Another Week In Beautiful England...

Well, summer was beautiful in England this year. It was a Wednesday.

Several weeks without the family and what is a lonely guy in England to do? Make friends with the boys at the local fire station. Just a few blocks away is the Royal Berkshire Fire and Rescue Station. Of course it is pronounced as 'Barksheer'. Will never understand how they claim to speak the 'proper Queen's English' and that the Americans have butchered the language. The other night while hanging out at the station I had the opportunity to speak with a firefighter who was originally from Wales. Didn't understand a word. Just keep nodding and smiling. :) Although he did explain to me that it is still legal today for a Welshman to kill an Englishman from across the border using a crossbow; and that he does own a crossbow. Strange people, the Welsh.



With a couple of the boys in front of the engine. Made by Mercedes. Very posh.



There is still a belief that in an emergency situation, the stairs are far more dangerous. This is a belief that I can stand behind. We need less room in America solely for the sake of requiring fire stations to be built more vertically and thus needing more fire poles.



So it is well known that the English can drink. English fire fighters can drink even more. If you are every offered the opportunity to 'go out on a piss' for a night, I recommend strongly that you find any excuse you can to stay home. Perhaps something regarding being mistaken as English by a crossbow wielding Welshman would do.



Seriously, guys like this have livers of steel. They are all really good guys though. I have hung out with them several times now and they are great. They try to keep up with me and I let them think that they are.



Well, I sense that my time left in England is dwindling and I am missing my beloved and children much. Maybe it was me being sentimental or maybe I am missing my own shift at my fire department, but when I saw an old Italian man offering hot towel, straight razor shaves the other day, off came the beauty that was the Euro-goatee. I explained to him the legacy that was growing the beard. That I have not had the opportunity to have facial hair as a fire fighter, it drove my wife crazy, it chronicled my time in Europe. He could not have cared less as he took the trimmers and removed the bulk of my follicle manliness in a matter of seconds. Then he used a surgical instrument to make the skin on my face akin to new born baby's bottom. Fleeting thoughts of Sweeney Todd aside, I was able to prevail. Oh well, as long as it will make Betty happy.