A (Too) Quick City Break in York.

Much like the Grand Old Duke of York, who had ten thousand men and marched them up to the top of the hill, and then marched them down again, I can't get enough of York... (because he visited repeatedly, that was obvious, right?)

Having visited nearly half a dozen times over the years, and somehow not managing to share it on my blog over the years, I would say that although you could visit from London for the day, I wouldn't. Go for a minimum of an overnight stay, or a few days if you can. Witness a misty morning, and a candy coloured sunset, wander out into the Dales or slip in a seaside visit somewhere like Scarborough, and really get to know the ancient city.

Spying Seal Pups at Donna Nook, Lincolnshire

It's a direct result of not being from this country, but I really love it with all of my wanderlusting heart. Sometimes I also hate it - which is part and parcel of a long-term relationship - sometimes misunderstanding of the culture and other times frustrations that you would get living absolutely any where rear their head. That's the joy and challenge of expat life in a nutshell - even for a long-termer like myself.



It's funny though, it means that I view the country with travel spectacles. A case in point? I was watching a documentary a couple of months ago that highlighted a seal colony that migrates to a certain cove once a year to have their babies in safety, away from predators of the ocean. To my husband, Donna Nook is a RAF base. To me, it's a seal slumber party spot.

That time we went out for brunch and accidentally hiked the Rangitoto volcano crater

Nothing seems to surprise my husband anymore. I must come out with ridiculous scenarios so regularly now, he doesn't even lift an eyebrow. Case in point, when I video called him from New Zealand. (He knew I was in NZ by the way, my whereabouts haven't become that surprising. Yet.)

"How was your day?" 'Good thanks, we went out for brunch with Ginni and Alice, and then hiked up a volcano crater.' "That's nice dear. It rained in London today" (sic)

Expat Life: Giving my London home a touch of New Zealand #travellinkup

How on earth do you define home as an expat? I've said before that London has my heart but New Zealand is my soul (whereas my appetite is totally multicultural) as a throwaway Instagram caption, but actually it's more true than I gave this unconsciously summoned phrase credit for.

I guess this post could be subtitled 'how to make home a home, when you move your home to a new home a really long way away'. Which would be an achingly long subtitle.

So, I decided in a moment of New Zealand caffeine fuelled inspiration to share 5 of the ways that I celebrate my New Zealand roots 12,000 miles away from where they began. Putting the Kiwi into London effectively!

Aqua Shard: Brunching in London clouds

The Shard and I have a tempestuous on again, off again relationship. On our first rendezvous this bastion of the London skyline was moody and somewhat icy, our second dalliance was a touch more blue sky and secretive (an unbloggable lunch at the Shangri-La), and the third a cheeky twilight drink - but on this particular date, we managed to enjoy an early brunch cementing our liaison as an everlasting London romance.

 Disclaimer: We were invited guests of Aqua Shard but my (very many) thoughts are only ever mine and more repeat visits on lovely days are going into my diary. Ps. Sister restaurant Aqua Kyoto has a bottomless brunch reader special until 28th May if you click this sushi treatise about our visit... (#notspon, just delectable)

After a flurry of activity organising a secret trip in honour of Aftab's birthday, 3 of the self-named Angles (sorry, random insider joke) gathered around a table with one of our American favourites (she is definitely not square, I promise) to breakfast and gaze over the London skyline full of anticipation for our incipient journey. Laden with weekend bags full of mischief and a train booked for 11am, early on the Sunday morning we checked in with the restaurant front staff (who didn't even blink an eye at how much clothing we had packed) and took our seats over the London city skyline.

The Scarlet Hotel, Cornwall: A sumptuous seaside spa stay

We arrived just as the sky turned ink blue over gentle waves. Stopping the car in the middle of the deserted road we rolled down the window and simply swooned at our cliff top view. Below us the beach stretched out, softly hugging the foam crests of the incoming tide. (And then we instagrammed because you can take the bloggers out of London...)

 Disclaimer: We were very relaxed guests of The Scarlet Hotel but all of our blissful enjoyment and thoughts were very much our own...

We navigated the curving road around, heading further and further away from the surfing epicentre of Newquay and with one last hairpin bend worthy of Top Gear slow motion panorama, we found our home for the evening. Snugged into the cliffs, the Scarlett Hotel is a peaceful retreat, hiding away from the clanging updates of the world.

Cornwall Roadtripping: St Michael's Mount #travellinkup

inspiration

ɪnspɪˈreɪʃ(ə)n/

Middle English (in the sense ‘divine guidance’):
via Old French from late Latin inspiratio(n-), from the verb inspirare
 

1.The process of being mentally stimulated to do or feel something, especially to do something creative.

2. A sudden brilliant or timely idea.

3. The drawing in of breath; inhalation.

Our recent long weekend in Cornwall provided all three of these definitions of inspiration - quite literally. A small but mighty peninsula to the southwest of England, Cornwall is bordered to the north and west by the Celtic Sea, to the south by the English Channel, and to the east by the county of Devon over the River Tamar, Cornwall has human history dating back to the Palaeolithic and Mesolithic periods.

Egerton Hotel: A pawfectly luxurious doggie afternoon tea.

My cutest afternoon tea date (ever) arrived at our Egerton Hotel rendezvous wearing a blue bow tie and his salt & pepper hair suavely combed - just right for a Kensington afternoon tea. 

Paws down, this is the cutest afternoon tea I've ever done. Ever. And I shan't be apologising for the litany of puns about to litter this post. #Sorrynotsorry

Pocahontas and her connection with Gravesend, Kent

Sometimes I feel that this country isn't real, that Britain is actually a storybook tome, disguised with trees and chimneys to fool the reader into thinking that we are living on a rock. In actuality perhaps if we prodded it a little bit harder and peered a little bit closer that we would see the seams between worlds. (That got a little bit Matrix in style, sorry!)

But seriously, it sometimes seems as if each corner has a knight on pure white steed about to charge (Temple Church), damsels defending their land (Queen Boudicea in Epping Forest), incredible feats of daring (Bletchley Park) or wizards ready to enspell the world (Stonehenge) and the tales are such a rich tapestry of fascination - especially for an expat like myself.

A Louisiana bayou swamp tour - our incredible experience.

"C'Mon Gators! COME AND EAT US" screams our captain as he lobs chunks of meat over the side of the boat.

Mr Kiwi and I swap uneasy looks with each other, both wondering if going on a swamp tour was such a brilliant idea after all. Miles from New Orleans we were floating on a glorified tin can, surrounded by rusting steel structures wrapped in mangroves and very little else as far as the eye could see.

We wait a just a little bit longer in apprehensive silence*. The smooth surface ripples, two prehistoric eyes appear before an elongated snout rises out of the murky waters. His** jagged back sways through the water as he gets closer and closer to eating us, sorry, start nibbling on the scraps of treats our captain threw in the water.

10 Things I’m Grateful For

The fabulous Little Miss Katy has started a happy revolution – firstly it was her “Happy Monday – 10 Good Things posts” that I adore reading to start my week, then the fantastic post “150 Good Things That Happened This Week” and now her championing of the #TodayImGrateful hashtag. Go ahead, read it through, it’ll seriously make your day.

So, as you can see, you can blame her for this post, my own little corner of minor cheerfulness (mostly because I was in the wrong time zone to remember to add something to her epic post).

A visit to the Roald Dahl Museum, Great Missenden

Even though I'm always chafing at the bit to get overseas (recently being accused of going away "too much" which is impossible in my estimation) I've consciously tried to explore my adoptive home island as much as possible.

A friend coined the term 'permatourism' which is bang on the money - being a permanent tourist, even when in our home countries. Seaside trips, highland vacations, day trips to quirky museums, even London staycations where we explore a different neighborhood of this sprawling city.

Chai Wu, Luxury Chinese Restaurant Review in Harrods

Quite rightly, Harrods is often described as pure melodrama. 4.5 acres of retail space, seven floors and 330 departments, each offering up its own kind of lavish loopiness. Rising above the bejewelled occupants of Knightsbridge, as luxury sports cars (try to) zoom along the Brompton Road,I found myself making my way through those infamous green awnings once again to enjoy the fine Chinese cuisine at Chai Wu.

Disclaimer: We were invited guests of Chai Wu but all thoughts (and #firstworldproblems) are definitely my own...

As you ascend the floors of Harrods, the shopping gets more and more decadent. On the fifth floor in amongst the designer squash rackets and sneakers, a haven of sushi, Wagyu beef and champagne sits just waiting to ensnare flagging shoppers.

The V&A Museum of Childhood

Wandering along to the East End outpost of my favourite London museum kept getting pushed down to the back of the London list.

My own Commonwealth dappled childhood was hugely influenced by British culture, especially literature – Famous Five books inspired us to investigate the world around us (and that dogs could be your friends as much as people), A. A. Milne shared the importance of good people (and when in doubt, honey), Lewis Carroll warned us off drugs, J.M. Barrie the importance of never smiling at a crocodile and Terry Pratchett still makes grown-up-me smile with the many hilarious layers of satire.

Friday figments and photos: Tables and smiles

It's Friday. The penultimate day of the week.

The one where everybody lets their hair down, looks forward to the weekend and hopes for a bit of sunshine along the way.

Iris and June, weekend brunch in Victoria

Years ago when I worked in the area, Victoria always seemed like a little bit of a gastronomic no-man's land. Sandwiched between the tolling bells of Westminster scuttling with politicians (though I do kinda love the Blue Boar and have spent far too much time drinking champagne, breakfasting and afternoon tea-ing in the Conrad St James) and Belgravia bustling with the yummy mummy's, thankfully there are more up and coming restaurants beginning to showcase their chef's credentials.

Over the years we have discovered a few of the [bloggers favourite klaxon] 'hidden gems' in the area that aren't necessarily fine dining (though we've found a few of them too). The cake menu hidden beneath Westminster Abbey, the cockney cobbles of Strutton Green, the rumored Royal favorite Thai restaurant (ok, ok, I began the rumour), the uber-touristy Albert pub where British Army retiree's sit hoping to warm their bones with a free pint and the cabbie's favourite greasy spoon The Regency Cafe.

How to disguise yourself as an English person

Grasshopper, listen up. I've spent nearly a decade on these shores watching, learning, overhearing and studying the habits of enough Brits to pretty well successfully masquerade as an English person. I can now hold a vague conversation about the offside rule in football (usually illustrated with salt and pepper shakers), make a damn good cup of builders tea - so strong you can stand a teaspoon up in it, take my fish and chips with mushy peas and vinegar, and have a cupboard full of pint glasses nicked from the pub that both we and the cat use for water (despite perfectly nice tumblers the next row over - just FYI the beast has her own dedicated glass). Classy, I know.

 Pinkie raising at Claridges dahling

It is getting to a point where I am mistaken for a tourist in my home of New Zealand (I suppose the camera hung around my neck and frequenting Hobbiton doesn't help), have been asked to present my passport in a social event as proof of nationality (in lieu I offered by rugby loyalties which seemed to appease them) and even my family tease me mercilessly about my English accent.

Figments and photos: September slumber

First of all, celebrate with me that I've actually managed to draft two of these in a row. TWO! In a Row!

Once you've finished your dancing - jazz fingers encouraged - is the anti-climax of a delicious quiet week. An article came out a couple of years ago with the confession of office workers who feel like they have to make up exciting weekend happenings to cloud the truth that they actually spent a weekend in their pyjamas.

Well, I spent Friday night in, had my Saturday plans postponed before losing said day to the lure of the TV (seriously Once Upon A Time, how have I lost so many hours to you - I always put one episode on and lose an entire day) but it was one of those occasions where you inwardly fist pump at the thought of not getting dressed, and then caught up on news from home Saturday night. Sunday evening the delicious Becky and I had a London double date with our instagram long-suffering husbands, where we had a traditionally British night of pints and curry, and a lot of laughter.

5 of the best meals I've ever eaten - September TravelLinkup

Over the years we have been lucky enough to enjoy meals in some of the most wonderful places. Aftternoon tea at Claridges, breakfasting like lords in a Bordeaux Chateau, dinner at the Ritz, feasting on a bento box near Mount Fuji, lunching at Le Manoir, brunching with glorious London views, drinking 'arctic whiskey' under the Northern Lights in Tromso, eating cake in Vienna and so many more brilliant experiences (not to mention a few restaurant reviews along the way).

But...

...there is one place I'm happiest. As an emotional cheeseball at the best of times, I can often be found grinning away tucked somewhere behind a table full of the people I love - and it doesn't matter where on the globe we are. It is almost always the highlight of any trip we make anywhere in the world (the only exceptions are the countries where we can’t stalk visit anyone which are few and far between).

Mount Stewart, Northern Ireland

Every blogger secretly wants to discover hidden gems right? I mean it's practically in the job description: Chatterbox required for hours sat in front of a screen editing words and photos about unusual things. Must bring own mug and discover 'hidden gems'.

Mount Stewart isn't a hidden gem, it is one of Northern Ireland's diadem rocks, second to the actual rocks of the Giant's Causeway. The opening hours were flexible (to say the least) on the rainy day that we visited, so we wandered through the gardens whilst the grey clouds threatened.