Britannia - Christmas 2006

The above photo is the reason we spent silly amounts of money for plane tickets, endured 10 hour international flights (avec two 10 month olds), faced un-ending jet lag with the boys, and basically didn't sleep for two weeks. The amount of aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents my children have in England is never ending. Even the Pope would be impressed I think. My kids were showered with attention and were introduced to a whole other half of their family that lives thousands of miles away.

The trip itself seems like a blur now. I suppose it was really. We were on the move from London to Hampshire to Kent to Wiltshire constantly. Our days were filled with travelling from one place to the next, unpacking the car, setting up the portable cribs, greeting the people we would stay with for a couple of days, and finally sitting down to cups of tea. Our nights were filled with drinking (per the usual British custom), eating much-missed for Indian food, and then waking up at 3 a.m. to the very confused cries of our children whose internal body clocks were most likely wondering what the hell was going on.

It was exhausting, but worth it. This is my wife's home really. It is also part of who my children are.

I had the good fortune of being able to spend a night out with my London friends. I miss the whole lot of them. There is a creativity, a spark, a buzz, to London and the people that inhabit it. In true East London form, we lounged like Wilde in smoky pubs and then skulked in gritty nightclubs full of arty denizens who are much cooler than me. I don't know what the country has against "hoodies" though.

As a sidenote, this was the only opportunity I had during the entire trip to actually sleep in as I was staying at my friend Mal's flat. Jon, myself, and Mal wound down the evening at some stupid hour in the morning. We sat on his sofa having one final beer, listening to music set low, and possibly the sound of birds chirping outside. I then settled in for an actual night of unbroken sleep. I intended to wake up as late as possible.

Instead I woke up at 8:00 a.m. to the sound of a chainsaw.

What the hell is a chainsaw doing in London was my first thought. I threw open the curtains to find a guy, suspended in a tree just outside the window, pruning the friggin' branches WITH A CHAINSAW. I wanted to cry. I am destined to never have a decent night's sleep ever again.

Alan, my father-in-law. Never a man has lived that appreciates real beer as much as him. There is something truly welcoming about going into a pub. No TV, no neon, no loud music. Just the sounds of glasses clinking and people laughing. Alan is a veritable connoisseur of the best pubs that serve the best beer. He likes to sit facing the bar. Everytime I'm in a pub with him it is like a little ritual. He scours the place with a determined look to find a seat with the best view. It's incredibly endearing.

Young Finn on Christmas day. I don't know why these hats are worn on Christmas. They look cute and spirited on little kids, but absolutely ridiculous on me.

I really do miss being constantly reminded of history and the times that have come long before you. I never took things like driving past 12th century churches for granted while I lived in the UK. On this trip I made us all stop and take photos in front of them.

Aside from my two main goals of drinking real beer and eating stupid amounts of Indian food, my other main goal for this trip was to take the boys to Avebury. Forget Stonehenge, Avebury is the real deal.

Heather first took me there just on a whim back in '95. Little did she know that she would open up an utter fascination in me for very old stones that stick upright like defiant teeth into the sky. My interest in these neolithic megaliths burned (and still burns) within me. I have some ideas as to why these 5,000 year old monuments interests me, but it's hard to pin down. For some reason they resonate down to my very neurons.

I held the boys in arms. My boys, my children, my flesh, and walked around those stones. It was really something.

As I write this we have returned now. I am left with a need for sleep, the boys are sick from all the travel, and I feel like doing nothing for the next zillion years. If I ever have to put up one of those portable cribs again it will be too soon.

And yet, I am also left with the good memories. The boys are not. They are too young. But, as they grow older, and we sit down and look at the photos someday, they will be reminded.