“Half memoir, half travel, A Yank Back to England...is an absolutely wonderful book, not only about going home again but also about love and family and tradition and the passage of the years.” —Michael Dirda, Pulitzer Prize-winning literary critic (Washington Post) To see the entire quote, click here.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Yanked back, again
I stopped the car, got out, threw up on the side of the road. Vowed never to drink at high altitudes again. I swallowed some headache pills, guzzled water, and sat in silence behind the wheel. Kate, now three and a half, was asleep. I wished I were, too. Frances looked a bit concerned, a bit wary. Fortunately, the clanging in my head began to lessen and, from what I could see in the rear view mirror, the death-mask pallor on my face had started to fade. Slowly, color seeped back into my cheeks.
Standing, from L to R: Lew (Dad), Frances (Prodigal Wife), Denis (The Prodigal Tourist), and Jessie (Mum). Floating: Kate (Prodigal Daughter).
About this blog
You are reading random vignettes, deleted scenes, and other extras from and about my book, A Yank Back to England: The Prodigal Tourist Returns. Enjoy, let me know what you think, ask questions, and thanks for your support! Cheers, The Prodigal Tourist
Years ago I shed my Cockney accent and left London's blighted East End for America. Since then, I’ve only returned to see my increasingly cantankerous parents and assorted relatives. Until my American wife comes along. She wants to tour, see the sights. No thank you. It’s not for me. But she insists, and I become a reluctant tourist in my former homeland.