The Little Kempner Again

For those of you who read my last blog post, you know that I want nothing more from my time in America than to see a celebrity. If I can darken my pale pasty skin colour then that is simply a bonus. My ambitions are high, what can I say? Any car enthusiasts out there, I have seen a celebrity. Yes. It’s true. Jeremy Clarkson. I find it quite ironic how the first celebrity I see (and I hope for many more) in a foreign country is English. I had my sights set on someone more like Beyonce, but hey, I’ll take what I can get and be proud to say I have walked a meter to the left of Jeremy Clarkson.Dad then spent the next day pointing to every man with slightly greying hair (varying from a head of curls to a sort of fluff above the eyebrows), and asking me whether or not I thought it was him. The man was sure every time that it was. I can inform you now that even with my shite eyesight (oh look, a rhyme!! How exciting) that none of them looked even remotely similar.

I was awoken this morning to the sounds of Jess coming into our room and telling an alert audience of Isabel and I that she walked into mum and dad’s room to find dad watching a Mary-Kate and Ashley film. I chuckled and imagined dear ole’ Rick watching New York Minute. The sight a surreal thing.

One of the things I’ve been thinking about (and I have one hell of an amount of random thoughts that I tend to ponder on in my head, only voicing ones that I think won’t annoy izzy by the randomness of it all) is the drinking age in america, a boring topic, yes, but one of the utmost importance. Before izzy went on orchestra tour in Germany, earlier this summer, we decided to take a look at the legal drinking age of places in Europe. We were quite shocked to find a few places has no drinking law about ages. This meant that a two year old could waltz through the doors of a bar, ask for a sambuca and the bartender could, quite within the law, provide the child such a beverage. Compare this to America where Sammy, aged 21 though probably looks 19, must constantly carry around ID just for a sip of wine at dinner. Coming from a country where the drinking age is 18, I can only imagine how infuriated Jess must be by the whole sham.

At the moment we ate sitting in the Chevy on our way to the big LA singing along to the song Patience. Fitting considering mum, of course, wants to take the scenic route. I have been on many a journey that should have taken an hour but with mum’s input, becoming a full three hour journey of windy roads, izzy feeling sick and not a motor way (in this case highway) in sight.

Wish me luck, ’cause I’ll need it. There is nothing worse in a car than an argument on the sat nav and its journey plan compared to the map. And there is nothing worse than having a sat nav that has the most annoying voice in the entire world. It also apparently loves to hear its own voice because let’s say dad was to put the word ‘road’ into it, it would then, to my dismay, read out each and every letter. This machine should be destroyed.

One thought on “The Little Kempner Again

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