choco_frosh: Bede, from a MS in Benediktbeuern or someplace (baeda)
Subrealm: Presents
Having received two presents with no sender listed in as many days, I half-wondered whether someone was doing the world's most extravagant secret Santa routine. It turns out, though, that the painting of the North End was ordered by my brother, and the giant box of grapefruit and juicing oranges by my Dad.
Today's addition was the box of chocolates, but in this case, my Aunt actually managed to get her name on the label. So double yay! I mean, in retrospect I didn't need to ask [M] to pick me up some chocolate at the grocery store this morning...especially since she came back with a bar the size of a decent-size book...but oh well, CHOCOLATE.

Subrealm: Phone
After sleeping on it, I decided to adhere to my philosophy of "repair and reuse whenever possible", and sent my iPhone off to Apple for servicing. This involved a good deal of metaphorical hair-pulling, especially since any number of the steps on the way required me to enter something into the phone, when the phone was the whole problem... but I eventually prevailed.

Subrealm: Beer Reviews
Southern Tier's Old Man Winter: an unexpectedly, possibly inadvertently good facsimile of English beer. I ordered another six pack this evening. The Beer Cellar would have brought it out to me, too...if I'd been able to text them to let them know I was outside, which I couldn't, because my phone is in the hopefully-capable hands of UPS. (see above)
Harpoon's From Nova Scotia with Love: I'm like legally obligated to check out any Nova Scotia/New England crossover product, so I purchased this winter-ale-with-spruce-tips last weekend and tried it on I think Sunday night. I should have saved it for Christmas. It tasted like Christmas. And alcohol poisoning.
choco_frosh: (Default)
Pt. 1: The practical stuff

OK! I'm returning from England with critter socks (fox, hedgehog, squirrel) and marmalade. Everyone on here gets dibs before I offer the Random British Stuff to fb.

([personal profile] sovay, the obligatory Weird Crisps are for you. Which segues to...)

Pt. 2: Impractical Wishes
Being an open letter to Sovay.
I'm glad you're excited about Weird Crisps! You said to find something you'd like, and that's what I could actually bring you in my luggage. But there's so many other things that you'd've liked, but that I probably can't get through customs. Kippered herring, for example, is (insofar as I'm aware) unavailable in the US, and it was on the menu at our hotel in Northumberland, but I can't imagine I can bring one back in my suitcase. I thought about bringing you a stone from Lindisfarne, since while you're not interested in the religious side, tidal islands--especially the doubly-tidal, seal-haunted St. Cuthbert's Isle--would seem to me to be right up your alley. (Seriously, the seals were like twenty yards away from Peter and me, tops.) Sadly, its stones aren't terribly distinctive, and I don't want to bring you some random piece of rock that you'll be wondering, six months from now, what the sam hill it was. Your ungodson ran around the rocks and sands and mudflats barefoot, as you would have; and we nearly made it out to the sandpit that seals had been swimming over an hour earlier. The sky was blue, the wind was chill, the view of the fields of Berenicia stretching up toward The Cheviot was breathtaking. It was your sort of morning. All I can bring home for you is the memory.

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