Train SPRINT.

The holiday is almost over and now we must leave Cornwall for London to catch our flight back to Montreal. I'm writing this to you as I sit on the train. A train I almost missed.

Yes, this morning the Huz and I got up early, rallied our three children to finish packing, eat a hearty breakfast, hug their Granny goodbye, and head down to the train station. No one argued and all was well in the world...

...until we got to the train station and I realized I didn't have my purse. A chill ran down my spine and grey shadows stomped around and rubbed their bogeys on my soul.

Folks, I ran. I ran like the wind, I ran like never before, I ran up hill, up the arcade stairs, up alleyways and up cobbled streets. Up, up, up I ran without stopping, past old ladies and prams with babies, my little heart pounding, blood vesseles bursting and lungs straining. I MUST NOT MISS MY TRAIN!!!

I thought of my poor family standing on the platform waiting for me as the train also waited... and then pulled away. What if they left without me? I ran harder.

Got to the house, gave SharkDOG one last hug, grabbed my purse and ran all the way back down to the station.

My family were all waiting for me! The train was still in the station! In fact, we had plenty of time to walk leisurely down the platform and climb aboard.

The lesson here? Nobody's perfect. Also? I'm not in as bad shape as I thought. They said I made it there and back in about 12 minutes.

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BOOGIE Boarding is FUN.

I'm in Cornwall UK for a family vacation. There's a healthy surf culture here - I can sorta surf a lil' bit (not really). However I do love boogie boarding; it's easy and fun. So here's a vlog music thingie about it.

But first, a disclaimer: I AM NOT A PHOTOSHOPPED SUPER MODEL. Do not expect pore-less perfection and fountains of youth from me. And try not to look at my bum. Oh, alright, if you really must, go on then.



It was yet another freezing farking day at Godrevy Beach. Like 14°C / 57ºF. Once you're in the water you're fine, provided you're wearing your wetsuit and frolicking non-stop in the surf like a baby seal. The waves weren't particularly huge today but it was still cool. Cold. I love having blue lips.

That's me singing. And I bought the earrings from @tweetgraciemack.

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The JETLAG Monster.

When I travel against the clock, I suffer so bad. The JETLAG Monster nibbles on my soul and I walk around in a stupor.  I can't focus, and there's some kinda sand in my eyeballs. This is worse than The Sleepies because actual sleep won't help.

Three days pass. Then suddenly the stupor lifts and I think, "Yay! I'm over it...!"

Wrong.

Some say you should fight the urge to crash out, stay awake as long as you can and then sleep at night. But when I tried that, not only did I babble incoherently throughout the entire day, I was still wide awake at 1 AM.

What are your fool proof cures for jetlag?

Help.

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ESCAPE from the BIG Bed.

Finally.

After 6 weeks of languishing in the big bed all by myself, me and the 14 year old daughter are headed to England to join the Huz and our two other kids.

I can't wait!!!

When I see them, I'm gonna pretend I'm in one of those movies, running in slow motion, arms outstretched and ready for the hug/spin thingie....

Re-united after a long separation; I know 6 weeks is nothing compared to what some people go through. What are your best re-united stories?

Please share this moment.

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CAKE For #UsGuys

This one dude @StephenCaggiano said I was his "gift to #UsGuys". So then, of course I had to draw this. And if you wanna know what #UsGuys is all about, you should just go ask him.

Okay, I admit in reality My Cornwall Tan has faded to blinding white since the summer, but that wouldn't have been nearly as funny.

Don't tell me you wanted chocolate cake. I tried it and it just wasn't pretty.

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My PINK Guitar.

This is my pink guitar. I think it's pretty awesome.

My friend Brian who used to play in my band gave it to me when we were visiting him in Wales this summer. He said he rescued it from the garbage. No lie. 

It doesn't stay in tune and it looks like a toy but that makes me like it more! My PINK guitar!!

Did you used to be in a band?

I'm kinda attached to My BOOBS. So I'm supporting Breast Cancer Awareness with the colour PINK.

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Slug SLIME.

More stories about travelling around the UK this summer. At one point we headed for Wales. We spent a day romping around the lush, misty Welsh hills.... which are unbelievably gorgeous, especially in the rain. Atmospheric and... *magical*

Towards evening we went to hang out with our friend Brian (who used to play in my band back in the day - yeah, I'm a muso - and is an awesome guitarist who has even played with Marianne Faithful, how's that for name dropping). Anyways, we made our way back to his place.

Walking in, I took off my coat and boots, and suddenly found myself standing on something soft and squishy.

So I pull off my sock and there's this cute little slug curled up on it, hoping I won't notice.

Being basically kind-hearted, I gave the little guy a flying lesson into the neighbour's garden; stay tooned for a future animated post about that.

Days passed, and I forgot about El Sluggo. My laundry accumulated in my luggage and we eventually returned to Penzance, into the open arms of my MIL and her washing machine!

The sock got tossed into the wash with everything else and the machine did it's thing. Then the MIL pulled out my now soaking wet socks to hang dry, gave them a shake, and cheerfully proclaimed: "SLUG SLIME."

And guess what folks? It doesn't wash out. I even put the socks through the Extreme Cycle now we're back in Montreal. It dries up okay but as soon as the sock gets washed again, it reconstitutes into slime. This stuff is tough-tough-tough!
IT'S INDESTRUCTIBLE!!

So, of course I did what any person of slightly above average intelligence would do.
I tweeted for help. And got the following suggestions:

Salt.
Alcohol.
Burn them.
Throw socks in garbage.
Get new socks.

And the lovely @BloggerTalk sent some enlightening slug info.

But needless to say....

...the alcohol was the only thing that really helped.

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Chocolate Assholes.

WARNING: There may be one or two assholes in this story.

OK, so I was just travelling around the UK with the husband and kids, blogging about buckets, the Underground and surfing. Somewhere along the way I also discovered a gem of a shop in Hackney (London) called "Viktor Wynd's Little Shop of Horrors". Peering through the windows, I saw stuffed mermaids, jars of preserved two-headed bats, and dubious but nonetheless interesting adult colouring books lining the shelves. And I thought, what a perfect place to pick up a birthday present for my BFFF @TrashCanRoxanne. Since I was missing her birthday back home in Montreal, right?

So in I go, and they've got all kinds of weird and wonderful things, including a single box of chocolate assholes. Don't ask how they make these chocs people, they're very realistic; the mind boggles.
And I'm like, PERFECT!!! She's gonna love it!

A little back story: this is TrashCan and me. We've been buddies since University. We've worked together in animation. And she introduced me to my husband. I can fart in front of her. She can fart in front of me. She never does though. She never farts ever.

Ignore the rubber duckie, that's another story.

Anyhow, I hope you're getting that I just know she's going to really LOVE these chocolate assholes.

The nice man in the Little Shop of Horrors tells me that there are three handmade Belgian chocolates in the box. But they're past their sell-by date, so I have to promise him that no one is going to actually eat these chocs. Which I can easily do, cuz knowing TrashCan, she's just going to poke them with her finger, laugh her head off and that will be that. So the shop man gives them to me really cheap! Total score, I'm sure you'll agree.

Fast-forward to last night, back in Montreal. I had just picked up the dog from the kennels and was settling in to a nice glass of wine.

A little more back story: our dog is a mixed breed, part chaos, part trouble, and the only human besides us who understands and cares about her is Trashcan.

Anyways, I go upstairs to upack and I noticed, holy crap, the dog's got into my luggage, found the chocolate assholes, unwrapped them and gobbled them up!!!

I'm freaking out on two levels here - first, my dog has eaten chocolate, which could harm her - and second my dog has eaten chocolate assholes which I specially got for my BFFF.

Responding to my urgent tweets, a lovely tweep named @jmbuckingham googled the online shop and I have now ordered a new batch of Incredible Edible Anus' which are not past their sell-by date. Thanks to her, you can ALL order some yummy chocolate assholes for your BFFF.

And the dog? She's totally fine. She left me a nice chocolate turd on the bedroom rug to thank me for the chocolate assholes.

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Hang ELEVEN.

WARNING: There's a nude male surfer in this post.

This one is for The Mom-O-Matic cuz she's a naughty girl really swell. Plus I kinda promised I'd feature a hunky surfer with a Cornwall TAN.

Don't know what "hang eleven" means? Don't be lazy; google it. And then post the answer as a comment, heheheh.... *evil grin*.

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My Cornwall TAN.

There are some beautiful beaches in England. However, when frolicking in the surf off the Cornish coast you should really wear a wet suit. Because it's bloody freezing.

(Only 15 year old girls opt for bikinis instead of wetsuits. They are seemingly immune to the cold, though they do look a bit strange once they've turned blue.)

If the wet suit fits you properly, others should be able to tell what you've had for lunch just by looking. Since it's so snug, it will insulate you against the cold like a neoprene forcefield!

Your face, hands and feet get nice and brown. The rest of you is white, white WHITE! 
I call this the Cornwall TAN.

You see all the great looking surfer dudes, with their tanned faces, hands and feet. But believe me, under that slick wetsuit they are so pale, they are practically see-through. 

How do I know this? 
You're just gonna hafta take my word for it.

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The Dream WEEVER.

As you know, my first surf lesson ended in excruciating pain when I stepped on The DREADED Weever Fish. As those three little spines pierced the tender flesh where my toes join my foot, I could almost feel the weever fish VENOM injecting itself into my bloodstream.

Time passed, I had a few more lessons with the young/tan/fit/smiley dudes at Shore Surf, and I thought nothing more about it  But that venom was up to no good inside me. I began to have a series of bizarre dreams...

...prolly just the weever fish DNA fusing with mine, right? In my dreams, ha ha ha!

Well, imagine my surprise when I woke up this morning with VENOM-induced SUPER POWERS!!!

Don't laugh. It happened to Peter Parker, didn't it?

I still haven't figured out what those Super-Powers are, but I do have a strange urge to head to the beach, fling myself under peoples' feet and shout loudly:

Any suggestions for what my Super-Hero name should be? Will I be Hero or Villain? And how will my Powers manifest?!? Most importantly, what kind of Super Suit should I get?

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The DREADED Weever Fish.

I bet you're all wondering how my first day of surfing lessons went.

I went with two of my kids - the 10 year old boy and the 13 year old girl. The husband came along to take photos and no, I won't post those here unless you get me really drunk. Anyhow we got there early, donned our full body wet suits and yellow "first time surfer" rash vests, and followed the Shore Surf School gang down to the beach at Godrevy, Cornwall. Everyone had to carry their own boards down, and that is why one of my arms is now longer than the other. Hurrah!

First part of the lesson went really well. We did "prone surfing" where you leap onto your board like a mermaid and lie there riding the wave in. Although much bigger than a boogie board, it was pretty easy to handle and I was having fun.

And then....I stepped on something sharp.

I could feel three tiny needles going into the soft flesh where my toes join my foot. And I thought, "could this be the dreaded weever fish?" It didn't actually hurt much more than a stinging nettle, so I ignored it and caught another wave.

And then it started to sting and and I couldn't even stand on it anymore. "Uh...Mr. Surf Coach dude? Hey, Mr. Surf Coach? Um, excuse me hello Surfie Coachie? Pardon me yoo hoo? HEY MAN I STEPPED ON THE DREADED WEEVER FISH!!!" That got his attention.

I sat down with the very young, very blond, very fit, very tan dudes with "Surf Coach" on their t-shirts and we all looked at my foot. There were three puncture holes and one was even bleeding. It hurt more and more, but I was very brave and didn't cry. Yet.

By now I'll bet you're wondering, ok JC, what the heck is a WEEVER FISH?!?

It's this teeny weeny fishie that likes to lurk under the sand in shallow waters, especially at low tides. The Echiichthys vipera has three spines on its back fin, and if you step on it, the spines inject VENOM into your foot!! How exciting is that, right? Apparently it's the nastiest thing the UK has to offer. Grown men sailors fling themselves in the ocean and drown rather than suffer the excruciating pain of the DREADED Weever Fish.

First aid: kinda lame actually. When you can't stand the pain anymore, you must hobble off unaccompanied down the long, long beach, scramble over a bunch of barnacle covered rocks slippery with seaweed and climb up a steep cliff to the dunes. There's a Life Guard up there and he will put your foot into a tub of boiling hot water. Very hot water will neutralize the protein in the venom by cooking it.

Folks, I don't mind telling you that halfway up those rocks, tears were streaming down my cheeks. This was almost as painful as childbirth. But after 20 minutes of soaking my foot in the Life Guard's tub of hot water the stinging began to subside and I was able to walk again.

On my way back over the rocks, I noticed a little girl about 3 years old, crying her eyes out - she was stuck in the rocks and the tide was coming in. Because she was inbetween the rocks, no one could see her and the waves were so noisy, no one could hear her. The poor thing was really frightened! So I plucked her out and carried her through the deep water to her mom (who was quite some distance away, believe it or not).

So, if I hadn't been stung by the DREADED Weever Fish, who knows what fate may have befallen that poor little girl.

Going back for my second surf lesson tomorrow!

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