Last week we went to Venice. After all, what was the point of schlepping 5,000 miles to live in Europe if we don't get out and see it occasionally? We found some cheap (like less than 50 bucks) round trip tickets from Liverpool airport to Venice and spent the week soaking in the sights and food of Italy. Of course, the cheap tickets do come with a couple of catches - you don't actually land at the main Venice airport - instead, you end up out at a field that's just a little closer to Venice than, say, Vienna, and is staffed by one man and his crippled dog - whose sole job is to point you to the bus which takes you to Venice. Or at least, to the outskirts. Once we made it to the Venice bus depot, we realized that we had, between us, done zero research on Venice. We had the name of our hotel, and a vague sense that it was at about the furthest point away from the city from our current location, but that was about the extent of our knowledge of getting around. (I blame the Critter. It was her turn to do the planning.) We picked out a random water-taxi and took the scenic (read: '20 euros extra') route to the hotel. Anyway, below are a few of the pictures of the trip - the best value for the money was by far and away feeding the pigeons in Piazza San Marco - 1 euro for a bag full of (contraceptive laced) bird food and a square full of begging beaks. I trimmed out the pictures where the Critter was shrieking in terror at the pigeon on her head. I'm sure that will cost in therapy later on.     For the full list of pictures click here. (there's a silly amount of pictures. Have patience.) In other news, we also got some free livestock. The day after we got back, we took delivery of an 8 year old thoroughbred gelding. Over the past couple of months, we've been hunting half of England for a horse that would suit my bride and yet be big enough that my toes didn't dig tracks in the dirt while riding. In the end, we found the perfect candidate within 20 miles of our house. The sweet part of the deal is that 'Buzz' (the horse's registered name is "Tip of the Bottle", but the most recent owner didn't care for this and changed it to "Infinity and Beyond" - which led to his nickname - this tickles the Critter to death, considering she's got a talking plastic Buzz Lightyear on her bedside shelf. To top it off, Buzz's stable mate is named "Nemo") didn't cost us anything. He's 'on loan' for a couple of years, as his owner wants to start a family. All tack & gear included. So we just have to pay for a stall and pasture space - sounds good, right? Of course, a horse eats the equivalent of a Ford Escort in feed every 48 hours, and we have to pay for that too. Oh, and Buzz is allergic to dust. So he eats a special hay called 'haylage.' (Turns out this hay 'allergy' is one of the latest trends in the equine world. The secret of a trend is having a catchy name.) Haylage is - you guessed it - more expensive than your regular hay. And to top it off, his first day in the pasture he threw a shoe. So he's got to be carted into the ferrier this week for a new one. Oh yeah, we don't have a horse trailer, so we have to hire one of those too. Man, free horses are great. Still, we both got to take him out for a hack in the countryside (before the shoe-throwing). It was drizzling and cold, but it's already made the hassle worth-while.    

Last night, after watching our weekly dose of 'Desperate Housewives' (in the UK, we're a few episodes behind the States, but it's become one of our few 'must watch' shows), we were idly flipping through the channels, thinking about putting the Critter to bed. I've no idea what channel we were on (I've yet to master UK television - if it wasn't for the pseudo-TiVo we have, I'd never manage to catch anything I actually wanted to watch. I always seem to end up watching Avago Balls for at least 5 out of every 30 minutes of channel surfing.), but we got sucked into some nostalgia dance video from the late 80's. Oh wait. It's not a video. It's Too Legit: The MC Hammer Story. And just as we realized this, a group of heavily armed criminals broke into our house and forced us, at gun-point, to watch the remaining hour and a half of the movie. Every time "It's Hammer Time" came on, the Critter would get up and dance around the room like a frantic raccoon, which a) gave the two adults in the room the giggles and b) we knew would wear her out enough to go to bed without much protest. And getting an evening's peace and quiet is worth the investment in her future therapy bills. When the movie was over the masked thugs put away their guns and left our house, handing us the remote and letting us control our own TV watching destiny once more. Yeah, we felt dirty for having watched the VH1 attempt at a serious documentary, but it's not like we had any choice, right? Tomorrow night we're hoping to catch 'Wilson Phillips: the Reunion' and 'Tone Loc: the E! True Hollywood Story' and round off our visit to 1990.

I've begun planning the earliest stages of work on a sooper-secret project for the house. It's a DIY project that I'll post progress on as I get it underway, because you're going to be jealous and want one too. It's that good. I've told my Bride that she'll just have to humor me as I purchase various bits necessary, as this is the price for me having to leave all my beloved power saws behind in the US. Anyway, I did an initial reconnoiter of the local electronics supply shops with the Critter this past weekend. I was carrying her around as I looked at some cabling and other toys (as a preventive measure. She's heavy, but I've found that store management frowns upon small children unlikely to have their own credit cards wandering their stores unsupervised) . As I pulled one new router out, she said with all the authority and patience of a two-and-a-half year old "Put that back, Daddy. You have plenty at home." When did my little baby girl turn into an extension of the Double X Chromosome police squad? Is it in the genes, or are they secretly whisking her off to training when I'm not paying attention? I told her mother about this, and my bride just looked at me. "You do, you know." "I do what?" "Have plenty at home." "Yeah, but..." "Hard to argue with her when she's right." "But she's two!" "And even a two year old can tell you have too much crap. What does that tell you?" It sucks being outnumbered.