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The weirdest thing... i can not see friends for years and years and when I do one of the first things they ask me is often "do your parents still live in Hinton Parva?" The strange name of this sleepy hamlet in the Wiltshire countryside, for some reason, remains with people long after they have forgotten even my name.

For me there were two wonderful things about Hinton Parva growing up. One was the orchard and stream (creek) that ran through the massive garden we had out back. The other was the Eames family. Becky Eames was the light of my life every weekend and later,  after we were both sent to boarding school, every school holiday. Becky was great for a number of reasons. Of course, she was fun to hang out with and all that but she also had the Barbie house, that try (whine) as I may I never got my parents to buy me. She also had a Ken AND the car (or may be the horse and carriage  - I forget) Anyway, it was totally awesome.

We met when we were 6. I was twice the size and twice as bossy as I am even today. She had an older brother called Chris, who was also good for filling the roles in the plays we put on and making even our most outrageous plans a reality. Without Chris we never would have made it to Glastonbury age 16 for instance, for which I will always be grateful.

Then her parents separated. They moved away from the village and my contact with her waned while I focussed on myself for about 10 years. My news of her grew more and more scarce until I was reliant on news of her via her mother's Christmas cards to my mother. She had got married and had two children while I was away at university,

Coming to SF, reduced the focus I had on my social life before but it also forced me to take stock and review the friends I had. I had thought about Becky often for over 12 years and always on her birthday on 2nd April every year. I had not been in touch thinking may be too much time had elapsed. One night I resolved to find her. I trudged through facebook profiles and endless web pages, not knowing her married name. Then suddenly I found her: a picture of her with her two beautiful boys and I sent her a message, not knowing what I would get in return, if anything.

Weeks past and then suddenly there was a lovely message from my good friend Becky. We agreed to meet for tea. On my latest trip back to the UK my mum and I went to see her and her family. There she was, beautiful, confident, responsible, and calm, with her two children, one who was the age we were when we met. it was so wonderful to see her. Really a highlight to my trip and one I hope to repeat. Wondering who I should look up next,,,, 

So, my last post was about the pace of life in Iowa. Of course there are ways to take it up a notch. Jake's father Gregg, for example,  takes the shells of seemingly ordinary cars and fits them with engines that are usually reserved  for rocket launches. Then he takes them out of hearing range of the dopey local cops, revs them until your vision blurs and your eardrums implode and then sets it into gear leaving half the tires on the road behind him. "That's what I do for fun" he says with a mischievous grin on his face as I nurse my whiplashed neck.

When they are not on the road they on on the water. The Mississippi is the water equivalent of the Bonneville Salt Flats in Utah. If you are going to drive your boat fast this would be a great place to do it! The Hawleys kindly took me on a more sedate trip on their fishing boat.

Muscatine, Iowa. Long has this little town on the banks of the Mississippi been fabled in my relationship with Jake. This is where he grew up and where his family have existed seemingly forever. (That's about 4 generations in US terms)

This is a sleepy place where there is apparently no strife or suffering, no need for exertion or strenuous effort. No matter what is going on in the world outside ( and it's easy to forget in Iowa that there is such a thing as any where else in the world) Muscatine trundles on, unperturbed

Jake and I returned today from our first trip to Iowa together. My encounters with his parents had been limited until this point to awkwardly waving at each other over a Skype video screen. This was also my first trip into the Mid West.

Some of Jake's friends were curious as to my perceptions of the place. I think they were looking for some approbation that they made the right decision in staying to raise their families there. But it was difficult to give them an insightful response. I just couldn't find any decent and mutual benchmarks. It really is so very different.

In September the heat is wearing off, but the stupefying

humidity remains making both movement  and thought an effort, your thoughts begin to slow and you enter into a strange hypnotic trance that is only enhanced by the roar of the fire in the pit on the deck out back and the incessant screeching of the cicadas. Life happens at a different pace, cars drive slowly and smoothly along straight and well maintained roads. People converse slowly, with long pauses in between remarks and long gaping silences that apparently only I found uncomfortable.

Jake's were some of the kindest, and most unassuming I have met. Their lack of attitude and pretense  is a refreshing relief from city life. The only drawback of Mid Western living seems to be the absence of adrenaline. Life seems almost too easy here.

As Jake found out on his 30th birthday (I treated him to a trip around the local museum - yes, it was free) Muscatine has a pretty cool history. It is most famous for the production of pearl buttons made from the river clams that lined the beds of the Mississippi. Some German dude called Boepple set up shop here in 1830 something which soon blossomed into a hugely successful industry, producing 1 in every 4 pearl buttons in the world at some points . This earned the town the name "the Pearl of the Mississippi". Even though plastic buttons put them out of business in the 1950's Jake still used to find clam shells with 4 perfectly drilled holes washed up on the banks as a child.

In all Muscatine was a good introduction to Mid Western life - I feel like I have returned from a parallel universe - I am worried adjusting to San Francisco pace again tomorrow might be a little challenging - but it certainly removed me totally from my daily neuroses here and showed me a totally different America, one I had only read about and not really believed until this point. Now, I get it.

Today we, TypePad,  did an integration with a cool company called FormSpring. They let you make cute forms to capture info from visitors to your blog. We launched this morning and then 5 minutes later this arrives!

Now that's how to do business!

Have just wasted last 10 mins of very busy day "mad"ing myself - have a go
Then of course I send to Jake to waste some of his time. You can see how different our views of me are exactly below
Even better though is his creation of himself which looks just like him - including donut and short sleeve shirt! Too funny

The first Saturday of every month something wonderful happens at Cafe Van Cleef in Oakland. The Blue Bone Express meets with the Hot Pink Feathers burlesque dancers and magic takes place. Big brass band sounds combined with outrageous costumes, fabulous bodies, bright smiles and energetic performances might be my two favourite things.

Cafe Van Cleef is already a site to be seen on any regular day and the grayhounds they serve are second to none, arriving with a quarter of grapefruit plonked on top of a big tumbler full of vodka. Two of those and any inhibition you might have had to stop you taking the dance floor moments after 4 of the most beautiful professional dancers have just left, has gone.

This Saturday the Hawaiian ladies and 2 flamingly gay friends, Joe and Travis and I went to experience the monthly spectacle - God knows I had sold it enough to them. It didn't disappoint.

Favourite moment happened when Travis shouted "I think I'm straight" at maximum decibels delighting the burlesque beauties who seemed to perform entirely for him from that point on.

Every time a friend meets with success my heart swells with pride and then sinks a little lower when I compare my ownvery menial achievements. But no one deserves this success more than my friend Rosie. She single mindedly set out with a goal of opening a deli whilst the rest of us (well me)  floundered into our unchosen paths.

Rosie's cafe is in Brixton market in London and I can just imagine what sort of neighborhood character she is. She loud and bold and fun and full of life and imagine her deli ooozes good vibes. Rosie has just published a fabulous cook book called Spooning with Rosie. MY copy made it to San Francisco today and it has totally made my day. Full to the brim with lovely stuff that sounds familiar with a twist and fun to make, combined with fun tales that naturally become associated with good meals and moments of creation.

Rosie has a blog on blogspot (booo!)  which is also full of good ideas and inspiration. For a taste of honest London fair  buy this book - and  watch out for the forth coming TV series - this lady is gonna be a star!

Pimms - an oldie but a goodie!

This weekend it was our local street fair - Haight street, a place that made its name for peace and love and LSD and  where today a fit and healthy homeless contingent  now sleep on the sidewalks and occasionally defecate on our doorsteps. I love this place and it was high time it and we had a party.

To celebrate in truely English style we threw a PImms party and I even got a bona fide Brit to come along - as if to justify the event. Forget Wimbledon, this was the real deal - blue skies and merry making on the balconies of our fabulous abode.