We skid, bumping along far too fast, the wispy headlights barely illuminating the dense thickets of trees around us. Suddenly there is light, far too much light, and it is glaringly bright, the stark brightness of a high security prison, glinting off watch towers and razor wire. The ancient ATV that we are riding seems to splutter slightly, weakly, and I cannot help but imagine us puttering to a stop here, in the dark woods, late at night, five feet away from the tall walls of the high security prison housed at Swinfen Hall. For the rest of the journey back to White House we all glance back, nervously, picturing a running figure (our imaginations having transformed the criminal into some sort of vicious zombie) who will hunt us down and tear us limb from limb, then steal the ATV and ride off into the dark.

It doesn't happen. No zombies, no escaped convicts, no brutal death. We coast back to the house having successfully fed the pigs and scurry inside away from the cold, unharmed. (I should mention that "cold" in this context is a reference to the Californian conception of cold which, quite frankly, is anything less than balmy. Casey and I are adjusting to real world weather).

We have eaten like kings ever since we arrived here, and will now readily not only dismiss, but condemn any rumors that English food is in any way below par. We assume (graciously) that any who critisize "english" food have not been to England. Too bad for them. Example: Saturday night we were invited to dinner with my aunt and uncle Lesley and Simon (notice the exceedingly normal names, unusual for my aunts thus far). We were fed pulled pork (cooked for 11 hours), grown on the farm (in fact, we had been feeding these same delicious critters). This incredible pork, succulent and tender and richly flavorful (I hope your mouths are watering) was accompanied by home grown leeks and potatoes and a pie of home grown blackberries and raspberries and a lovely Argentinian Malbec. A feast. The company was wonderful too and we had intense debates about everything from the merits (and tragedies) of college vs. gap year, global warming, and food! Then we headed back through a bracing midnight wind to the house, which we had to ourselves all weekend.

The next day we ate at the Creperie, a local cafe that serves only savory galettes and sweet crepes. I had a leek and cheddar galette and Casey had a goat cheese, tomato, and walnut galette, and we shared a pear, ice cream, and chocolate crepe. While I am aware that these are actually French dishes, I am also aware that they are incredibly delicious.

The rest of the weekend consisted of working out at my cousins incredible state-of-the-art gym, playing lots of music (new tunes we are collaborating on include So Long, Marianne by Leonard Cohen). We also spent a lot of time late at night working on our respective artistic hobbies (architectural sketches for Casey and writing string quartets for me). For a project we also repaired and repainted Quinn's high chair, which he shyly thanked us for. We also went into the local town of Lichfield (not unlike a very English version of Petaluma), and wandered through the street market and incredible cathedral. It was the ultimate relaxing weekend.

Then came Monday, far too early this morning, and we leapt (crawled) out of bed, and raced (stumbled) up to the warehouse where we worked rapidly (sluggishly) and with beaming enthusiasm (weak grins). Today we packaged up 5 different massive orders to be shipped to shops in Ireland. I glanced at the order form we were working with and it appears we were actually handling over 25,000 dollars worth of fragrant candles and sachets etc. We went into the local shop and they are selling each of these fricking candles for 20 pounds ($30)! What an industry.

Anyway, more work work work, and the stable project is gaining steam. Now it is time to relax, have a beer and a beautiful hamburger and stretch out in front of a movie. Well earned rest for us hard working candle sorting laborers.