One of the things I love about living in the rural part of England is the milk fairy. Three times a week, milk magically shows up on our doorstep in quaint little pint bottles. And once a week, we place our empty bottles outside our door in a little basket, along with some shiny coins, and the milk fairy is happy, and keeps delivering the milk. I assume it's a magical fairy delivering it. Someone told me it's an actual guy that drives around putting out the bottles, but as early as I wake up, I've never actually seen that guy. Seriously. Leave the house before 5am? Milk's already there. Anyway, a few weeks ago, we went to a charity show at the Critter's school. Because she attends the Queen's School for Girls, this was no ordinary bake sale. This was a "cooking demonstration", where the chef made such items as 'baked cod with soy-mint roux' and 'fatty rabbit liver with balsamic-capsicum reduction'. Or something. Actually, I can only vaguely remember what she was cooking, other than it was the type of thing I've never seen anyone actually make outside of Julia Childs. (If the school I went to in Georgia had put on a cooking demonstration it would have featured items such as "Twelve things you can make with McDonald's ketchup and cream of mushroom soup," and "Roadkill Jerky.") And even though my Bride assured me that there would be plenty of other parents I knew there to talk to, I was one of only two Y chromosones to be present, which made it an especial joy, let me tell you. After the show, however, they let us loose in the gymnasium, where they had set up a number of booths of People Selling Things Vaguely Cooking Related. And two people wandering around with wine & snacks. Which made wandering around looking at chocolate fountains (who actually buys those things?) and organic-chocolate-with-orange-rind stands tolerable, at least. But then I ran into the guy with the vegetables. One of the oddities about moving to England that no one warned us about was the fact that most people's refrigerators fit underneath their kitchen counters. Seriously. Most dorm fridges are bigger than what we, a family of three, use. While we've gotten used to it, it means we're constantly running to the store to buy food. The astronauts on the Apollo missions had more storage space than we do. But there was this guy, with vegetables in a box. And he'll deliver them once a week, right to your doorstep, and then you have fresh veg in a box, all locally grown and organic and such. All for just £11 a week. What a fanstastic idea! Something that cuts down on the number of trips I have to make to the store is a huge hit. We signed up immediately, and before long our first box showed up. We signed up for the 6 vegetable/3 fruit deal. And we had vegetables running out our ears. Now, the fruit isn't guaranteed to be all locally sourced, unlike the vegetables. Because, you know, there's a reason you haven't heard of the English kiwi orchards. But just having the vegetables ensures we'll eat more of them. If it shows up at your door, you're much more likely to eat the dang things. And I certainly wouldn't have picked up some of the things at the store. But just look at everything that was included! Kiwis! Potatoes! Onions! Purple Flowering Broccoli! Hang on.. what? Purple broccoli? When did they start making broccoli in purple? Who knew. An hour later I had found a recipe for purple broccoli in a chile and sesame dressing. Which turned out to be fantastic. And I don't even like broccoli! We added the eggs for an extra £1 or so as well. If I can get them to start delivering our meat, a sack of flour and the occasional six pack of Diet Coke (or eleven), I may never have to leave the house again!

"Won't Bind Your Legs!"

Those are Chuck Norris Action Jeans, and just in case your mind can't process it because you are too busy freaking out, they are pants specifically designed to be worn while you are kicking people in the face. And they retail for less than twenty dollars.

For the past few weeks, I've been out of the country. In fact, for the past couple of weeks, my Bride and the Critter have been in the U.S. with me. In addition to living out of a suitcase for weeks on end, this means that I have not been surrounded by My Stuff. Despite all the pleasures of being around the extended in-laws (which really and truly is a pleasure for me. I don't say this (only) because I know some of my in-laws actually read the 'Groove. Until you experience it, you don't really understand that that many Filipinos under one roof is a magical event, leading to great love manifesting itself through truly ridiculous amounts of food.) I have a visceral need to be around My Stuff. Long periods of time away from my own mattress, or my stove, for example, leave me nearly as cranky as a heroin addict after a couple of days off the juice. When I return, no matter how tired I am, I am often tempted to run naked around the house, just to experience closeness to my sofa and my massive desk. I generally refrain, but it takes two or three days before I'm willing to leave the house again and/or display any form of social behavior. Returning after so long means that our Tivo-substitute (which is certainly no Tivo) is nearly full. 47 hours of American Idol (all of which seem to contain that Indian kid. Please. America. Cut it out.) Several episodes of Bones, Desperate Housewives, and Battlestar Galactica. And every episode of Joseph Campbell and the Power of Myth. Ok. I made up that last part. Our Tivo queue contains nothing but trash. But it's enough trash to ensure that I don't have to talk to another human outside of my house for the next week and a half if I don't want to. Now if only there was a single freaking restaurant that delivered within 100 miles of our house...