Life After England; or to loosely quote a paranoid Android, "don't talk to me about it".

Greetings from Casa Vila! This month's Aphelion editorial is brought to faithful readers by Lyn, because the Editor-in-Chief is currently far too busliy rewriting Mere Inebrium stories for a project he can't discuss (even with me) to focus on anything other than a looming deadline.

As many of you will know, Dan and I spent a couple of weeks visiting my family in England last month. It was once again rather a whirlwind of a visit -- so much we wanted to do, yet so little time. This visit was, much to our regret, not so much a vacation but rather the necessary seeing to of my father's estate. However, we not only got that done, but we also were able to fit in a day or two of '5:00 somewhere' with friends, as well as renew our marriage vows five years on!

Our marriage blessing rocked; positively rocked! Hosted and officiated by a Celtic offshoot of the High Anglican Church, we renewed the vows we'd made to each other in 2006 in a delightfully candle-lit and 'heavily incenced' chapel amongst friends that were able to join us, and friends we hadn't met before. The ceremony was video-taped, and any who wish to see a copy, let us know.

During our fornight in England, Dan experienced a proper English downpour, something he'd only read or heard about before. Neither of us had umbrellas with us, nor rain macs. We were left to the elements. As we dashed across the road to a Greek chip shop in my home town, and then stood dripping, waiting for our chips, I remembered all the things I miss about England -- yes, even those downpours -- they're quite different from Georgia rain, although it's difficult to explain exactly how. There are similarities. Georgia rain is just a little more gentle, I suppose. When the heavens open over England, it pelts down. Harshly. And one cannot even see Heinlein's harsh mistress.

Now that we're home, Casa Vila has been a hive of activity. The porch needed repainting, and the garden definitely needed seeing to; the cat pen also. I needed to go through my dad's various papers that we'd shoved into an el cheapo purple suitcase we'd bought, because shipping would be costly. And, as mentioned, Dan has been rewriting his Mare stories.

I will confess that Dan and I started spitting at each other once we'd arrived in Atlanta, my being pulled aside because my muffin top looked suspicious didn't go down very well with me. The pat down that followed was in order for us to leave the airport and head to MARTA, to catch a ride to where Rob Wynne would be waiting for us at North Springs. Never a lovelier sight have I seen as Rob, with hat and tie, waving at us!

Dan should be back next month. Although, I've quite enjoyed writing this month's editorial on his behalf!