Light MY fire, too, please.

There's nothing like two weeks of sleeping in hostels and then travelling for 24 straight hours to wear you out. I am not quite right yet. And I haven't yet formulated a plan for posting about England, so I'm going to start off with an endorsement of Ivan's spork. When you are on the go in another country, you end up eating a large percentage of your hastily-assembled meals in airports or parks or on trains or sitting on the steps of some old building. And it is only when you sit down to eat that you realize you have nothing to eat with and you're going to have to drink your yogurt and snorfle your diced peaches out of their syrup like a pig hunting for truffles. And you think to yourself, "If only I had a spork!" Well, happily, the National Trust understands the plight of the hungry tourist. At their shop on St. Michael's Mount, they have a whole bucket of sporks (sorry Ivan, not a literal bucket), one of which I immediately purchased. It served me well for the next two weeks and quite frankly I'm not sure I will ever go back to normal silverware. My spork is so friendly and reassuring. Sure, I might get lost in a string of endless pastures, or stranded at the top of a windy mountain with a sub-arctic climate (no, the second one did not happen) but at least if I find yogurt there I'll be able to eat it in a civilized manner.