Dispatch from London: What kinda circus is this?

Fiora D'Mestiere: Yawn. What's this? A note from Jack. "Headed out on a waddle to see the circus. I know you don't like that sorta thing, so I'll hoof it there myself. XO"

Fiora: Oh, Boy...

Jack (texting Fiora): What the heck is the Piccadilly Circus? There's no animals at all. No acrobats. No clowns. Look at this picture! It's just a big circle!

Fiora (through the wave): Well, there's ONE clown in that circus...

Dispatch from Cymru: Help for a 2-Stepper

Professor Javier Boleyn: Jackie-boy, I'm afraid you have passed 3 standard deviations from the mean of lapsed 2-Steppers.

Jack D'Mestiere: Impossible, Professor! 3 standard deviations is past 99.73%! No way!

Fiora D'Mestiere: I'm afraid I have to agree with the Professor, Jack. Even in the land of Bill Nighy, you have ignored "Lard is All Around You!"

Jack: Whoan!

Professor JB: I have enrolled you in a support group, Jack...

Dispatch from Youghal: Floating down memory lane

“Dolly-girl, I’d like to head over to You-gal for a quick gape at something.”

“It’s pronounced Y’all, Jack, like Dixie Devereaux says it. What’s up over there?”







“Well, in the summer of 1956, Moby Dick, starring Gregory Peck and Richard Basehart, was released. I went to see it with Bill and Pete, my friends. We spent the rest of the summer either pretending we were Cleveland Indians on our way to the World Series or the crew of the Pequod. We weren’t either, of course, but it was fun. So I want to go to Youghal because that’s where the scenes on shore were filmed.” 

“Well, what lad wouldn’t, Jack? That’s sweet!” 





“And it inspired my art work in the fall of ‘56...”

Dispatch from Killimer: Adaptive expression of genetic traits

"Jack, I'm old for me age, amn't I? I mean I got silver threads in me coppertop, and me clackers tain't what they used to was."

"Gee, Dolly-girl, I think yourself looks just fine! Just go back to thinking about that orange marmalade you don't like—you know, the one with the golf course we passed this morning."

"You got a couple gargles on Jack? No more Guinness for you. I'm not slagging over a few jars with yourself about that guy. If he had one more wit he'd be a half-wit. Save yer breath for cooling yer porridge!"

I was worried, so I gave Professor Javier Boleyn a call. "Yes, Jack, you did the right thing as I AM an expert on everything. I suggest you consult my book, "Two Steps to Understanding Genetic Expression: When your lass goes all Irishy on you."

"I skimmed it...".

"Well, read the whole thing. That latent DNA that Fiora carries is in full expression. You're in for a long row of potatoes to hoe..."

Whoan.

Dispatch from Crossmolina: Cuairt chuig an tír dúchais

Fiora: Here we are, Jack. Crossmolina, County Mayo, where my great-great grandfather was born!

Jack: Hey, there's a brewery in town! It's called Reel Deel!

Fiora: Crossmolina is on the Deel river, Jack. And Reel is spelled like a fishing...

Jack: I get it Dolly-girl. Look what the name of the beer is!

Fiora: Home Sweet Home, Jack!

Dispatch from Bushmills, Northern Ireland: Where red sweaters come from

Jack: Look Dolly-girl, sheep with red wool. I guess that's where red sweaters come from. Sure would take a lot of them critters to make a sweater!

Fiora: Not even you, Jack, not even you...

Dispatch from Knowth

Jack: these mounds are pretty cool, Dolly-girl. It must have taken quite the earth moving equipment to make them.

Fiora: Jack, these are from the Stone Age. They didnt have " equipment" in those days. Honestly, didn't you read any of the information in the Visitor Centre? These are perhaps the best examples of Megalithic art in the world!

Ailbha (the archeological interpreter): Think of it this way, sir, they're big, they're old, and there are dead people inside...

Fiora: The perfect Jack D'Mestiere take-away! Thanks Ailbha!

Dispatch from Liverpool: Don’t play favorites

”So this is where it all happened—Liverpool, eh, Dolly-girl?”










“Jack, what happened in Liverpool is a chapter in the history of rock and roll—an important one, I’ll grant you—but a chapter. Why even John said, ‘If you had to give Rock ‘n Roll another name you might call it Chuck Berry’.”

“John, who?” Wave-shot.  A Waveshot is sort of Dolly-girl’s take on a mic drop...

“Who was your favorite, Dolly-girl?”









“My fav was John...”

“Why, Dolly-girl, you haven’t called me that in years...”
Rimshot. Mic drop. Out.

Dispatch from Notting Hill: Who doesn’t like a rubbish movie?

After a day of wandering Londontown—I think Professor Javier Boleyn calls it that—I said, "Dolly-girl, howsabout you and me go put the feedbag on, and maybe the drinkbag too." "Good idea, Jack. I've got my eye on an osteria up on Notting Hill!" "Isn't that where they made the movie? I want to go to the bookstore cause maybe Julia Roberts will be there!" "Jack, don't make me go RT on you—it was a movie!




We found the joint. It was Eye-talian alright. Tia Tilly’s apron if they didn’t have some good grub! As were were walking back to the subway (“Remember, it’s called The Tube, Jack...”. “Oh yeah, it’s tubular, like those pasta thingys. That got me a shot through the wave...) I spied it!

The house with the blue door, Dolly-girl!  I told you!” “They all have blue doors, Jack. Look around, look around...oops, slipping into another production.” “I know Dolly-girl, it’s that play you like about the sawbuck guy...” Waveshot. 



Ok, most of the doors were blue, but then I detected, ‘cause that’s what I do, this:













And this:

“Ok, Jack, so a MOVIE was made here. That doesn’t make it a true story. 

"Look here, here’s a place called the Blue Door and it’s green!”

“Looks blue to me, Jack...” 

“Well, it’s not.”


So we kept walking to get back to the TWOOBE—I notised that the coulourful Brits spell things wrong so I’d fit right in—and we came upon a shoppe that Dolly-girl needed to stop at.

“I guess Londontown’s gone all Green Cross too.”
“It’s a pharmacy and an apothecary , Jack. Jeesh.”

I followed her in. As usual, she’d struck up a conversation and was learning from the druggist that he met his wife in that shop. And proposed to her there. “Like the movie, only real,” he said. “Just a boy, standing in front of a girl...”

“Shut it, Jack. We got a train to catch!” But I say a secret smile under the wave. “Ok, we want the train towards Bromley-by-Bow. Sure hope the professor wasn’t watchin’ my dinner tonight...”

“Jackie-boy, about that Tagliolini con Gamberetti, Zucchine, Prosciutto Crudo e Pachino...

“Whoan...”

Dispatch from Buckingham Palace: Forget tea, pass the Hendrick’s

Jack: These pictures were taken just before we went in to see the Queen at Buckingham Palace. They wouldn't let me use the Kodak inside the gate or in Her Majesty's presence, so you will just have to take my word for the fact that she's a pretty spry bird and someone in there knows how to make a gin & tonic...

Fiora D'Mestiere: FAKE NEWS! SAD!

Dispatch from American 136: Damn this is a long flight...

"Dolly-girl, lookee there! It's been 9 hours since we left Los Ang-a-lese and we're only over Pennsylvania! There’s Plymouth there on the sky map—that's where you used to set the brake on your bike 'cause you didn't drive! I don't know if I can make it all the way to England!"

"First, you don't have a choice, Jack. They won't stop the plane and let you off. Second, that's Plymouth, England, not Pennsylvania! See, London is right there! My Plymouth is named after this one."

"I think that's London, Ontario, Dolly-girl. It's in the right spot..."

"Jack, this London—the English one— is northeast of Plymouth. London, Ontario is northwest of Plymouth, PA! You are a ..."

"Whoan. Don't go all Rex Tillerson on me, Dolly-girl!"

Dispatch from LAX: Headed to Jolly Old England

A while ago Dolly-girl said to me, "Jack, let's head over to the Ould Sod for a break from Yam-Man and his daily day care antics." "I'm on board Dolly-girl..." "No you aren't, Jack. You aren't on board 'til you walk up the gang plank..." "Ah, it's called a jet bridge I think..." "You know what I mean!" "Yeah, I do."

Let's go!