Hiya! Finally, finally, one month after our hasty departure from Flagstaff, John and I have leaped the last hurdle to establishing ourselves in England. We have now a car, car insurance, bank account and check book, a home, a permanent address, furniture, dishes and pots, and a phone number that actually rings through to us! The last was a bit frustrating as British Tell made a mistake when I ordered (my accent might have been the problem here) and it took almost a week and several days waiting around the flat before it was rectified. But yesterday, we finally got it all sorted and the phone is working. Actually, when I consider the multitude of chores that we needed to accomplish between the first consideration of an English sabbatical and this moment, I feel that to have had only one difficulty is amazing indeed. I finally feel like I am here and can settle down to our life. For the last 2 Tuesdays, I have been attending a class about the lives of Victorian women. A nine-week course, held at a local hotel, it has given me a chance to meet some of the residents of Grange. With only ten women enrolled, it gives us ample opportunity to discuss our readings and I have enjoyed getting to know them just a bit. Today's class will be about prostitution so it should be a lively time. Last Tuesday, after class, I felt a bit of a sniffle coming on. By Wednesday, I had convinced my self it was just an allergy and did a spot of cleaning. By Thursday, I decided that Wednesday's activities were a mistake. The rest of the week is a bit of a blur as I gave in whole-heartedly to a full-blown cold or flu or whatever it was. With tender care from John and a good thick novel about a working woman from the Lancashire mills, (who somehow snags not one but two incredibly wealthy and fantastically handsome-in opposite ways, of course- mill owners), I have made a recovery and am chomping at the bit to do more cleaning and attend my class today. It bothers me that the only way I seem to be able to take a rest or celebrate a long haul of intense labour is to become ill. It is a lifelong habit and I am used to it but I think a couple of days of holiday from my responsibilities would be so much more enjoyable if they weren't accompanied by aches and fever. Before I close, I feel that I need to make some comment about something new or observed in England. My mind draws a blank except the words "sticky toffee pudding" keep resurfacing so I might as well mention them. When eating at a pub, as one nears the end of a meal, the question of whether or not, one should indulge in a "sweet" occurs. Increasingly, if the answer to such a query is "yes", then the obvious sweet selected is the aforementioned sticky toffee pudding. What a delightful concoction of sponge cake, smothered by steaming hot butterscotch sauce with a tad of whipped cream off to the side. Heaven! I leave you with that thought and my best wishes and love. More later, Jane