Mole People

Yup, that's the breaking news here on Great Pulteney Street.

The Legion of Mole People has a chapter in Bath. And they may be based in our cave.

Why do I believe this? Well, I placed a full and intact bag of garbage in the cave this morning. When I returned at 11am and opened the cave door to grab the watering can, the bag was neatly opened at the top - not chewed from the corners or ripped from the sides as anyone with mice or seagulls has experienced - with several items (ice cream container, banana peel) removed and lying next to the bag.

Since we moved in we've joked about this cave. It seems to go on forever. We actually don't know how far it goes (definitely all the way to the street in one direction) because we're afraid to go more than a foot or two inside. We had already decided that as far as we knew (or could see) Jean Valjean could have not only set up house somewhere inside but also sublet space to Gollum.

A query to British Landlord fetched a predictably snarky response (Hairy Monster, homeless man named James, something about mice and tying strings to the legs of my jeans??) but after learning from American Mum at 21 GPS that a badger had squatted in their cave for a few days, I called Animal Control. They're coming in the morning. It may take a couple Pimms to sleep tonight, but such is the price of subterranean living.

In other news, it was a mostly lovely and completely fun "bank holiday" weekend - kicked off on Friday night with the "Party in the City," the all-free opening of the International Music Festival here in Bath. Josie and I took picnic food and a blanket to the lovely Parade Gardens park to watch The Royal High School Pop Collective (the school Jo will likely be attending in the fall), which consisted of a couple dozen gangly thirteen- and fourteen-year-old girls playing some surprisingly good jazz grooves, followed by Head Case, a rock band comprised of Head Teachers at various Bath schools. By the time Jeff joined us it was time for Guitar School (read: School of Rock) to take the stage, and, let me tell you, Jack Black would have been proud. Check it out:



Almost as entertaining were Josie's ongoing efforts to make friends, as evidenced by her insistence that nine-year-old boys include her in their footballing fun:



I can't take credit for the hilarious "soundtrack," which is actually the Royal High Pop Collective playing live behind these future Manchester United stars. Good stuff.

Saturday was a washout, but on Sunday we headed, at long last, to the Bristol Zoo. Bristol is actually pretty close, but the trip is rife with windy roads and "roundabouts," the combination of which rendered poor Josie completely carsick. She ralphed like a frat boy on his 21st birthday - all over Jeff's rental car - but insisted we soldier on, as she really wanted to "go...see... aminals." Wearing my sweatshirt and a kicky pair of leggings, she reveled at the penguins, lions, seals, and gorilla (see left). It was a great day, one that could only be topped by Monday's visit to Bowood, a stately family home turned "Adventure Playground," complete with trampolines, a pirate ship, giant slides, and fabulous grounds for picnicking.


One of the things I love best about this country is the inclusion of a children's play area in every museum/farm/castle/ruin. "Family-friendly" is a concept that's really practiced here - the French were pretty good with the family (bumps up to the front of museum lines, doctors who visit you at home, and we've discussed the cheap day care), but not so much with the friendly.

Speaking of friendly Josie continues to win over the locals, most recently at the Library's weekly story hour. Already famous in Parisian library circles for her outbursts and bogarting of other dad's laps, she tried valiantly to convince the storyteller that the day's tome was not about popular children's literary hero "Baby Brains," but about my friend E's son, baby James. Here, a play in one distressing act.

Setting: The Bath Library, Walcot St.

Storyteller: Today, we have a very funny story, called The Cleverest Baby in the World: Baby Brains.
Josie (from back row): Baby James.
Storyteller: Who was that? Sorry? Well, this is a story about Baby Brains.
Josie (brow knit): Baby James!
Storyteller: Oh, there you are, little girl! Do you have a friend named Baby James?
Josie (scowling now): Yes.
Storyteller: Well, isn't that lovely? But this is a story about Baby Brains. So, one day Mr. and Mrs. Brains brought their baby home from the hospital. Baby Brains was the cleverest baby in the world.
Josie: Ba. By. JAAAAMES!
(mother whisks child off to stacks to explain difference between stories and our friends)

Some time later, the children are handed xeroxes of the cleverest Bebe Brains to colour-in.

Storyteller: What a good job you've done colouring-in. Well done, that's a terrific Baby Brains.
Josie: It's Baby James.

(THE END)