Well, not write-a-decent-title smart. I'm still on my own there.

I arrived home from London two days late thanks to the volcano in Iceland. Just in time to panic about closing on the house this coming Wednesday. Not a lot of time to tie up loose ends what with a long weekend thrown in the mix. Tomorrow's my first day back at work after three weeks gone and the office looks like a tornado - or perhaps a crazed, sleep deprived woman looking for a passport that was already in her purse - hit it. So is my sitting down in the middle of it all to write a blog entry not compelling evidence of my devotion to the written word?

No, it is not. It's compelling evidence that the cat in my lap is just to damn cute to disturb. She's right, though. I need to not move faster than my brain can think. I need to sit. I need to slow. I need to not do. At least for as long as it takes to write a blog entry. Maybe even for as much time as it takes to write a blog entry and have a sip of this coffee I poured myself before it gets cold.

Only it's already cold. I thought I'd just poured it. Further proof that I'm out of step with the dance of life. Further proof that the cat is smarter than I am.

The most compelling proof is in my face every morning when I wake up, though. Before the brain has a chance to warm up and wind itself around every little anxiety and deadline piercing into my consciousness she reminds me, with a stretch and a purr and an affectionate sniff of my nose, that right now we're comfy and that is what requires my immediate attention. Nothing else. And she's right. Because she's smarter than I am.

Too bad the dog's in charge. Well, at least his bathtub sized bladder is, as he's been reminding me for the majority of the time I've been writing this. Guess I am getting up after all.

Come to think of it, that's usually what eventually gets me out of bed in the mornings too.

This is the authentic, original title.

Queen's just a few minutes' walk up the road. I'd drop in, but she's a bit busy what with the prime minister just resigning and the leader of the opposition dropping by and everything.

Nothing even remotely this historic ever happens in my neck of Canada. At least nothing that doesn't involve hockey. Oddly enough, though, we're the ones more likely to riot. I'm thinking that people in England have enough experience with real civil unrest not to see the appeal of enjoying it recreationally on civic holidays.

Yes, in Edmonton Alberta people riot over the sheer outrage of a paid day off. Either that or maybe it was all the red from the Canada Day decorations that set them off. That doesn't seem as likely, though. Canadians aren't big decorators. Canadians are the mom that buys a bag of balloons and a box of candles and calls it a birthday party of civic celebration.

Also the toilets are different here. In England. Sorry, could have segued better there. Sociological comparison just became overwhelmingly boring to me very suddenly. The toilets here, on the other hand, have held my fascination since I arrived a week ago. They use less water and they work better, and there's no splash back. Just what's with the flushable swimming pools we feel the need to cannon ball our offerings into in North America, anyway? Knowing these alternatives exist, I'm amazed they're even still legal.

Also I've seen some of the greatest works of art on the face of the earth. I dare say that was even more interesting than the toilets here.

More coherent posts about more interesting topics will be forthcoming. I just like that even when I travel half the world away my cyber home sweet home is right where it always is, and I can always get here right away for a little comfort and companionship.