"You're much heavier than you look!"

Is not an example of a comment that one is automatically flattered by. However, when given after a battle in the crease (the area of ice directly in front of the goal) during a hockey game it can make you feel highly self-satisfied. Hockey; it's a strange sport.

On America's 10 most wanted

Living in a foreign country, you'd think I'd be a seasoned traveller. Well... I am, only my organisational skills seem to improve at a rate far slower to the number of trips I take. Okay, I'm a basket case when it comes to preparing. This trip was for 10 days and had the added excitement of putting the cat into kennels for the first time. So the day before I dropped her off bright and early and headed back to my apartment thinking through what was still to be done; pack camera and charge battery (probably ought to do that next)...., wash smart trousers for conference presentation (no, I should do that first, camera battery can always wait)...., buy travel-sized shampoo that is non-threatening enough to be taken on the plane in hand luggage...., back up laptop in case it gets dropped out of plane (could take a while, maybe set this up before I pack)..... stop for police car that is flashing its lights at me (... Ah).

"No officer, I can honestly say I have no explanation for going 40 mph in a school zone."

So it wasn't exactly "10 most wanted" but it was traumatic enough for me. For the uninitiated non-American, school zones operate only at certain times of the day over stretches of road close to schools. They are marked by yellow flashing lights and reduce the speed limit from 35 mph (yes, ok, I was speeding anyway) to 20 mph (meaning I was now quiet seriously speeding). Since I don't normally drive at times when they're operable, I'm pretty shoddy at looking out for them.

By looking remorseful, female and foreign I managed to escape with a standard speeding offense (school zone speeding normally triples everything) of a $120 fine and a 4 hour on-line driver course (or points on my license which I wanted to avoid). Today, I went into the court house in Gainesville to pay it all off. I'd like to say I walked in proudly, dealt efficiently and, head held high, strode from the building. It wouldn't be entirely true. The process was painless and the people very nice but, as foreigner on a highly-revocable visa, walking into a court house seems a little to close to disaster for my peace of mind.

As for the cat, she survived kennels but also seemed to think the car ride was the most traumatic part. I can only be thankful that she wasn't in the car when I was pulled over; the bad language would certainly have driven up the fine.

Toys

This sinister tale begins in the most dark of places, the "My Little Pony" aisle in "Toys R Us". I was admiring the special release of the original 1983 My Little Ponies to celebrate 25 years of plastic equine love. These rubber numbers were the ones I played with as a small child (and which were not "skinny and boney" Ashley Stewart! We may have been only 6, but I've not forgotten the taunts from you and your little friends) and clearly looked far more like real ponies that these modern imposters. Once you get over the bright pink plastic, that is. Anyway, while innocently reminiscing about more carefree times, a doll on the far end of the aisle slowly turned its head towards me and said ... "hello". I left. If the toys are going to turn on us, Toys R Us is not the best place to barricade inside.

Friendship is ...

... telling you your cake was fantastic even when it disintegrated to the state that you packed the pieces into a tuber-ware container and presented it with a spoon.

Lugholes #3

On the UF campus, one gray Friday morning:

Undergraduate 1 [sobbing]: "I thought he loved me!"

Undergraduate 2 [cheerfully]: "Well, not any more!"

Cat lesson #1

Love is not limited.
Food treats do not represent love.
Food treats are limited.

(Cat not yet convinced of this universal truth)

Things that go bump....

.... in the kitchen. Or, more accurately, 'bang'. Whatever noise best represents the lid flying of a liquidizer (I've discovered that's 'blender' to my American audience) and spraying hot soup over apartment, myself and cat. Cat not impressed. Apartment didn't say much, but I doubt it thought the look suited its previously white walls.

Maybe this was a case of 'pride before blender-blast'. Since moving to Florida, I've actually starting cooking stuff. Like, not just pasta in a pot (the height of my NYC culinary achievement) but pies and cakes and real food. This is probably because people here all have kitchens. Proper ones designed to be there, rather than a stove shoved in a closet from when the apartment block used to be a giant house for NY billionaires. Hence, people really cook and make things and, being the sheep that I am, I've taken up the task too. This new interest culminated in asking for a cookery book for Christmas which was gladly provided by parents hoping to avoid desperate requests of 'Mum, can I have the recipe for your [insert favourite dish here] ' at 10 pm at night.

Prior to the soup blasting experience, the whole cooking-stuff-idea has been a success. I enjoy cooking it, the cat enjoys me cooking it and we both enjoy eating it. (One of us rarely waits until all the ingredients are compiled before tasting ... though actually, the cat doesn't have much patience either). The whole sharing thing is fun too.

But as with all new adventures, things need to be learnt. Like, holding the lid down on the blender, for instance. Oh yes...