Over a month, eh? Time I put in another blog entry, otherwise people might think I was too busy.

Which I still am. Building a house is a stressful thing, but this video shows you why it's all worth it. It's 90 seconds long, and is me running through the house (front room, dining room, kitchen, hall, half bathroom, up the stairs, main bathroom, two spare rooms and the master suite).

Ooooh, first streaming video on my blog. Might use that function in future. If you can't hear anything, that's because my little digital camera has no microphone.

So, apart from the house, what else do I have to report? Well, I had my first eye exam since 1998. That one was in the medical for work after my car crash. Since then, my eyesight has 'mellowed' from 20/15 to 20/30. I 'm very slightly near-sighted in both eyes and so I have decided to wear glasses. I'll be buying a pair or two this weekend.

Look at me, I'm old!

Listen : Eyesight To The Blind - The Who ... Glass - Joy Division ... Visible Noise - Hybrid. I might be taking the whole 'glasses' thing a bit seriously!

I didn't have time to talk about dad's funeral, and the trip there and back. To tell the truth, I have been busy. I know that people say "I'm busy" as an excuse for one thing or another, but I have really been busy. Painting a house takes a lot of time and uses muscles I never knew I had. I know I have them now because they ache.

The plan for dad's funeral was this: fly overnight on Wednesday, arriving at Gatwick on Thursday morning after five or six hours of sleep. Train to Victoria, tube to either Euston or Kings Cross and then the train to Northampton (near my sister Wendy's house) or Arlesey (nearest station to the village the funeral is to take place). Spend the night at my sister's house, up early for the return trip to Gatwick and get the flight to Philadelphia, then the connecting flight home.

Ah, the best laid plans of mice and men...

The trip from the US to the UK wasn't too bad, apart from the 150 middle-schoolers off on the same flight to London. All wearing Union Flag t-shirts, making them conspicuous targets for any and all London pick-pocketers and scam artists. Three young lads sat across the aisle from my seat, playing with each others' lights ("you stop it!" "no, YOU stop it!"). And thirty minutes after dinner was served, one of the young fellas threw up over the other two.

This wasn't just a little bit of sick. It was like The Exorcist. If there was a Projectile Chunder event at the Olympics, this kid would have won gold for the USA. The stench was unavoidable, and people were fussing over the boys for hours. Changing clothes, wiping things down, being loud.

I got two hours sleep on the flight, tops.

By the time I got through passport control, I knew that Northampton was out of the equation. I called my sister and told her to pick me up at Arlesey. There was a Thameslink train, the company I used to work for, so I went via Kings Cross Thameslink (the station I worked in for over fiver years). It hasn't changed a bit. It certainly brought back a lot of memories of the late eighties and early nineties.

I missed one Arlesey train by two minutes, so I called Wendy on her mobile and gave her the new ETA. I changed and freshened up at dad's house when I got there.

The funeral was in a small church just a short drive from the house. The funeral company were great, very professional and sombre. I had prepared a eulogy just in case, but Margaret (my eldest sister) had too and she read hers. Then we went outside and buried my dad. We put roses on the coffin, threw dirt in. Dad would have been proud at the turnout. Family, friends, villagers. There was a function in a village pub afterwards, where I showed Margaret my version of the eulogy and we were amazed at the similarities. After everything, I eventually got to bed at midnight for six hours sleep.

Then the trip back. For reasons of clarity, I'm now going to give all times at East Coast USA times (even though a lot of this happens in England) because I haven't been in Britain long enough to switch time-zones. My body is still on East Coast Daylight Saving Time. I just want you to count the hours like I did. So; 6am wake-up time in Northamptonshire is 1am to my body. Get it? Got it? Good.

Wake up at 1am. Driven to Northampton to get the train to London Euston just after 2am. Into Euston at 3am, height of the rush-hour. Tube to Victoria station, train to Gatwick. My flight is at 6.45am, and I arrive with plenty of time to spare. The flight will leave late because it arrived late; there'a a storm moving over the Eastern US. The flight takes 7 hours, so I should land in Philly at 3pm. Plenty of time because my connecting flight leaves at 6.55pm.

Coming over New Jersey, we see the thunderheads on the clouds. That storm is still over the Northeastern States. We circle for over an hour but can't land because of the severity of the storm. We have to divert to Baltimore to refuel on the tarmac because the plane will run out otherwise. It's only 20 minutes or so away, but it takes another 45 minutes to refuel. Then we get back in the air, circle some more, and eventually land in what looks like a monsoon.

I'm still OK, because it's not 6pm yet and the connection is at 6.55pm.

Connection cancelled, couldn't make it through the storm so it turned back. Next flight is at 10.45pm, and hopefully the storm will be well over the Atlantic.

Ha!

I change my ticket for the later flight and call Beth to let her know I'll be arriving around 11.45pm. The incoming flight lands late because the storm decides that Philadelphia is a great place to spend a Friday night and just kept on raining. Then all personnel are pulled from baggage duty because the lightning starts up again.

Think about lightning for a second. It goes for the path of least resistance, so it usually strikes the tallest conductor around. An airport needs to be as flat as a billiard table, so the tallest things near an airport departure gate would be the tails of all the wet aircraft outside. If one of them gets struck when someone's pulling luggage out in the wet, they can pretty-much kiss themselves goodbye. It was another 50 minutes before they got the luggage from the previous flight and got the new stuff on.

Now we're waiting for the new first officer. The co-pilot from the incoming flight has left for his next job, and our man is on a flight from Chicago. A flight currently circling PHL, waiting for another break in the storm.

He arrives after midnight. Fortunately, this flight is a Canadair Jet (not one of those Dash turbo-prop things that goes half the speed) so we're up and down in less than half an hour. The storm was passed after five minutes. It stuck like glue to Philly for hours. I eventually got home at 2am Saturday, quickly got ready for bed and fell asleep almost instantly.

That's 25 consecutive hours awake. After two days with a combined eight hours of sleep.

Listen: Insomnia - Faithless ... Asleep From Day - Chemical Brothers feat. Mazzy Star ... I'm WIde Awake, It's Morning - Bright Eyes.

This is not the post I thought I would be making on my return from England.

First off, the sundry stuff. It rained every day (we missed the good weather by a week). Still, you can't visit The North unless it's grim, I suppose. The Lake District is lovely, even in a downpour. Thanks to Matt and Helen for taking us. And I have every faith in Wayne Rooney's metatarsel so I bought a number 9 England shirt, c'mon England.

Here's the bit where I explain the first sentence. We went to see the family in the South on the Saturday. Tram from Bury to Manchester, then a train to Milton Keynes (arriving just before noon). Wendy, my sister, picked us up.

And we went straight to Stevenage because my dad had been taken to hospital. He was rushed in because he had a pain in his side, and the aneurysm he knew he had was leaking blood. Being 73 years old, and with a heart condition, the doctors didn't want to operate on the heart because of the aneurysm and didn't want to touch the aneurysm because of his heart.

This page says it's estimated "...that less than half of all patients suffering a ruptured aortic aneurysm will reach hospital alive and, of those that do, less than half will survive emergency surgery to repair the aneurysm. The overall risk of death if an aneurysm ruptures is therefore in the region of 80%."

Gilbert Seabrook, my dad, was not in the 20%. He passed away. I'll miss him more than dry words can ever express the loss. Only one song today ...dad's favourite song.

Love you, dad.

Listen : Blueberry Hill - Fats Domino, Louis Armstrong, Elvis Presley, Cliff Richard, Jimmy Sturr, Ray Coniff, The Beach Boys, Yellowman, ...and the way dad sang it.

OK, quick inventory check.

Three hundred quid. Check.
Passports. Check.
eTickets for the flight. Check.
Called to get a taxi from the airport to the B&B. Check.

Get ready, Manchester. In just over four days, I'll be back in England for the first time in four years. So you better have a World Cup 2006 mug for sale, plenty of Cadbury's chocolate and bags of Smoky Bacon Crisps at the ready, and steak and kidney pie when I want it. Because I'm back, if only for a week, and by the GODS I've missed that steak and kidney pie.

COME ON!!!

Listen : This Is England - The Clash ... British Colonialism And The BBC - Chumbawumba ... World In Motion - NewOrder & The England 1990 World Cup Squad.

Ever see the film 'The Terminator'? Yeah, I know. 100% highbrow, well done Shawn. The bit where John Connor's dad from the future explains what a terminator T-800 is...

Listen and understand. That terminator is out there. It can't be bargained with, it can't be reasoned with. It doesn't feel pity, or remorse, or fear, and it absolutely will not stop. Until you are dead.

Now imagine that, but as a plant.

This is Japanese Knotweed. Otherwise known as Japanese Rhubarb, or (in my own words) That Bastard Plant I Refuse To Let Overgrow My Garden. Bastard, Bastard, Bastard. It was introduced as a lovely little plant from Asia because of its lovely little flowers ...and now it's such a problem everywhere except Asia that many countries have deemed it illegal if you deliberately plant the stuff. It grows from the root, so spraying it with weedkiller just annoys it. If you build a house on top of a small piece of root, it may not be the last you see of it. Just 0.7 grams of root is enough. It will grow up to seven metres underground and can be buried 3 metres down and still eventually get to the surface. Can't be bargained with, can't be reasoned with, and it absolutely will not stop. Until it destroys your foundations.

Here's the bit that will blow your mind. According to this page, the plant is naturally dioecious, which means that you need male and female plants for sexual reproduction to take place. But only a female was introduced in Europe and America. One female plant, with cuttings from that one plant and breakoffs from that one plant, has spread out across the world. Which means all the Japanese Knotweed I'm digging out is just looking for a boyfriend. In pure total biomass terms, it is probably the biggest female in the world. The infestation in Swansea in the south of Wales ALONE has been estimated to weigh 62,000 tonnes, the same as 40 blue whales!

It's not all bad. it's called Japanese Rhubarb for a reason. It's edible. The link takes you to Wild Man Steve Brill's site where he has recipes for Apple and Knotweed Pie, Knot Soup, Steamed Knotweed Sesame... so if society fails tomorrow, I'll be digging up the stuff and boiling a pot of water.

Listen : A Growing Boy Needs His Lunch - Dead Kennedys ... The Garden - Faithless ... Donkey Rhubarb - Aphex Twin. Nice selection of punk and electronica there.