Close your eyes and think of England.

That's been my motto this week. The thing about taking a long trip is that you have to do things you've been putting off. Hard things. Boring things. Long things.

Stinky things.

But none of it is as bad as getting screwed over at the gas station these days. There comes a point when you have to say, To hell with the budget, I'm just going to have to fill up. And so you close your eyes and think of England.

Except, of course, gas prices- or rather, petrol prices- are even worse over there. If you've been paying attention on Ravelry, there's been a good amount of international petrol price wanking going on, with people on both sides of the pond and both sides of the border at each other's throats. Not pretty.

Besides, we should all be at the oil companies' throats instead, right?

Still, I'm not convinced that that lovely little isle ruled by the Queen has it as bad as they think. Their intercity busses may be inexpensive and infrequent, but at least they exist. And if you can walk to the grocery store, you're still doing better than I am. Plus, they've got free health care! That's, like, a quarter of my monthly budget that they don't have to pay for at all!

How did this turn into a gas rant? I love the British. They make great TV. And radio. And accents. But it's too late now to turn this post into anything else, as I have to go do more things with my eyes closed and my thoughts trained on England. I guess I'll just have to send this one out with apologies to the offended Brits. I love you guys.

Oh, and Mr. Tennant? The offer's still on the table.