and a bit over stimulating.'

As usual my sarcasm is a thinly veiled attempt to appear more jaded than I am. I think we all know I'll be back next year, with bells and probably a light up Christmas jumper on.

When is a wilderness not a wilderness?

When it contains a drinking fountain, picnic tables and slabs of cement, I suppose.

On driving by Wilderness Park, seeing that name on a sign, and some overgrown shrubs escaping a chainlink fence, my hopes were raised. It did look small, but also fairly wild. I took TLOML and P there promising adventure, and a good pine cone harvest.

Perhaps the map in the parking lot should have been my first clue. That's a lot of pathway and campsite for a handkerchief sized wilderness. But maybe, I thought, that's a wide, dirt path surrounded by swathes of beautiful, rampant nature.

Then again, maybe not. There was more concrete than dirt at Wilderness Park. There were almost as many breeze block toilet structures as large trees.

'Look, P, it's just like being in Yorkshire. There's a tree!'

'...and a water fountain'.

A babbling brook, this is not:

Lesson learned. Next time I'm in search of untamed, green, natural beauty (and we're not in Yorkshire) we'll just head to Terranea.

The good news: the pine cone harvest was very good.

Leaving the bubble

We spent Thanksgiving in Georgia, with a wing of TLOML's family. It was a long overdue trip and we had a really good time reconnecting, eating well and yes, feeling thankful.

I was prepared for some culture shocks. I had let P know that it would be a bit colder than LA. I also knew we'd be in the land of subdivisions. For my Brits, a subdivision is a housing development. They're strung out along highways between areas of undeveloped land (actual nature - trees and hills and so on) and are the polar opposite to the urban density we and P are used to. I knew we were leaving the liberal left leaning 'resist' mindset of California for #MAGA land. But a little difference of opinion never hurt anyone, so that didn't worry me any. I also knew - and welcomed - the fact that we'd be trading kale salads and Jamba Juice for Dairy Queen and Waffle Houses. That's good stuff.

But I really never thought I'd see a see saw. Nor one of those dangerous roundabouts the sight of which still makes me wince - the kind you can fly off, or be dragged around half-on-half-off, or be screaming 'stop I want to get off!" while some bigger kid sees how fast they can spin it.

I thought they were banned across America, the land of the brave, free and litigious. You certainly never see such perilous equipment in California. Here, the seesaws and roundabouts have curved seats - kind of like arm chairs -  which hug children of all abilities safely, as their friends indulge in some co-operative play and propel them smoothly and conscientiously.

P would have been on this thing all day if we'd let her

Scream if you want to get off/ go faster!

But no, it's only us softy coastal elites who've banned those deathtraps. This excellent playground in Cumming, GA had both a proper seesaw and a proper roundabout - and was all the better for it. Georgia - making playgrounds great again. Is #MPGA a thing?

Isadora Watts, 'author'

When I started this blog, one of my aims was to improve my writing through frequent practice. Another was to establish a small readership, which might help me find a publisher for my proper writing. I used to want to be an actual writer, you see. I have had a couple of agents over the years, for a couple of different projects, but they were unable to find a publisher. Still I did have some good feedback from people who know about these things. I suppose I'm saying I think my writing is decent. And for a while it seemed I might make something of it.

Then parenthood happened. And life filled up. I still want to write, but I'm quite happy pootling along with my blog. And yet, those manuscripts I worked so hard on all those years ago are still sitting there - shimmering with promise, fully completed, proofed and ready for consumption.

Well, what a time it is for a half-hearted, used-to-have-dreams, writer to be alive. In the space of a couple of evenings in front of Anne with an E (good, but eminently multi-taskable), I dusted off those manuscripts and put them online. And now I have an Amazon/ Kindle author page all of my own - Isadora Watts, 'author' - like a real actual writer!

Anyway, if you like my blog, you might like my novels. Erosion follows events in the lives of a liberal London family during the summer of 2003, against a backdrop of war in Iraq and an outraged public. The family were solid once, but their moral code has worn down over time. Now they struggle to resist the temptations and distractions life puts in their way. At the heart of the family, and the story, is Julia, who rather likes temptation, and barely puts up a fight at all.  The Book of Ruth is a retelling of a Bible story about the lengths a desperate woman will go to secure safe haven in a new country.

Please check them out. If you do like them, please leave a positive review. You never know where this little self-publishing lark could take me. I guess I do still have some dreams after all.

Beating the traffic but losing the game

'Join us at the opera', we said, quite smugly, to a friend visiting from out of town. 'We've got great seats and we know the perfect place for a late dinner after the performance'.

We've enjoyed probably seven or eight productions at the LA Opera in the past couple of years, and we think we've got it down to a fine art. After a couple of stressful trips, battling rush hour and rushing through labyrinthine parking structures to make our seats in time, we have figured out the best exit off the 110, the best way to cut through Downtown LA during rush hour and the optimum parking spot. Not just the best lot, but the best corner of that lot so that we minimize walking (and rushing). Now we know, too, which seats are nearest the best exits for the loo. So we think we've pretty much nailed the whole opera experience.

After the show we always go to Kendall's. It's right underneath the opera house, and popular with the LA Opera company. We like the pile of instruments that stack up by the door, and the musicians in varying degrees of black tie. But we have at times had to take a table in the section far away from the bar, which doesn't have the same vibe. So now we leave the opera rather promptly, in order to secure the best seats at the bar.

Yes, I'm afraid we've become those annoying people who leave before the applause ends. We do stay for the first round of bows, of course. But we are out of our seats and down the stairs while the performers are still on the stage. I used to think it was bad form, but it's worth it for those great bar seats. For example, last week we sat next to Morris Robinson, having just seen him belting it out as Zaccaria in Nabucco.

That was the same night that we got our comeuppance. It turns out it is not always smart to leave before the final curtain. Sometimes we are too clever for our own good. And that annoying LA desire to beat the traffic should sometimes be resisted.

It transpires that at the end of the performance, the entire house join in to sing the fabulous, rousing 'Chorus of the Hebrew Slaves'. It is my absolutely favorite piece from any opera (I know, not that surprising, it's a crowd pleaser). I love to sing, especially with other people - blame it on my choir girl days. An entire opera house full of people singing my favorite piece - the thought of it almost brings to me tears. And while all that was going on, we and our poor trusting house guest were congratulating ourselves for having placed our cocktail and supper order in good time. Ugh! We've become the worst kind of Los Angeleno.

I'd like to say I've learned my lesson. But I suspect we'll still try to head out before the final curtain. After all, most performances don't involve such a bonus. Which of course makes it all the more once-in-a-lifetime, and all the more galling. As Thoreau has it 'to regret deeply is to live afresh'. So we'll probably enjoy that perfect spot at the bar even more, at least.