Ahh, vacation. Nothing lifts the spirit and refreshes the mind like a vacation. In honor of the one-hundreth anniversary of flight, we took the cheap tickets provided by British Airways and jetted off for a week in Amsterdam and a week in the Cotswolds. While we there, Princess Julianna died. I was initially arrested and charged in her death. I was quickly acquitted after breaking up a tulip bulb conterfeiting ring that dated back to 1638. I was supposed to be honored at a state banquet, but plans were quickly scuttled when they found out I was an American.

Things went much smoother for us in the UK. We are often mistaken for being French or British. Because we could so easily blend in with the locals, we were let into their inner circle. As news of Elvis Pressley’s ancestors being linked to Scotland broke, we learned that Elvis was actually alive and well and living in Winchcombe. He now drives a bus and is said to have a few pints of Jouster every night at the Harvester. We didn’t see him the evening we were there, but it’s probably because he’s not a fan of pseudo-folk music styled after Bread either.

I did become a little hooked on British television while we there. After days of marvelling at gorgeous countrysides or fascinating museums, it was nice to kick back and watch gems such as Three’s A Crowd. And Anne Robinson is still as tasty as ever.

Even though we only spent a week together Hayley, I’ll never forget you.