Barking with a British Accent

Originally published: January 3rd, 2009 

Written on New Year’s Day

Sparkie and I have arrived in London. Our last few days in Atlanta were a rush of activity. When I found it was going to be cost prohibitive to ship many of my things, I scrambled to re-pack.

Kristin Ruby threw a fantastic going away party for me. I have not yet looked at the photos, but did read my guest book. (Philip, thanks for the documentation of my conversation.)

I know, I know, I probably promised to call you from the airport, thinking that I would be sitting there for a few hours. But Sparkie’s check-in took an inordinate amount of time and it turns out that the flight was a little earlier than I had remembered.

Richard, my brother, delivered us to our respective drop-off points, and commented at Sparkie’s drop-off, he had never seen so many people working in one place to do so little.

I was very impressed with British Air. Even in steerage, you got a little kit with a toothbrush, a tiny tube-ette of toothpaste, an eye mask, and something else I’ve forgotten and a seat large enough to contain my generous backside.

A very small boy was having a difficult night on the flight and shared that with us all. It didn’t occur to me that I could ask for ear plugs. I managed to get a little sleep, but not much.

Oh, the re-packing resulted in me checking 7 bags. Plus I had my laptop in a backpack and a carry-on bag with an assortment of irrational choices of weird stuff crammed inside.

At Gatwick, it took two trolleys that I attached to each other with a bungee cord to carry my luggage. Sophie was waiting with this giant van, although at that point, it had taken so long that she was about to give up on me.

Then we went to pick up Sparkie. The surroundings there were a little more pleasant than the office that shipped Sparkie out, though the staff had forgotten to turn on the heat. We huddled under the heater once it was turned on with a girl from Greenville, SC, who was waiting for her Daschund.

We waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Sparkie’s paper work had been flawlessly prepared (thank you Buckhead Animal Clinic) but BA had to send paperwork to DEFRA who had to send it by computer to Manchester where it had to be sent back to London.

On the way to Palmers Green, I fell asleep sitting straight up in the van. (Now why couldn’t I have slept on the plane?) After lunch and a short nap at Sophie and Simon’s, we managed to connect with my new landlord, and deposited Sparkie, an embarrassing amount of stuff and me to my new home.

My little home is another garden shed. A studio cottage is the more appropriate term.

But this time it is attractive, bright, modernized, and comes with Victoria, my landlord who has been more of a really great hostess. (What a difference from my last experience.) When I got here there were new wardrobes for my clothes—the exact same ones that I thought I would be running out to IKEA to buy. Victoria had coffee, tea, a few other groceries and, get this, the same brand of dog food that Sparkie has always eaten.

Speaking of great hostess (and host), Sophie and Simon invited me to their New Year’s Eve celebration dinner. They had a few of their close friends, Simon’s mom and me.

It was wonderful. As always, the food was spectacular, the company entertaining (I remember crying with laughter), and the wine and champagne flowed freely.

At some point, I was asked how long I had been awake. I had no idea. The night before my departure I had given my nephew a note requesting that he wake me up at 6:30am. He offered to do it earlier…but I had a clue that I might have a petite hangover.

The one glitch here has been with wi-fi connection. I have not had phone service or internet. My family had wondered if I was completely gone incommunicado. 

And I celebrated the New Year by sleeping, recovering from both jetlag and the parties that sandwiched my trip, and unpacking (I had no idea that I still owned this much stuff) and watching TV. Wondering why I brought certain things and why I left others at home that right now I believe I really need.

I know that I am where I am supposed to be. I am happy.

No matter what you bet, I won’t sound like Madonna next month. Well not exactly.

But Sparkie’s accent seems to match that of the border collies exactly. You would never know that she isn’t British.