Long-time readers will know that I’ve always been a passionate football fan, so it’s no surprise that I was there to see Arsenal vs. Lille in the Champions League last month. More specifically, I was there as a guest of Expedia (many thanks!) and enjoyed the hospitality of the private box with its heated balcony seats, although apparently no amount of money can prevent Arsenal from rudely scoring their three winning goals during the second half when the goal was much further away from us.
I was both amused and confused to be handed a free programme, as I didn’t think it would be possible to dream up content for every single match. Surely football captains deserve some sympathy for having to come up with a unique “Captain’s Notes” segment every time? “Lille are a very strong team who have had some great results in the past few seasons”, says Martin Ødegaard in this edition, presumably with a diplomatic wink.
Still, I was grateful for the programme’s “Scouting Report” for providing some plausible football jargon for the family WhatsApp chat later, and somewhat entranced by its throwback photo of a vast, impossibly packed-in Highbury crowd watching Arsenal play Birmingham City in 1933. Just look at that sea of hats! And, of course, walking through Highbury Fields was also very nostalgic from my days of living next door to the Emirates stadium with Josh and Cat.
Having exhausted all of my football banter I’ll move on to baby news, although perhaps I officially need to rebrand this as ‘toddler news’ given the amount of (walker-aided) toddling he’s doing. Another milestone last month was his first dose of the MMRV vaccine, which is a souped-up replacement for good, old-fashioned MMR but with chickenpox thrown in for good measure.
Chickenpox vaccines have been common in many countries for decades, but the UK only abandoned its quixotic stance this year (long story) and as someone who’s lived my whole life in permanent uncertainty as to whether I ever actually had chickenpox (long story) I am very envious. To be serious for a moment, it is of course measles which remains the big threat globally, and I highly recommend Our World in Data‘s charts on the topic in case you’re feeling overly nostalgic about the past.
In the past few weeks we’ve also enjoyed an evening with Esther, Sam and Reema (always lovely!), a morning cuppa with Bronwen and a surprise Saturday outing to Lullingstone Country Park. I guess technically it was not a surprise for Randi, who had given Claude a short break from his hardcore coding tasks (thanks, Claude) to plan a nice family day trip. Either way, the two of them hit it out of the (country) park thanks to the winning formula of long walk + perfect park café.
The next day I mozied up to Kensal Rise for lunch with Alix, Adam, Emily, Michael and the kids. This was really great, including some timely conversations about how AI might legitimately kill us all but\and trying to balance this with the incredible potential for good, too. (And not just for finding nice country walks!)
A week later, Randi and I found ourselves accidentally jumping the queue for the Friday night Eurostar to Amsterdam (sorry!) which had suffered some sort of meltdown. As divine punishment for our misdeed, Fortuna then dealt us another curse card and we were forced onto the slow tracks by a broken train up ahead.
The mother of our Airbnb host in Haarlem was gamely staying up to let us in, but our midnight arrival was now drifting close to 2am as our WhatsApp messages grew ever more apologetic. To save everyone’s sleep, we eventually decided to make an emergency hotel booking in Rotterdam and jump off the train early.
And so, quite unexpectedly… hello, Rotterdam! We enjoyed a surprisingly lively (and only slightly drizzly) walk from the station before finally reaching a bed.
The next morning, we had become quite enamoured by the idea of exploring Rotterdam. In fact, we were genuinely sad to have to pick between Miniworld Rotterdam (a model railway museum!) and the Tax & Customs Museum. We plumped for the former on the basis that the history of Dutch taxation might not be the most child-friendly choice, but (and this is not a joke) we’re both really keen to return to Rotterdam someday and see some more.
In the basement of the model railway museum was a bonus “under construction” Great Britain section, with a little flying spaceship over Stonehenge and an impressive Angel of the North. Besides some smoky factory towns, however, it was a curiously rural representation. Please add more cityscapes! Afterwards, we had a long wander over the Erasmus bridge (it’s Erasmus everything here) before some cheesy Dutch toasties and a direct train to Haarlem to finally check in where we had originally planned to be.
We had very fond memories of Haarlem from our last visit and the city did not disappoint us this time either, despite it being too cold to go back to the beach.
Instead, we started our Sunday at a delightful kids’ café, which only added to the exceptionally child-friendly vibe in the Netherlands as a whole. Somehow their sturdy, wooden baby changing tables felt significantly safer than the standard plastic, despite a total absence of scary safety notices stuck over them.
With everyone fed and played-out, we took a long walk through more residential areas and became utterly obsessed with (what we later discovered were) theekoepels. Shockingly there’s no English Wikipedia article for these, but picture the grandest possible square shed you could imagine, with windows on all four sides offering a view onto an ornate dining table and chairs.
These are ‘tea pavilions’ and started to be built in the 17th century as a status object for the rich. I’m not totally sure how practical they really were – is it desirable to have to run through the rain from your house to drink your tea? – but I still want one. Unfortunately they did not catch on as a mass phenomenon, and the woman at the coworking space I rocked up to on Monday clearly thought I was utterly mad when I tried to describe one and ask what it was.
Other highlights from Haarlem included a micro-brewery in the converted church (a worthy trade) and Randi’s mysteriously free chocolates from Albert Heijn. (In other news, Randi loves Albert Heijn.) I also confirmed with our Airbnb host’s mother that people from Haarlem do not vaguely claim to be from Amsterdam when introducing themselves abroad, despite being only 20 minutes away by train. “No! I say I’m from Haarlem!” she confirmed, emphatically.
Nevertheless, by Monday night it was time for me to relocate to Amsterdam while Randi made her way back home to London. I was here for another Booking.com Travel Tech event – which I always enjoy attending – before flying back a couple of days later with my colleague Lee. Overall, despite the shaky start, this turned into another lovely trip to the Netherlands.
That week was also Halloween week, for which we received our first “cute arts and crafts things” sent home from nursery! Our own last-minute attempt to turn our child into a ghost is not going to win any awards, but he did enjoy playing peekaboo with the sheet, and my trusty skeleton mask was sufficiently frightening for at least a couple of our trick-or-treaters.
If I had more artistic talent I might have tried to dress up as a systematic polling error for the US midterm elections, but thankfully this did not come to pass and a rare wave of optimism and good feeling has washed over the Atlantic this week. And yesterday these happy thoughts merged with more personal ones, as we handed over several suitcases’ worth of newborn baby clothes in preparation for the next addition… 👶
With all the nonchalance of parents who don’t yet have to worry about school term dates, we’ve just wrapped up two weeks of a late summer holiday with Randi’s parents in Yorba Linda, California. Beth and Stu kindly prioritised the renovation of their swimming pool before we arrived, making the water extra sparkling and the slide ultra fast. (Alas, too fast to try it with a baby, but he still had a great time in his first outdoor swimming sessions! I’m hoping that Forest Hill Pools won’t be too much of a comedown after this.)
This was our third transatlantic outing as a family, and the flight was still surprisingly easy. For the record, I am writing this before making the journey back home again, so it remains to be seen whether baby’s much increased confidence with crawling will translate into more resistance at being restrained for so long. And we were very fortunate on the outward leg to get not one but two free babysitting sessions: once from the person sitting next to us, and later from an incredibly eager Norwegian woman who introduced herself and her partner with “we’re on our honeymoon… and then we’re going to start trying for a baby!”. It wasn’t entirely clear whether her husband was on exactly the same page, but suffice to say we were very grateful for the childcare and she did an excellent job.
Although Randi is the one with Californian blood, we also took this opportunity to see some of my extended family during our first week, starting with my cousins Jackie and Jeff. They came down from LA for lunch, together with their dog Savannah, and I believe Jackie was responsible for teaching our child to throw up his hands in the air with glee. This quickly metamorphosed into a “touchdown!” call-and-response, which may confuse the other kids in nursery.
The next day we drove down to Laguna Beach for lunch with David and Ginger. We sat on the patio at Las Brisas opposite a stunning ocean view, sampled the pineapple piscos and caught up on their most recent travels. Thanks to all for making the time!
The Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim are the closest baseball team to Beth and Stu, but in recent years they’ve been a disappointment, with a stingy billionaire owner who’s failed to invest in the franchise. Indeed, Arte Moreno is famous for having said that actually winning games “is not even in the top five” of what fans want, to which fans did not respond well. However, since Yankees-fan Melissa was staying with us for a few days, and the Angels were playing the Yankees, Randi’s parents had dutifully bought tickets so that our child could experience his first baseball game.
You can imagine Stu’s excitement, then, when on the very day we were set to go it was announced that Moreno had finally agreed to sell the team to a non-stingy billionaire with a very promising track record of caring about winning games! Everyone was therefore in very high spirits at the stadium that night, even though the Yankees predictably triumphed. (I should note that Melissa tried out a Yankees baseball cap on the little one, but he wasn’t keen.)
I confess that I did spend a reasonable proportion of the game desperately hunting around the stadium for the delicious-looking cookies which had started to materialise around us in giant buckets. But my favourite part was probably our view of Hooliganism Corner, where fans angry with Moreno’s ownership have been gathering to protest with chants of “SELL THE TEAM!”, which could now become “SOLD THE TEAM!” in celebration. (Since this is a famously litigious society, I should clarify that Hooliganism Corner is intended as an unofficially, affectionate, tongue-in-cheek designation. They were not hoologians. Although for some reason they were mostly topless.)
Although this was mostly a lazy “stay at home and let people come to us” kinda holiday, we did venture out to Big Bear Lake for a couple of nights. This was a classic holiday destination for Randi growing up, and was a beautiful spot for us all to enjoy a little bit of hiking, a lovely lakeside walk and some ginormous burritos from Gaby’s Latin Flavors. Since we’re all massive Jet Lag fans, we also took the opportunity watch the season premiere of Japanorama together – a particularly brutal opener for team Adam & Tom, as it happens, especially when [spoiler alert] Tom Scott suffered the series’s first Medical Production Pause Zone.
Back in Yorba Linda, I have to say enormous thanks to everyone who visited and brought baby gifts: so many gifts, in fact, that we’re now flying back with an extra suitcase. It’s always wonderful to see Elana and Steve Leiken, who came over for a few hours – especially since Elana is one of my favourite people to argue with. She alternates between brilliant and terrible opinions (“it’s too cold to swim today” and “In-N-Out is overrated” being two ridiculous examples of the latter) with a truly mischievous streak.
I think I won Elana around on In-N-Out a little bit, actually, but that’s only because it was so fresh in my mind from our mandatory visit earlier in the week. Technically this had been baby’s very first In-N-Out outing, but since there’s nothing on the menu for him, he spent it sitting in a high chair and boughily consuming quinoa and sweet potato, so I’m not sure if it really counts. Next time?
Anyway, other visitors included an evening with Debbie Thorpe and the Spalters, Hirschs and Bells (during which Randi and I slipped off to lie looking up at the night sky, feet dangling in the pool) and another big gathering with the Shelankys, Moffitts and Patels. That night it was particularly great to see Sonali and Steven again, but we always try and cast our net to lure as many people to London and our spare room as possible.
And finally – for the social calendar at least – we also popped over to the Shelansky’s Rosh Hashanah party on Friday night to wish everyone a happy new year. Chopped liver: check. Honey: check. A chance for some quick conspiratorial talk with Andrew Shelansky before it was time to go back home? You bet.
Aside from Randi’s immediate family, however, the most special time we spent together was with Great Uncle Ron and Great Aunt Stacy, who drove all the way over from Vegas to be with us. Neither of them had met their great nephew before, and – since we’ve been talking gifts – I’m not sure I’ve ever seen our son’s eyes light up so wide as when Stacy unveiled his tricycle. As parents we weren’t sure that he’d be big enough to stay on, but he proved us wrong immediately!
We’re both incredibly grateful to Stacy and Ron for making the journey, especially since it coincided with Ron’s 70th birthday. (In fairness, he was compensated with a truly delicious vanilla & chocolate buttercream cake from Randi.) On one of the days we also drove to the cemetery for Uncle Jeff’s unveiling. Although he never got a chance to meet his great nephew, it’s easy to imagine how much fun they would have had together, and how many (only slightly embellished) stories he would have told. I’m glad that there are many other people around with memories of him to pass down as he grows up.
I have lots of other little snippets and memories from this trip, and since I’ve paid for unlimited WiFi on this flight (yes, hello from the plane) I’m afraid I’m still not done blogging. Let’s start with a quick audit of the Yorba Linda small business scene. On the one hand, YLS Bakery & Cafe remains an excellent dispensary for breakfast burritos. I had two. (Not on the same day.)
On the other hand, I have a bone to pick with the local wine & beer store, which is a short walk away from Randi’s parents and surprisingly judgy about customers buying any wine or beer. “You’re really going to town, aren’t you?” joked the owner in a joking-not-joking kinda way, as Randi, Melissa and I checked out with a grand total of three packs of beer and one half-bottle of wine. You’re the one running a wine and beer shop! Earlier, Randi had asked an assistant for a wheat beer “similar to Blue Moon” and he had recommended a can of Foster’s… so we were already baffled by this place.
It’s been a very long time since I’ve been inside a Costco, although throwback to Jamie for taking me back in 2011 just so I could marvel at the size of the Mayonnaise jars. This time we did a proper shop, including some of their famous pizza and ice cream at the little outdoor café for lunch, and I’m definitely a fan. My only regret is that I couldn’t engage with the gruff-but-friendly man seated opposite in the Navy Seals cap who caught my ear when he made a passing remark to his companion that, of course, “everything that’s happening” was foretold in the book of Revelation. (He actually did come over and say hello, but understandably was more interested in the cute baby than his eavesdropping father.)
Some other random bits and pieces:
- Last time Randi and I went fishing for toy fish in her pool, she beat me catastrophically. So we had a rematch! And she still beat me catastrophically, but compared to 2017 I’ve made substantial progress (at least 4 or 5 this time) so ask me again in 2035.
- Is there anything lovelier than a child’s joy at discovering the concept of bounciness via a large bouncy ball? I could see it all written in his face: “OK… the ball is going down… all very regular… and yet, what’s this? It came up again?” [cue pure delight]
- Uncle Alex really deserves a special mention here: not just for doing so much playtime, but also helping his nephew with both the piano and the guitar. (Even if his instinct with the guitar was mostly to bang it like a drum…)
- For Alex’s dog Angua, our visit was a mixed blessing. Careful positioning under the high chair did yield a lot more dropped food than usual, but at the cost of some fur when baby’s petting of the dog got a bit too enthusiastic. Again, many apologies.
- We had some tentative first steps while holding the walker!
- We also had lots of matzo brei (thank you, Bubbe) and Randi’s dry run for a very special first birthday cake. Yes, really, his first birthday is now coming up fast… can you believe it?
I’m probably missing a lot, but even if the WiFi is unlimited, my ability to write coherent sentences is not. So all that remains before I hit publish (seriously, I don’t think I’ve ever paid for this on a plane before so it’s a bit of a thrill) is to say a massive thanks to Beth and Stu for hosting us and making it such a wonderful time. Sure, going outside was sometimes hotter-than-the-sun, but inside was always joyful and felt like a proper family holiday. See you soon!
My last post concluded with the surprise weekend trip I organised to the Isle of Wight for Randi’s birthday, but the honest truth is that this was always a bit of a knock-off of Randi’s idea, who had already booked a surprise weekend trip to [mystery location] for my birthday. So it was that last Friday evening – after a flying pre-birthday visit from mum the night before – we arrived at Paddington for our train out of London. (Leaving from Paddington at least confirmed to me that we hadn’t both gone and booked the same destination, as hilarious as that would have been.)
For a little while it looked like trains-leaving-Paddington wasn’t actually a thing anymore (kudos to the woman sharing updates from Real Time Trains with the rest of us) but after the issues cleared we boarded our (surprisingly quiet!) carriage, cracked open the M&S cocktails, and relaxed into a weekend adventure to Moreton-in-Marsh in the Cotswolds!
I don’t think I’ve been to the Cotswolds before (not in blogging memory, at least) but I had an image of cutesey, chocolate box cottages, well-heeled high streets and satisfying country walks through pretty villages. And… yes, these preconceptions were basically all accurate, end of blog. We did think Moreton-in-Marsh suffered a little bit by allowing a car park to form in the middle of its high road, but it’s nevertheless very charming, and wherever they’re sourcing the cheddar for their cheese and ham croissants ought to be given listed status.
On Saturday we went on a big circular walk via the village of Longborough – stopping at their lovely community cafe for lunch – getting very lucky with some temperate weather rather than scorching sun. Dinner had already been booked at The Black Bear Inn. I was really looking forward to this for two reasons: (a) the food looked great, and (b) Randi and I had cracked up laughing the night before reading the owner’s responses to the odd negative review on Google Maps. (If it helps, the slogan on their blackboard was “All of our customers make us happy. Some by staying, others by leaving.”)
Dave did not seem like a man we wanted to cross, and fortunately we didn’t have to. But we did befriend the woman sitting on the table next to us, who seemed very cool, and was treating her six year old to a birthday expedition themed around some of his favourite things: crocodiles, alligators and snakes.
Bonus Feature: Old Man Shakes Fist at Nation
For obscure reasons, the next day I found myself on the Longborough Parish Council website. Their last meeting was in May, and if you skip past the elections for chair and vice-chair (approved unanimously), the approval of prior minutes (approved unanimously) and the annual accounts (approved unanimously) you’ll see tucked away under ‘Planning/Licensing’ that Workshop Luckley Farm’s planning application to convert its furniture workshop into a wedding venue has been dismissed on appeal.
Officially, this is something to do with bats in the roof. But nobody is planning to touch the bats in the roof. Indeed, the bats seem to have coped perfectly fine with a full-time furniture restoration business, so it’s a little surprising to learn that shutting that down and switching to two hour-long wedding ceremonies per week would be so much worse. Out of interest, what is the harm? Oh, the appeal doesn’t say. It doesn’t even gesture at a plausible explanation. It just states that “it cannot be concluded what [sic] the proposal would not have a significant effect on bats” and the “precautionary principle” should therefore apply.
Reader, this is not about bats. It’s about parking. You see, if you read on, you’ll learn there’s “high potential” that visitors would “use inappropriate locations” to park, “which could hinder the free flow of traffic”. And I like to imagine the low, serious tones of a high court judge when I reach the conclusion that “although the appellant considers most guests would share lifts […] this cannot be guaranteed”.
Let’s step back for a moment. What is planning actually for? On this, Longborough Parish Council is admirably open: it is there to “support the view of its parishioners”. And I have no reason to doubt what they say their parishioners want: “most people in the village like Longborough as it is”. Planning, therefore, is about saying no. We’re not planning to get married in the Luckley Farm Barn, so who cares about anyone else? Who cares about the owner of the business? Who cares about the employment of young hospitality staff? Who cares about taxi drivers? Who cares about flatlining economic growth? Who cares about how we might fund the increasing demands of healthcare, social care, defence, pensions or anything else you care to name? I’ve got a house in the Cotswolds. I’m alright, Jack.
The absurdity is that the area is still permanently represented by the Conservative Party, which always claims to be the party of free enterprise and a lighter state. A patriotic party, supporting small business and risk-taking. Conservatives are not “supposed to” believe that entrepreneurship is subject to a collective village vote. They are “supposed” to allow businesses to succeed or fail on their own merits. Of course, it’s patently obvious that this is not at all what their supports actually believe in practice. Which is a shame, because on this, they are right! I’m not arguing for a libertarian free-for-all: this isn’t a planning application for a brothel, a coal mine or a skyscraper. It’s a wedding barn, for goodness sake.
I suppose nobody will now get married under the sleeping bats of the Luckley Farm barn. If they had, it is of course totally plausible that some of their guests might have parked in the wrong place. Perhaps – just perhaps – there could have been a sign? Or a rope. Or a shuttle bus. Or a trust Parish Council volunteer issuing fines for infractions to the farm, which I suspect would have cleared up the problem pretty sharpish. All human activity brings problems, but if you see your job as trying to enable the best possible outcomes, a Parish Council operating on good faith could surely channel their time and energies into fixing real problems. Instead, we hand a small group of homeowners a veto to block anything they don’t like on spurious, pseudo-environmental grounds, and then we wonder why we can’t build a railway to Birmingham anymore. Saying “no” is not “planning”, and we need a total reset of how this works.
Setting my feelings about Longborough Parish Council aside, this was a truly wonderful birthday weekend and we returned to London on Sunday in high spirits! The week ahead was forecast to be grossly hot, as indeed it was, but fortunately I was already booked in for three days of work-related training in a gloriously air-conditioned room. (Don’t worry, the baby room at nursery is also generously cooled.) The training was a great opportunity to see colleagues in a non-Zoom setting – particularly Kira and Paulo! – and in particular I very much enjoyed drinks with Ben, Tom and Tomas on Thursday night.
For the weekend, Randi had the inspired idea of an emergency paddling pool purchase, so yesterday we spent a fair chunk of time outside in the garden. Baby-wise, we’ve now gotten some rolling, combined with a newfound ability to nap in his cot during the daytime \ a newfound ability to stick his limbs out of the cot when he doesn’t want to nap in his cot during the daytime. Oh, and lots of strawberry eating!
Over the late May bank holiday we travelled down to Exmouth for my mum’s birthday, and although we didn’t quite make it onto the beach itself, we were all very much in the market for some sunny, seaside vibes. It also turns out that my mum has been quietly hoarding many of my childhood toys, and so in true Toy Story-style, this was a great opportunity for “aeroplane” and “walker” to find another playmate in the next generation.
For the adults, we kept busy with a Sherlock Holmes themed jigsaw (admittedly only managing to finish the edges) and my mum’s nostalgic recreation of a classic “nana and grandad” Suffolk teatime. There were a few necessary anachronisms – I definitely don’t recall any red wine back in the day! – but the combination of ham, potatoes, Marmite and Rich Tea biscuits was very exciting.
Back in London, I had an excellent evening at a Leytonstone pub with Clark, including a brief guest appearance from Matt Hull. A week or so later, Randi and I were back in Leyton for a proper catch-up with Matt, Rachael and their little one, before heading over for Tash’s barbecue birthday party in their gorgeous garden. As ever, it was great to catch-up with a lot of familiar faces (hello Grace, Charlotte, Sarah, Katty, Beth, Moya and others!) but the highlight was probably the impromptu dramatic performance from the kids who live next door. There’s genuine top-notch acting talent there.
In the last few weeks we’ve also had an evening with Esther – together with the thrilling season premiere of “being able to sit out in the garden even after the sun has gone down” – and I went out with a mixture of current and former eviivo-ites including Jo, who left a few years back to retrain with the ambulance service. Having grown up on a diet of Casualty, it was interesting to hear that trauma cases are actually a relatively small proportion of callouts, although I see why “people who have been funelled to 999 by a risk-averse flow chart” would have made a less exciting show.
Talking of eviivo: it was also very lovely to see my former colleague Annie again on a visit from the States, while yesterday Randi and I made it into central London for the 2026 “beach vibes” Summer Party. We’re still at the age where our child can be passed around and held without squirming to run around independently, but clearly it’s only a matter of time! With my team having cruised to a resounding victory in the eviivo-themed quiz (excellent job, Lee), Randi and I said our goodbyes and induced some much-needed napping time by walking across London for a bit to Whitechapel. Since we don’t get much of a chance for impromptu after-work walks these days, this was genuinely wonderful, and a good reminder of what we both love most about this city.
Finally, I’ll leave you with last weekend’s surprise weekend trip to the Isle of Wight. This was a belated birthday present for Randi, but it had to fit into a reasonable radius from London, and in the end I gambled on the idea that Randi would be unusually excited by the novelty of a short ferry ride thrown into the journey. (I wasn’t wrong. In fact, we were both shocked at how seamless and well-integrated the train and ferry are together, both in terms of the physical terminals and the ability to buy a magical through ticket with a Railcard discount. It all made much more sense after reading about how it all used to be one consolidated British Rail operation in the first place.)
After reaching Ryde we journeyed down the island to our Airbnb in Bonchurch, near Ventnor, with commanding views of the sea from the top of the cliffs. My only previous visit to the Isle of Wight was on a school activity camp in Year 6, so I had no memory of how lush and verdant everything is. On Friday night I sampled the “life-changing lasagne” at the Bonchurch Inn (it’s pretty great, can confirm) while on Saturday we took advantage of a windier, drizzlier day for some rest and relaxation indoors. It may not have the most glamorous reputation, but I’d definitely come back.
We’re back! Prior to last weekend I’d only been to New York twice in my life, and both times in February. So when Randi and I were first invited to Mike and Melissa’s wedding, I was doubly excited: both to celebrate these wonderful human beings, but also to experience the city without a coat. Later, after Randi’s family had generously agreed to fly from California in order to provide childcare, Randi also had the inspired idea of contriving a bonus family road trip to New Jersey so that I could boost my state count to 32 states. So I was really looking forward to this trip for all sorts of reasons, and it didn’t disappoint.
We flew into Newark (which is technically in New Jersey anyway, but airports alone don’t count) and drove to Somerset, because this is where Beth and Stewart lived for a couple of years with baby Alex and we thought it’d be nice to go see their old house. We checked into a Residence Inn, which required both a physical credit card (“no contactless”) and – astonishingly – hard cash (!) to be exchanged into quarters (!!) if you wanted to do laundry. (And at the risk of providing too much information, while our flight with a seven month old was only marginally harder than it had been with a three month old, by that point we already had a lot of laundry to do.)
Fortunately, Beth was able to bail us out on all counts. But I would gently plead with the American hotel industry to consider a new approach. Otherwise, Randi found staying at a Residence Inn to be incredibly warm and nostalgic for bringing back childhood holiday memories. We were also proud of ourselves for jamming a toilet roll under the window in order to get some air without requiring the fan. So, overall I’m sure the staff thought we were totally mad.
Obviously it was important to find some distinctly New Jersey experiences, so on Thursday night we headed to the Somerset Diner where Beth and Stu had eaten many times when they lived here. Nothing quite beats a real American diner, from its characteristic features (the huge menu, the giant portions) to the finer details (like the placemat entirely covered in adverts for local small businesses) which just aren’t replicated elsewhere.
If I’m ever in Somerset again, I’d go back. This seems unlikely, though, as it’s not exactly a tourist magnet. Somerset itself is an “unincorporated community” located within “Franklin township”, and despite passing multiple road signs where the township boasted of being “the 5th best place to live in the USA” (at least according to Money Magazine 2008) this wasn’t quite enough to shake my preconception of New Jersey as a poorer, more industrial adjunct to its famous neighbour.
I’m very glad, therefore, that Randi did some emergency research and directed us to Washington Valley Park for a Friday morning walk through the woods. This was absolutely delightful, and a refreshing vision of life in the garden state. (Fortunately, we did not see any venomous Northern Copperheads, and therefore succeeded in giving snakes the “distance and respect” which the information board requested.)
We then enjoyed a scenic drive through Princeton, home of both the eponymous university but also the governor’s residence (“Drumthwacket“). This is a little odd because the state’s capital is two towns over in Trenton, although it’s not hard to guess why “the People’s House” is hidden away here instead. Our next stop was Lawrenceville – an excellent name – home to both an excellent sandwich shop and Rider University where Stewart studied as an undergraduate.
Our visit coincided with graduation weekend, which happens elsewhere, so the campus was quiet for our walk around the grounds. I appreciated the strict rules for getting a poster up on the noticeboard (“must be approved and stamped by the Office of Campus Life”) and rebelliously parked our buggy in the parking spot “reserved for President Loyack”, purely because there’s something about named parking spaces which makes me want to fight the system.
Also, they have a pub! At least it’s labelled as such, which was very promising, so maybe our child will want to chase his dreams here in a couple of decades’ time. If he does, all I advise is that he stays away from the creepy fraternities on the campus fringe, whose dorm buildings announce their separation from the others with pompous Greek lettering on the side, and oh goodness this is just a bit hard seriously for a glorified teenage drinking club.
Finally, we arrived in Trenton, where the rental car could be handed back and – in exchange – we were all ferried to the Trenton Transit Center to catch our train to New York’s Penn Station. While Randi and I were very grateful to be taxied around by her parents in New Jersey, we did feel a palpable sense of relief to be back on rails, especially as driving with a baby seems fundamentally flawed since you can’t pick them up if they start fussing or crying. Happily, the NJ Transit route seemed both frequent and well-used.
The view from the train thereby completed my New Jersey experience, at least for now, as we passed through stations such as Elizabeth, New Brunswick and – my favourite – Rahway. As in, there’s genuinely a railway station called Rahway Station, as though it’s just very posh.
And now… New York! On this trip we stayed entirely within Brooklyn, which feels somewhat more ‘Londony’ than Manhattan with its relative greenery and lower-rise buildings. But only somewhat. Overall, NYC’s urban infrastructure is genuinely unique within the United States. (Shout-out to the much improved subway cars on the A train we rode to the hotel!) But at the same time it’s very obvious that you’re still in an American city, just from a hundred little things, just as London may be a fellow ‘world city’ but is unambiguously still the British capital. People sometimes imply that these giant cities stand completely apart from their countries, but it’s just not true.
Good New York thing: the new subway map (rolled out last year) is so delightful and such an improvement. I’m so proud they finally did it!
Bad New York thing: their drivers feel significantly less tamed. Perhaps it was just because we were staying on the busy Flatbush Avenue, but cars overall feel significantly less tamed.
Anyway, on Friday night, Randi and I (plus baby) walked to Mike and Melissa’s welcome drinks at a nearby brewery, which also featured an incredibly delicious build-your-own-taco buffet. I definitely didn’t need any more food on the way back, but since we were walking by it seemed stupid not to pick up a classic New York pizza slice too, which I also appreciated.
I did not appreciate the suggestion from a random person on the street that if I fell out with Randi at some point in the future I should resort to murder. I’m not saying there aren’t violently minded Londoners, but perhaps they’re just less socialised to offer unsolicited advice, and I’d like to keep it that way. On the other hand, the woman at the hotel the next morning who struck up a conversation with me while I was looking for proper tea bags (not easy) was lovely, if a little pushy. (“I have a niece and nephew in college nearby.” “Are they enjoying it?” “They better be enjoying it! If they want to make a career out of it!”)
On Saturday we did some emergency wedding shopping and then headed over to Prospect Park to hang out with Phoenix and Marcos, last seen on this blog last summer during their holiday to London. Prospect Park is wonderful, and – like all of the parks we saw – was chock-a-block with families enjoying the sunshine. We had a great time catching up, and then Marcos engaged his superpower of “locate nearest food spot which everyone will enjoy” and we brunched at a tasty Italian place.
That night was the wedding itself, which took place in the garden of another Italian restaurant with even more exceptional food. Randi and I were both slightly giddy since it was our first childless night in seven months, and we found it very sweet that – since Mike and Melissa are both lawyers – they were married by a judge which Melissa used to clerk for.
Talking of lawyers: I tried to deter the lawyers sitting on our table from doubling down on their written constitution idea, but unfortunately I think that ship has sailed. Enjoyable conversations though, with an unexpected focus on post-Soviet states. But the person I was most interested in hearing from was Mike and Randi’s mutual uni friend Matt, who is an honest-to-goodness college counsellor: a role which I’ve seen in films but always struggle to imagine as a full-time job. He was lovely, though, with all the earnest idealism of a native San Franciscan who spends his time encouraging teenagers to envision a bright future ahead.
Sunday was Randi’s birthday, which we kicked off with a family walk across the magnificent Brooklyn Bridge. Afterwards, Randi and I scuttled back over to the Brooklyn side for lunch with Rachel and Ana at Miss Ada: a Mediterranean restaurant with lots of sharing plates which was a big hit with both adults and baby alike. The walk there and back took us through another busy park – Fort Greene Park – which was similarly packed out with families.
It will surprise nobody to learn that our next stop was the New York Transit Museum, which has an advantage over the London Transport Museum in that it’s housed in a real abandoned station. Not only does this give the exhibitions plenty of atmosphere, but it also allows them to dedicate the platforms to a whole slew of subway cars from different eras which kids (and non-kids) can happily run through.
There’s also an excellent shop, although I was disappointed not to find any Forest Hills-specific memorabilia which I would have been compelled to buy. I will note, for the record, that the section of the museum about payment systems has some brazen factual inaccuracies about both London and Hong Kong, and implies that New York was some kind of pioneer in contactless. This is… not correct.
After the museum we all went our separate ways, leaving the three of us to enjoy an afternoon wander along Brooklyn Bridge Park. This is a long, linear stretch of greenery by the East River, punctuated by piers, and has a surprising smell of the sea. We ate some ice creams in the sun before setting off to the airport for our overnight flight back home, although not before stopping for one final burst of New York pizza. (I’m not entirely sure why the UK didn’t welcome a generation of late nineteenth century Italian immigrants to sell pizza by the slice, but it was a serious policy error.)
We might all be a little exhausted – and varying degrees of sick – after this mad, nonstop weekend. But it was extremely nice to have a bit of the old travelling feeling back again… and, of course, to scratch off another US state from the scratch map. Still 18 more to go…
Linda Moffitt on Colombia: “Such a sweet memory of the four of you meeting up in Colombia!” Dec 2, 07:42
