foxy

I was up early the other morning (because it’s summer it gets light at about 5am yet because its London the weather feels little better than winter – o.k. end of whinge) when out of the corner of my eye I saw a creature on our balcony. It was a lovely little fox.

By the time I put down my breakfast and leapt for the camera it had run into the garden. Due to the low light the photos are terrible, but you can definitely make the fox out. We stared at each other for a little while before it skipped off (and I say ‘skipped’ because it had quite a spring in its step).



I am told that London has a large fox population and I wonder if all these foxes are historical foxes, i.e. the descendants of foxes who have always lived in the area and have adapted to the development that has gone on around them or if they are more like wilderness foxes who have moved to the city lured by easier pickings from the multitude of rubbish bins. But more importantly I wonder, would they make good pets?

cotswolds

On a very rainy bank holiday Monday in late May we boarded a coach at London Victoria bound for the Cotswolds.

I had tended to associate daytrip coach travel with the elderly, but our coach (advertised in the ex-pat favourite TNT magazine) was targeted squarely at the budget traveller. Our bus (of the reconditioned last-legs variety) was overshadowed at the rest stops by coaches of the shiny new plush reclining seats type. While I did not envy them this, I’m sure their guide was someone other than a 21-year old Canadian, seemingly just off the boat and with a vocabulary that did not extend far beyond the ability to describe places as ‘really, really beautiful’, ‘really, really historic’ or ‘really, really historical and beautiful’. She varied the tone when recounting a famous medieval battle (‘the streets were like flowing with blood and gore, it was like, really, really bloody’), although the description may have been slightly more evocative if she had waited until we had entered the town rather than describing it while we were stuck in a traffic jam outside a BP service station.

The Cotswolds are a collection of small towns and villages, known for being traditionally ‘English’. This means plenty of tea shops, antique stores and rolling countryside. While they were once thriving rural villages, I think they now primarily cater to tourists and moneyed Londoners who roll up on the weekends in their 4-wheel drives.

The weather meant plenty of excuses to duck inside tearooms for a warm drink and slice of cake (or in Brendan’s case a smuggled gluten-free macaroon). It was, like, a really, really beautiful day … and historical, you guys. Really.

watching the glutes

A change is as good as a holiday, so the saying goes. Brendan might take issue with this sentiment when the change proposed is a life devoid of regular bread, pasta and cakes and the immediate impact is the cancellation of two planned holidays (Madrid and Ireland).

So, instead of some lovely photos from European destinations, I have little more to present than a fascinating insight into coeliac disease.

Brendan’s sickness (mentioned in the previous post) did not clear up when we got home from Malta. After many weeks, doctors visits and tests, a diagnosis of coeliac disease was confirmed. Neither of us knew anything about this condition, other than perhaps a vague awareness of ‘gluten-free’ as a dietary requirement. Now we feel armed with enough knowledge to write our own guide, cookery book and regular advice column.

While Brendan’s Irish heritage enabled him to get an EU passport it could also be a clue to the condition – centuries of reliance on vegetables (ok, potatoes) and limited processed grains has led the Irish to having one of the highest rates per capita of gluten intolerance.

B has been adapting to his new diet for over a month now, relying on home cooking and a range of food substitutes and supermarket snacks. Eating out is more problematic, although not impossible. The biggest challenge to date will be his upcoming work trip to Tacoma in Washington State, USA. While he is looking forward to indulging daily in steaks the size of compact cars, finding a gluten-free donut may be slightly more problematic.