Next Guest Please..

The Hotel Decent opened for the spring season today, not that you'd know it from the torrential rain and grey clouds. Orphan No. 2 flew in with a few friends. We probably should have known better than to stand at the airport with a sign with her blog name on, since the previous flight was full of adults and children from Korea.

Orphan No. 2, Sam O'Shopper, Sam O'Soccer and Game Boy

As usual, the first stop was a trip to the mall. It's the least we can do to boost the American economy!

Disco Divas!

Those dance classes with Divine and Spike are really paying off! Here's a peak at the anniversary gift they gave us yesterday...

Friends and Neighbo(u)rs

To celebrate our first anniversary in Naperville, we enjoyed a meal out at our favourite restaurant..

The Oracle was keen to party all night! He finished his meal with a little blue pill..
"Oh no," his wife Rebecca of Sunnybrook Drive tells Divine. "I prefer chocolate."

Grumpy's table manners have definitely gone downhill since living in the US.

Grumpy celebrates as our realtor tells us after the first year we're not allowed to have any more house guests.

My assistant director Cecil B. De Mille

shares the stage with Grumpy and a large bottle of wine.

Rebecca and the Oracle put on a brave face as they think back to those quiet days before we arrived.

Grumpy finds a rare chance to get a word in edgeways.

Our friend Milo (Venus' husband), commiserates with Neighbor.

"I know it's bad, but take comfort in the fact the British are also celebrating tonight. A whole year without Grumpy and Hilary!"

The Year Of Living Dangerously

March 27th marks the first year of our moving to Naperville. In many ways it feels like yesterday. Fortunately writing a blog means I don't have to recap everything we've accomplished. It's all there in print for anyone who has a spare 12 hours or so to read it. I like to make people laugh when they read the blog, but today I'm in a reflective mood.
The decision to come and live here was both the easiest and most difficult thing Ross and I have ever had to do. I always knew we were meant to be here, so there was no real decision to be made. But it was obviously hard leaving all our family and friends and get rid of our large well worn family home, pets and most of our belongings.
Moving here was a huge risk, because we financed it ourselves. We sold up in England, and brought anything we had left with us. Although the exchange rate was useful when we arrived here with British pounds, if we ever had to return to London with US dollars, we would be lucky to afford the rent on a one bedroomed flat!
But all the time I had this undying belief that we were meant to be here. Deep down I knew everything would work out well for us, but I'm still delighted to be proved right. We broke a few English hearts when we came to live here. In order to not to drown in a sea of guilt, I have done my best to make a difference here. Naperville is hardly home to the underprivileged, but everything I have achieved has been to brighten people's days in some way. It makes me feel far less selfish if I think the locals want us to be here as much as we do.
I don't think we've been lucky. Quite honestly, I don't believe in luck. Everything we've done, or at least I've done, has been calculated. I've opened my home to strangers, reached out through volunteering and my columns, and done as much as I can to assimilate as fast as possible. In a town of high achievers, you may not be able to beat them at their own game, but you certainly have to join them.
I really feel part of Naperville, which I truly love. Many of our close friends and family have visited us this year, which is wonderful. Not only because we want to see them, of course, but because it means I can show off our lovely new hometown. We haven't been back to England yet, but will be returning for a short visit in April. I look forward to that with some trepidation, but it will make for some interesting blog entries so I'll make sure I take my laptop with me.
The strength of any place is its people. As picturesque as much of Naperville is, it's its people who have impressed us most. I may have eaten a large slice of confidence cake somewhere over the Atlantic to become more outgoing, but that would have still got me nowhere if not for the large number of people who took us into our hearts this past year.
Career wise, things are going very well for Ross, and I'm delighted to say CA have now begun the green card process on our behalf. When we get that, it will mean we can stay forever, which has always been our intention.
As for me, I've been able to get back to my original career of journalism, always my first love. I am building on the freelance career I launched in June. I'm soon going to start running a course of children's scriptwriting classes, and will probably end up writing, directing and arguing about the next CBS Purim Spiel. I also have another little project which will be the craziest thing I have ever done, if, sorry when, I get that off the ground.
As another famous American immigrant once said: "You ain't seen nothin' yet...."

Testing Times

With our first anniversary in Naperville looming, we had one last thing to achieve before Thursday – getting our Illinois driver’s licenses. I imagine many people wouldn’t consider this much of an achievement, but since it took Grumpy five attempts to pass in England, and me two, it wasn’t something we were looking forward to.
“We really must get this done,” I said last week. “Look, if we fail, we’ll just try again. There are enough kids doing it here every day. How hard can it be?”
I thought I was being very calm and reasonable.
Grumpy started pacing.
“Yes, but what if we don’t get it? If we fail a test, can we drive until we pass it? How will I get to work? I can’t learn all these rules at my age! I had to take a tranquilizer to pass in England!”
Grumpy looked as if he had pressed the panic button which short circuits his brain from time to time.
So this past week, I have spent every spare minute carefully learning the rules of the road and driving everywhere as if I had an imaginary driving instructor next to me.
The evening before the test, I asked Grumpy to ask me some questions from the book.
“You’ll have to read the book to me,” he snapped. “I can’t learn this. You read it and I’ll learn it that way.”
“I thought you’d been reading it all week,” I said. “I have. I feel pretty confident actually.”
I wasn’t really being smug, ok I was, but I’ve had to put up of years of him moaning I never go anywhere, so I wanted to prove I had mastered something about driving, at least from a theoretical view point.
“Just read me the book,” he growled. “All of it.”
“Ok,” I began, in my calmest, and no doubt most irritating voice. “This edition of the Illinois Rules of the Road is as accurate as possible.”
“Not that bit,” he screamed. “The rules, the rules.”
After a sleepless night, Grumpy went to work, promising to return early so we could get to the test center. Twenty minutes before he was due to leave, I got a phone call.
“Bad news,” he said. “We have to get someone to drive us. We can’t drive alone.”
“Why not?”
“Apparently they might ask us if we drove ourselves and it’s illegal. Spike told me.”
Thirty minutes later Buffy and I were in my tiny car, with Grumpy squished into the back with his knees under his chin.
“Thanks so much for this,” I said. “It’s really nice of you.”
“No problem,” said Buffy gaily. “It’ll be fun.”
Grumpy didn’t seem so sure.
“I know exactly where the center is. Off we go,” she said, attempting to drive off with the hand brake on. “My son passed his test there recently. First time.”
I could hear Grumpy’s teeth grinding behind me.
Once in the center we waited in line to be called to the counter. Buffy settled down with a book, giving encouraging smiles. Grumpy glowered at her whilst still babbling about what would happen if we failed.
I presented my paperwork to the cashier who started happily filling in forms. For a moment I honestly thought we had made a terrible mistake and could just buy a new license without having to take a test at all.
“Just take this over there, sit down and you can start the written test,” she said.
Guess I was wrong.
In England you have to answer about 100 questions on a computer screen, followed by a 45 minute road test. In Naperville, we had a sheet of 20 questions, plus 15 road signs and a ten minute drive around a car lot and a couple of side roads.
I handed in my paper and nervously waited for the results. Grumpy had started just after me. I looked around to see him almost in tears, miming that he had failed.
“Just guess if you don’t know,” I tried to whisper.
“No talking,” snapped the cashier, handing me back some more papers. I was almost hoping I had failed so Grumpy wouldn’t feel so bad.
“You’ve passed. Now go outside, move your car into one of the bays outside the door and wait for the examiner.”
All the way through my tiny road test, I kept imaging Grumpy crying all over Buffy as he waited for the deportation police to arrive.
Luckily it didn’t upset my driving performance. If I say so myself, I drove perfectly, if you don’t include that red stop sign I somehow missed.
I returned to the center trying not to gloat too much, but couldn’t help myself.
“I passed!” I beamed.
“Me too,” said Grumpy. “Give me the keys, I just have to do the driving part now.”
Afterwards, as we both sat fondling our shiny new licenses, I asked Grumpy what had happened on the written test.
“I thought you had to get all the road signs correct, and I knew I had got a couple wrong,” he said. “As it turned out I must have got enough right overall.”
“That’s because just this afternoon I discovered an extra one on the inside back cover of the rules of the road book,” I said. “I forgot to tell you about it.”
“Typical,” he replied. “All your fault as usual.”

Purim Fun

There were really no other costumes we could wear for Purim this year. Ross did look scarily like Norman Bates' mother, but he was meant to be Zipporah. Although I looked more like a troll, I was actually Moses.

Dressed for Success

Since we've been living in the United States, we've got quite a reputation for dressing up. Biff and Buffy were even expecting us to dress as pilgrims for Thanksgiving. (We'll have to give that a go for next year). So far all our attempts have been to celebrate American holidays. This evening sees the start of Purim, the Jewish festival celebrating the old testament story of Esther. In England, it is usually only children (and their teachers) who don fancy dress. At Congregation Beth Shalom, where even the most sombre services are a little off the wall compared with what we are used to, apparently everyone dresses up and takes part in little entertainments for the congregation. (At least that's what they've told us!) So tonight we'll be in what will hopefully be our best costumes yet. See tomorrow's blog for details.....

All's Well That Ends Well

Some memories from our final show...

These people weren't leaving to go to the restroom..the cast actually received a standing ovation

Cantor Hasha steps in to thank me with flowers, probably because it was the only way she could shut me up once I got the microphone in my hand !

and roses from the cast too...

These little actors come in very handy when your arms are full of flowers and you need someone to hold the mic!

A little gift from Grumpy and me to the cast - Passover the Musical, the cake!

After failing in his attempt to divide the cake with his staff, Moses, aka musical director

Scott Stuart has to resort to a knife.

"Let my people eat cake!"

The kids finally get to let off steam after three months of rehearsals.

Zipporah (Laura Albert), Pharoah's sister Bithya (Kevin Albert)

and

the voice of G-d, Zack Frisch

"Five more minutes to enjoy the party, folks. Auditions for next year's show are about to begin!"

Passover the Musical: The Review

From our theatre critic:

Last night saw the premiere of Passover the Musical, the Purim Spiel, at Congregation Beth Shalom, Naperville.
The show played to a full house, thanks largely to the efforts of the director, who put more effort into getting an audience than she did on the show itself.
The show featured a cameo by the synagogue's cantor, Hasha Musha Perman, who brought the house down with her version of Rachel Ray de Pharoah, accompanied by her guitar and a squeaking rubber chicken.
The show starred a fluffy white beard and wig as Moses, bravely worn by musical director Scott Stuart. The 27 strong cast performed brilliantly, despite a couple of errors, which luckily the audience failed to notice, but will be revealed here for the first time.
Who cares if one song ended up in the wrong place? That one character never made it onto the stage at all because someone who shall remain nameless messed up her cue and led the rest of the cast to missing out two pages?
The show featured some stunning special effects, including the last minute addition of a fog machine. Unfortunately it was so noisy it sounded like a snake hissing everytime it went off. Fortunately this did nothing to detract from the wonderful singing but did lead to a surprise interruption by the ASPCA.
The show ended with a rallying speech from the director, without the aid of a safety vodka.
Her entrance was greeted with a huge cheer from the audience and shouts of "Hilary, Hilary" from some carefully placed plants. (Friends, not the burning bush).
The director had foolishly not bothered to learn her lines, so read from a script she had rewritten several times over the past few weeks, usually in the middle of the night.
She thanked everyone to much laughter and applause. She ended on a touching note, by explaining that the reason she had directed the show in the first place was to pay the community back for the enormous hospitality they had shown her and Grumpy since they arrived in Naperville a year ago next week.
Passover the Musical will end it's four hour long run this afternoon.

The show was videoed and is currently in the hands of Steven Shpielberg. Watch blog for details of when it appears on You Tube.

A Brush With The Law

Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse. It did!
Driving back having completed my umpteenth errand of the day, I noticed the dreaded flashing lights coming up beside me.
"Can I see your licence and insurance ma'am?"
"Here you are. Er, what's the problem?"
Officer, looking at tatty UK international permit that expires in two weeks:
"This is a 25 mile an hour zone ma'am, sorry Hilary. You were doing 38."
"Oh, I'm so sorry." Wish I looked prettier and younger at this point. It's almost obscene fluttering your eyelashes at my age.
"What's this?" Fingering licence as if it were some kind of Roman artifact.
"It's a UK licence."
"It doesn't seem to have your address on it. Where do you live?"
"Just round the corner. I got it before we came here. It's from England."
"You live here?"
"Yes."
"Just a moment."
Officer returns to his car with licence. I sit anxiously wondering if capital punishment covers minor driving offences. Not because it's such a bad crime, but Grumpy will probably kill me when he finds out.
Officer returns.
"Ok, I need to ask you some more questions. Date of birth? Ok. Height?
"Five feet four and a half inches."
"Five feet."
"Eye colour?"
"Green." Now I'm getting confused. Is he going to put me on some dating website or something?
I'm pulled down to earth sharply at the next question.
"Weight?"
Whatt!!??
So that's my punishment. I have to tell him how much I weigh! Oddly enough I don't really have much of a clue. I stopped weighing myself six months ago, always a bad sign.
I gulped. I may constantly lie about my weight to regular people, but this was the law!
"Er, about 170 lbs?" I whispered. I thought he might think I was being flippant if I talked in stones.
He looked down at me benignly.
"Really?" he said. "Let's be kind. I'll write down 160. How's that?"
It was the fastest 10lbs I've ever lost.
He handed me a pink slip.
"Look, I'll let you off with a warning this time," he said. "You don't have to do anything with this. You can throw it away if you want."
"Oh, I'll keep to teach myself a lesson," I said, before limping home at 20 miles an hour, just to be safe.

It'll Be Alright On The Night........won't it?

Ten reasons why it must go alright tonight:

1. We've already had one cast member call in sick.

2. Grumpy, who is meant to be front of house manager, has raging flu. Naturally I am very sympathetic. I have been working like a Trojan on this show since January, and he can't even be well for one lousy evening. Don't worry, he'll be there, even if I have to drag him in in his bed!

3. I rushed out this morning to pick up flyers to advertise my next little venture at the show. They were no where to be seen, so now I have to go back to get them just before the performance.

4. I'm still not happy with one scene. It's meant to be funny, but it just isn't. Have now purchased two giant cans of spray cream. Nothing screams comedy like a custard pie! This will be funny if it kills me.

5. Have rewritten my thank you speech 14 times, once at 3.30 a.m. this morning.

6. Keeping fingers crossed the programs are finally ready. Not much use if they turn up in the middle of next week.

7. Still shaking after doing a little party piece advertising the show at last night's synagogue service. Didn't realise how long it's been since I've done any public speaking.

8. Have occurring nightmare that the cast won't turn up and I'll have to perform the entire thing myself.

9. Have even worse nightmare than I won't turn up and Grumpy will have to perform the entire thing himself.

10. So nervous, I can't think of anything to write for no. 10.

Passover the Snoozical

Last night was the final rehearsal, although the way it went, we'll still be practising the second act long after the show is over!

Kimberly learns the hard way why Valium is not a good treatment for stage fright.
Baby Moses has high hopes for a larger part next year.

If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. In a novel twist, Pharoah helps to build his own pyramids.

Assistant director Adam enthusiastically stands in for 12-year-old Miriam.

The Hebrews' ultimate pyramid scheme. Build them like this and he'll have to let us go!

Composer Gail Sonkin wonders if Andrew Lloyd Webber started like this?

"Waste of time busking here. Haven't had a punter all day."

"Me too"

By now everyone in the cast has got the hump

"How many more of these locusts do we have to make?"

"Stop bugging me!"

Picture Perfect

The photo I should use
on my articles...
Much as I appreciate fame, it does seem somewhat unfair that everybody wants my picture now I am looking worse than I have ever done! Hibernating for the winter has taken it's toll, and I didn't really need to eat all that extra food to keep warm at my stage of life.


I've already relayed the story of how my photo was taken for my column in The Naperville Sun. I sent the one in for Positively Naperville myself, but even that makes me look like I'm glaring angrily at my readers.


The photo taken for the program for the show is really bad. That was taken mid-rehearsal, and even though I posed for it, you can see the tension excuding from the ends of my hair. Plus I look like I haven't slept for a week, which is odd, because I'm actually sleeping much better now the temperature is -12 C every night, thanks.


So you can imagine my horror when the editor of Naperville magazine asked for a high resolution photo for next month's issue. High resolution? Gosh, that sounds like it would show every wrinkle, I thought. I desperately searched through my computer to find just one picture of me that didn't make me look like an overweight 50+ woman with dyed hair - tricky, since that's exactly who I am and we all know the camera never lies. (You'd think it might be open to bribes, though).


In the end there was nothing for it but to get Grumpy to take a new photo. This time I'd be ready. If he had to take 200 there would be one that I would be happy with. As luck would have it, Grumpy is off sick today with a nasty cold. (That's just because I know his office reads this. In reality it's a typical man cold with an extra large dose of grumpiness thrown in. You're lucky to have a day without him, guys).


Anyhow, I emptied every container of make-up I own all over my face, put my hair up and down five times, changed three times, then asked Grumpy to take my picture.


Astonshingly it came out just fine. But when you see the finished result in the magazine next month, remember the reason I had such a lovely smile on my face. Grumpy was only wearing his robe and it fell open just as he pressed the shutter....

Passover the Musical: The Recipe

Take:
12 people who last appeared on stage when they were at elementary school.
4 people who have never appeared on stage.
6 children who can scream across a schoolyard but can only whisper on a stage.
1 out of tune piano
1 middle aged woman who can barely direct people to the restroom, let alone through a script
1 thick white beard with a life of it's own
1 pharoah's hat
18 words of Yiddish
12,000 words of gibberish
A small leather whip from an adult shop
11 original songs
1 rubber chicken (squeaks)

Method:

Throw all ingredients into the sanctuary of Congregation Beth Shalom, Naperville, and lock the doors (if you can get them to work).
Stir with a large wooden spoon and a strict hand.
Close your eyes really tight and pray very hard. (It's really handy being in a place of worship for this part).
Leave to simmer for three months (although it will seem like six).

On Saturday, March 15th unlock the doors at 7 p.m. and voila!
If you're really lucky, an audience of 300 will start to filter in, the show will begin and be an instant hit!
(Or it'll be raided by the entertainment police led by Simon Cowell....)

Passover the Musical By Numbers

1 The number of times the cast has listened to me. What do I know? I'm only the director.

5 The number of times Moses's wig has fallen off.

6 The number of times I have said: "No jokes about sheep. This is a family show."

13 The number of times someone said: "We've tried it like that before and it didn't work."

15 The number of times someone has said "Why can't the rest of you be as loud as
Isaac?" (He's four years old. Just)

17 The number of hours we have spent discussing how to pronounce Purim.

29 The number of times I have had to ask for help locking or unlocking the front doors of the
synagogue. It's like Fort Knox, that place. Don't they want people to pray?

47 The number of posters I have had put up around the town to advertise the show.

132 The number of times at least someone has said: "Sorry, I can't make rehearsal on ..."
1 The number of times I said: "Sorry, I can't make rehearsal on.." (It was my birthday,
although to be honest I think I would have had more fun at rehearsal).


218 The number of cuts I have made to the script.

520 The number of changes we have made to the script.

534 The number of a house I once lived in.

630 The number of emails I have sent to various members of the cast and crew.

753 The number of times someone has said: "I've got a good idea. Why don't we..."

749 The number of times I have said: "That's a really good idea, but...."

981 The number of hours we have spent in rehearsal.

10 minutes
The amount of time I have spent regretting taking on this project.

Don't Put Your Son On The Stage, Mr Worthington!

Nothing will put the fear of God into you like the thought of having to perform a solo on stage if you aren't comfortable singing.
At yesterday evening's rehearsal (number 457 I believe), the best performer in the entire cast suddenly dried up. Not surprising, he is only four-years-old and it was way past his bedtime!
I wasn't especially concerned since I know he'll be great on the day, but our composer was very worried.
"Sorry, you can't let a child his age sing lines on his own," she said. " What'll happen if he dries up on the night? We need someone to sing the line with him."
The obvious choice was the little boy's daddy, who somewhat reluctantly took on a minor role purely to be on stage with him.
"I know," said Mrs Hammerstein. "You sing it with him. Let's try it again from the top."
Second time round little Moses sang out loud and clear. Alone.
"See, I don't think we'll have a problem," I said.
However, I then noticed Moses' daddy looking a little green around the gills.
"What did you do to your son?" I asked him. "You look terrified. There's no way you're going to allow him not to sing his lines is there?"
"Was it that obvious?" he replied.

Oddly enough I believe there still may be some tickets available for the show. Although I won't be performing (sighs of relief all round) I will be making a little speech at the end, assuming I haven't been deported by then.
Performances Saturday, March 15th at 8 p.m., Sunday, March 16th at 3 p.m.
To reserve tickets, ring Congregation Beth Shalom, 722 W.Fifth Avenue, Naperville on
1 630 961 1818.

"The Play's the Thing...."

They say if a dress rehearsal goes badly, it's a good omen for a great opening night...

Passover: The Musical should be great!

The cast think I'm joking when I say the first performance is only six days away. They thought 40 days and 40 nights referred to the amount of rehearsal time left.
"What?! We have to do this in front of an audience?!"

In an unusual twist on the plagues, Moses is engulfed in a low flying cloud.

Can I come out yet?

Moses' shepherding skills are not enough to save him being attacked by one of his flock.

"No idea who he is, Pharaoh. I found him wondering outside the old folks' home."

"Are you sure these are the auditions for American Idol?"

Time for a Change

I am writing this at 8.37 a.m. on Sunday morning. Or it could be 7.37 a.m., not quite sure. In America, the clocks went forward last night. Personally I found this quite surprising for two reasons.
1. In England the clocks go forward at the end of March.
2. I tend to feel the time change signifies the arrival of Spring. It is currently -2 degrees celsius and snowing. Again. Snow flurries are predicted all day. It feels like it has been winter here since 1922. It has, typically for us, been the snowiest winter on record. Easter is only a couple of weeks away, but it feels more like Christmas.

Wedding March of the Slaves

Today should be interesting. The dress rehearsal of the show is happening this afternoon, just missing a wedding at the synagogue where we are performing. In true Congregation Beth Shalom style, we met the newly to be weds on Friday night and they invited us to come along. I have visions of the bride walking down the aisle as the waves part and a chorus of Hebrew slaves sing behind her... Or our slave driver whipping her because she is not walking fast enough... Or the cantor turning up in full costume because she is taking part in the show later... Or the bride and groom somehow landing a part at the last minute...

Diary of a Mad Housewife

The Diary of Hilary Decent, age 51 and a week.

Sunday, March 2nd: Rehearsal for Passover: The Musical.
Now into it's 400th week of rehearsal, preparations are going well. So far we have changed the script 827 times, discussed changing the script 1,673 times and argued about changing the script 14,213 times. Can't wait for the performances on March 15th and 16th. The curtain will rise and the audience will be treated to two hours of "I think we should do it this way" set to music. No wonder it took the Children of Israel 40 years to cross the desert...

Monday, March 3rd: Piano Lesson
I thought this was going well until my teacher told me I had to start memorizing some pieces.
I must have played Ode to Joy 7,000 times in order to do this. I know all the notes, but cannot necessarily play them in the right order. Each time I play it I lose a little more of the joy. Worst of all, Kim says if I am ever to play well, I have to have my nails cut down!

Tuesday, March 4th: Quick, Quick, Slow
Had nails cut down. Raced back to try piano. Disappointed to find I still can't play the piano well.
In the evening went dancing in Divine's office. They weren't holding a social, it's just she and Spike are very keen to practise what we learn at our dance lessons. Going to an office seemed almost like having a job, although I can't imagine what kind of job would require you to foxtrot around a training room for two hours. The shorter nails didn't help my dancing either.

Wednesday, March 5th: Down in the MOWth
Spent an hour and a half in the dentist's chair having a deep clean and three fillings. Felt no pain due to the fact that they pumped so much anaesetic into my mouth half my face felt like a pillow!
I would have complained about this less if I'd have realised how much pain I would be in when it wore off. Looking forward to having the other half done next Monday. High on painkillers for tonight's dance lesson. They didn't help my dancing any more than my shorter nails.

Thursday, March 6th:
Woke up with gruesome blood clot wrapped around a front tooth. Wrote and answered 7,200 emails about the show, which fortunately was far less than the usual daily quota. None were from prospective audience members alas. Continued to take pain killers. One side of my mouth enjoyed lunch with Buffy. The other side moaned at her continually about my horrible week. Oddly enough she had to leave early.
Planned this evening to do another run through of the whole show at rehearsals. Only made it a quarter of way through. The only person who hasn't suggested how to do the opening number by now is the janitor. Hey, there's a thought..
Came home to welcoming chocolate martini. Worked well with painkillers. Woke up at 4 a.m. with a raging headache, hence the reason I am writing this at 6 in the morning.

Guest Columnist

I've been a bit remiss of late. I've been so busy with other things, I haven't been able to update the blog as often as I would like. It's amazing how things like learning the piano; directing and publicising a show; preparing a new scriptwriting course for children; freelancing and working on a new secret mega project can take up your time without even having a 'real' job!
So as a treat for you today, I have enlisted the help of fellow Englishman John Cleese via an e mail that has been circulating around here lately. It'll give you something to read, which I obviously couldn't have stated better myself. Enjoy..

A Message from John Cleese :To the citizens of the United States of America:
In light of your failure in recent years to nominatecompetent candidates for President of the USA and thus to govern yourselves, we hereby give notice of therevocation of your independence, effective immediately. Her Sovereign Majesty Queen Elizabeth II will resume monarchical duties over all states, commonwealths, and territories (except Kansas, which she does not fancy). Your new Prime Minister, Gordon Brown, will appoint a Governor for America without the need for further elections. Congress and the Senate will be disbanded. A questionnaire may be circulated next year to determine whether any of you noticed. To aid in the transition to a British Crown Dependency,the following rules are introduced with immediate effect:
1.You should look up "revocation" in the Oxford English Dictionary. Then look up aluminium, and check the pronunciation guide. You will be amazed at just how wrongly you have been pronouncing it.
2. The letter 'U' will be reinstated in words such as 'colour', 'favour' and 'neighbour.' Likewise, you willl earn to spell 'doughnut' without skipping half the letters, and the suffix '-ize' will be replaced by the suffix '-ise'. Generally, you will be expected to raise your vocabulary to acceptable levels. (look up'vocabulary'). And while you're at it, take a moment to discover the difference between "lose" and "loose"- you may lose your wallet, in which you had loose change.
3. Using the same twenty-seven words interspersed with filler noises such as "like" and "you know" is an unacceptable and inefficient form of communication.There is no such thing as US English. We will let Microsoft know on your behalf. The Microsoft spell-checker will be adjusted to take account of the reinstated letter 'u' and the elimination of -ize.
4. July 4th will no longer be celebrated as a holiday.
5. You will learn to resolve personal issues without using guns, lawyers, or therapists. The fact that you need so many lawyers and therapists shows that you're not adult enough to be independent. Guns should only be handled by adults. If you're not adult enough to sort things out without suing someone or speaking to a therapist then you're not grown up enough to handle a gun.
6. Therefore, you will no longer be allowed to own or carry anything more dangerous than a vegetable peeler. A permit will be required if you wish to carry a vegetable peeler in public.
7. All intersections will be replaced with roundabouts, and you will start driving on the left with immediate effect. At the same time, you will go metric with immediate effect and without the benefit of conversion tables. Both roundabouts and metrication will help you understand the British sense of humour.
8. The Former USA will adopt UK prices on petrol (which you have been calling gasoline) roughly $6/US gallon. Get used to it.
9. You will learn to make real chips. Those things you call French fries are not real chips, and those things you insist on calling potato chips are properly called crisps. Real chips are thick cut, fried in animal fat, and dressed not with catsup but with vinegar.
10. The cold tasteless stuff you insist on calling beer is not actually beer at all. Henceforth, only proper British Bitter will be referred to as beer, and European brews of known and accepted provenance will be referred to as Lager. South African beer is also acceptable as they are pound for pound the greatest sporting Nation on earth and it can only be due to the beer. They are also part of British Commonwealth - see what it did for them. American brands will be referred to as Near-Frozen Cat's Urine, so that all can be sold without risk of further confusion.
11. Hollywood will be required occasionally to cast English actors as good guys. Hollywood will also be required to cast English actors to play English characters. Watching Andie Macdowell attempt English dialogue in Four Weddings and a Funeral was an experience akin to having one's ears removed with a cheese grater.
12. You will cease playing American football. There is only one kind of proper football; you call it soccer. Those of you brave enough will, in time, be allowed to play rugby (which has some similarities to American football, but does not involve stopping for a rest every twenty seconds or wearing full kevlar body armour like a bunch of pansies). Don't try Rugby - the South Africans and Kiwis will thrash you, like they regularly thrash us.
13. Further, you will stop playing baseball. It is not reasonable to host an event called the World Series for a game which is not played outside of America. Since only 2.1% of you are aware that there is a world beyond your borders, your error is understandable. You will learn cricket, and we will let you face the South Africans first to take the sting out of their deliveries.
14. You must tell us who killed JFK. It's been driving us mad.
15. An internal revenue agent (i.e. tax collector) from Her Majesty's Government will be with you shortlyto ensure the acquisition of all monies due (backdatedto 1776).
16. Daily Tea Time begins promptly at 4 pm with proper cups, with saucers, and never mugs, with high quality biscuits (cookies) and cakes; plus strawberries (withcream) when in season. God save the Queen.