UK 2012 ISSUE 10

Hawthorne Blossom

As promised, I will explore the joys of staying in an 18th century public house and exploring Little Moreton Hall.  We found the offer for our stay at the Sportsman Inn through living social.  A little research showed that people were either thrilled or totally disillusioned by their stays with them.  Mostly the food reviews were good, but several complained about the beds. We once managed to spend two nights in a White City, New Mexico RV Park (the scariest bathrooms you might ever see) so having done that, how bad could it possibly be.  Besides, we're kinda in to funky, and as long as the sheets are clean, what is there to worry about.

Our room was on the ground floor, at the front (the first floor being what we in the states refer to as the second floor).  There was an entrance to the building from the street so it was not necessary to go through the pub.  The room was tiny, just enough space to walk around the double bed.  The flat screen television was behind the door and on the shelf beneath it was the requisite electric kettle, steripac milk, sugar, instant coffee and tea bags.  Designers of a cruise ship would be proud of how they crammed a 3 x 6 foot bathroom, as well as a 3 x 2 foot cupboard/wardrobe/closet in to the space.  The shower was a metal box with fold away glass doors, the sink was hung on the wall and held about a cup and a half of water, when full, and the toilet took up about as much room as a straight back dining chair.  It was old, it was beat up, it was mostly clean, it was most definitely funky.  We're back to that same old thing, what can you do with an old building, in this case made of stone rather than brick, that doesn't cost the earth.  How do you retro fit modern conveniences in a building that was never intended to have such features.   So, okay, I didn't really want to wander around bare foot, but the sheets and towels smelled clean and fresh and it was only for two nights.  That said, I have to admit the bed was dreadful, clean but truly, truly, truly, uncomfortable.   The food on the other hand, one dinner and two breakfasts included in the package price, was amazingly good.  

Stone Fences

Would I recommend the Sportsman Inn to someone else . . . it scores high points for location if you want to hike in the Peak District, the out door beer garden was a pleasant space to sit and have a drink or a meal, the food was well above average, booked through living social the price was decidedly cheap, the room quality pretty much comparable with an older Motel 6 in need of some refurbishment.  So, yeah, if those things are acceptable, I would recommend it.

Hayfield Rooftops

We spent our second day hiking.  After breakfast we took off back up toward Kinder Scout and did some wandering over farm tracks and back roads while barely seeing a vehicle or a person but plenty of livestock.  Across one field paddled a gaggle of geese heading directly for a kiddies swimming pool, there was a donkey in the field and little bittie bunnies hopped about.  The bunnies are nothing like our great big jack rabbits, they are dainty little furry tan things with cute little puffy cotton tails.  We wandered past Hill House, a 1730 farm building overlooking the valley that held Hayfield.  Up the farm track past a field of black and white sheep and across the farm yard  at  Booth Farm.  It is always a little disconcerting to cross what is so obviously private property, but that was the way the trail directed us.  Up the hill again for a view of the reservoir from the other side of the valley and through Farlands, a collection of four or five houses that dated from the time the reservoir was originally built.  We opted to back track a bit rather than going down a extremely steep cobbled path.  It appeared to be really quite idyllic, like something out of the last century.  Cobbles and stone walls, creepers and climbers and other plant life creating hillocks of mossy green and covering walls and the ground with their new shoots.  A view across a vista of green and brown with sheep grazing and birds on the wing.  Also steep and treacherous and hard work to walk on, the cobbles turning your feet and ankles every which way.  And did I mention the helicopter that was carrying fertiliser and seed out across the moors in  an attempt to do some restoration and rehabilitation.  Back down the lane and across the green fields was much tamer and definitely less hazardous.

Hayfield Wellies

After lunch we decided to take the advice of several people who had suggested walking the four miles to New Mills.  We were told that it was generally flat as it followed an old railway line and the bus between New Mills and Hayfield ran every 20 minutes.   The first mile or so we walked with a Hayfield native.  A 70 year old woman, who after a hip replacement made a habit of walking the path each day with the aid of two canes.  It was fun listening to her talk about how things had changed, she pointed out the ruin of an old mill and talked about the pond we went past and how it had been used as a mill race for powering the original mill.  She rabbited on about how the new housing in the village was out of character with the original stone structures and generally kept us entertained.  We made it to New Mill but unfortunately the every half hour bus turned in to an hour wait and a $6 fare one way and there was still a mile to walk back to the Sportsman.   On our way back did pass a rather unique pub name, there are plenty of Saracens Head or Pig and Whistles out there, but this was the first ever Waltzing Weasel Free House I have seen.

Our two fine days in Hayfield became pouring rain on the morning we were to leave.   We hit the road headed toward Marple and Mellor after leaving the village of Hayfield where, come to find out, Agatha Christie used to live.  Any significance there, yeah maybe.  Not to be outdone by the Waltzing Weasel, we now have passed pubs by the name of Soldier Dick and Dandy Cock, make what you will of that.

Our destination, Quarry Bank Mill and Little Moreton Hall, both National Trust Properties.  We are members in good standing of the National Trust, a non profit that owns and maintains historical properties.  Being a member grants you access with no additional charges, so seeing National Trust Properties becomes something of a priority.  The mill was pleasant, but a bit of a disappointment after seeing the Blackstone Valley National Heritage Corridor.  We have often found the Brits seem more interested in preserving the building but what they place inside is not always historically accurate.

Quarry Bank Gardens

They did have lovely gardens though.  Are you sensing a theme here, garden.  If there is any one thing that the British are mad on it would have to be gardens.  



Back to food for just a short minute here, I found this litany when reviewing the messages on the digital recorder.  Sauces; as I may have intimated previously, the English like sauces or condiments with their meals.  Don't know if this is because the cuisine is dry, or they really don't like the taste of their own food or just a cultural idiosyncrasies, like dessert gravy, but the choices are numerous.  At one eating establishment the individual packets of sauce included tomato ketchup, mayonnaise, salad cream, brown sauce, tartar sauce, horseradish sauce, english mustard, Mint sauce, french mustard and american mustard.

Little Moreton Hall, our next stop.  You have got to see it to believe it.  It was begun circa 1450 with building and expansions continuing until the early 1500s.  I could ramble on a bit, but it's the pictures I really want to share.   It really is quite spectacular.  This is another of those National Trust Properties.

We glommed on to a tour group that was going round and got a little of the history.  But mostly it is not about history but just about the architecture.

Fireplace

Long Hall - top floor

 Each room had a fireplace, but it's the carved bits that impress.  The Long Hall on the right is on the top level and was used as a place to take some exercise when the weather was poor.  The floor rolls and undulates, amazing.  In the exterior picture it is that long wall of windows.   The windows fascinate me.  The reason the windows are broken into smaller leaded panes was because that was as large a piece of glass they could fashion.  Enough going on . . . time for pictures.

Leaded Window

The Ashland Avatar UK 2012 Edition is going on hiatus until our return from London and the Cotswolds.  We are definitely down to one computer so one must be considerate.  If you need a good laugh about the Jubilee and other things British, Google The NOW Show for Friday June 8. 

ASHLAND AVATAR 1A

This is an attempt to put everything I have previously published in one location . . . not on my hard drive!  Most of you will have read this previously as an email, I am merely making in a permanent part of my blog.

I'm sure you have all heard of a year in Provence, well this is my attempt at six months in Groby. It's been nearly two weeks since my arrival in the UK, where an officious little English civil servant held me in immigration for more than an hour before releasing me with the admonition not to overstay the six months I am allowed to be here. All of this is because I set off red flags by applying for a visa to stay for “up to a year” on compassionate grounds. Fortunately, the fact that they denied my request appears to be a non issue as Mick's Dad is making a rather remarkable recovery for a man of 89. Oh , how the world has changed, particularly since 9/11. Back in the seventies, yes I realise some of you weren't even alive then, they simply wrote on my passport “does not need to report”. Mind you the Brits weren't the only ones to mess me about . . . the Americans took my hand cream off of me when going through security and proceeded to leave my baggage behind in Las Vegas. But then, I'm here, my luggage is here and all is well with the world.

I am sorry to report that despite the fact that it is March and rumour (English spelling, Dad's computer insists I don't know how to spell rumour) has it that there has been rain and snow in Ashland in my absence, the weather has been fabulous, brilliant even. I'm sure it must have reached 70 the last couple of days, definitely shirt sleeve weather. We have been doing our best to take advantage of this unusual circumstance and have been out exploring the countryside. Until yesterday we remained mostly local, within 10 miles of Groby. Did a couple of local parks and explored a reclaimed coal tip in Coalville. A tip is British for the tailings or debris that results from mining. They have been quite successful at renovating these eyesores and turning them in to places to walk and “recreate”. Oh by the way if you want to speak Leicestershire(eze) put the accent on the ville part of Coalville and the county I am staying in currently, Leicestershire, is pronounced “lester sheer”. Mick suggests that I also share with you if you are afraid it would not be uncommon in these parts to say you were “frit”.

Yesterday was an outing to Foxton Lock. Always a joy navigating in Britain . . . merge on to the A50, go through four roundabouts and take the third exit on the fourth roundabout to Langton. Turn right at Beechwood Drive ( a narrow lane with no signpost!) go to the second roundabout and . . . you get the picture. I think the hardest thing is that nothing and I mean nothing, is laid out on a grid. Roads, curve and turn and wander for no apparent reason and to cap it all off you may never get on a different road and yet the name has changed three times. Learned an abbreviation on our route, HMP, Her Majesty's Prison. This one was HMP Gartree and did not look to be much of an establishment for incarceration, more like council houses. Ah well, as Americans we do have a reputation to uphold for imprisoning folk for reasons that others worldwide cannot fathom.

As to the locks, I posted some pictures on facebook, so for those of you with whom I am not facebook friends just send me a request and I will “befriend” you. There is a substantial canal system in England which had been a significant means of transporting goods before the railways and the automobile. Now they are mostly recreational and run through rural areas and periodically there are either tunnels or locks to navigate. The locks are all hand operated and in the case of Foxton there are actually 5 lock gates which carry one boat at a time and it takes about 45 minutes to go from top to bottom or bottom to top. This one has a lovely pub at the base where we had lunch.

We spoke with a couple who were waiting their turn to traverse the locks and his theory was that someone went out and surveyed all the best pubs in the country and connected them up with water. I like his reasoning, seems a good reason to have a canal boat holiday. Was just googling about hiring a canal or narrow boat for a holiday and found the most wonderful place name, Wootten Wawen. Have no idea where it is or how to pronounce it, but I do like the name.

II

I'm sure I have shared with some of you how when Mick's Mum (Mom in American) came to visit we nearly always lost some major appliance as well as innumerable pieces of glassware. Well it would seem turn about is fair play and so it is the Church household is now the proud owner of a new “tumble” dryer. It all started when, using a pressure washer on the patio, we blew a fuse and related or not the dryer would no longer open. Also set off the burglar alarm which entailed resetting it at least five times while it beeped incessantly. The dryer was well and truly stuck, we removed the top and there was no way to get to the latch. We turned it over but the bottom was a solid piece of sheet metal as was the back, and brute force short of a hammer was totally ineffectual. So we made the trip to Curry's to assess the possibilities. England is a small country, their houses are small and their appliances are equally small, just check out the photo of Dad's refrigerator on facebook. There was no shortage of choices, there were at least 8 different models of vented dryers and an equal number of “condenser dryer” (it's tough to put a hole in a brick wall just to vent your laundry), a veritable cornucopia by UK standards. The silly things are about as big as a two drawer file cabinet, yes I exaggerate, but not by much. The largest capacity one they had was 8 kg or roughly 17 pounds, while the smallest held only 3 kg or 8 lbs. Dad chose one at 6 kg but with a sensor that will shut it off automatically when the clothes are dry , a totally new concept to him. His current machine has only a timer and no way to control temperature, drying jeans runs about 90 minutes and underwear about 30. Don't let me get up on my soap box about just how spoiled we are, and I haven't told you about his heating/hot water system yet! So yes the dryer has been installed and works like a champ but the weather has been so fine we actually strung up a “solar” dryer. Clothes sure do smell good when dried on a line.

I particularly like the setting on the new dryer . . . Iron Dry, Cupboard Dry, Extra Dry and Bone Dry. Well iron dry, can probably guess what that one means though I have no intent of ever using the setting or the implement. Cupboard Dry a uniquely British invention. Most home have what is termed an airing cupboard and it is where the water heater lives. Water heaters are small devices probably half the size of what we are accustomed to and so the cupboard or closet, if you will, has slatted shelves for placing folded laundry that is mostly dry but can be finished off in the cupboard.

So another of my adventures has been to deal with the “creeping crud” on my legs with a visit to the National Health Service. Uncertain as to what is the best approach we contact our insurer in the US, no problem says they, get treatment and submit the bills. Okay, grand, I know the locals get steamed at all the foreigners coming here and immediately getting every benefit they offer, and believe me there is a grant or benefit for any imaginable situation. So being wary of alienating the natives I go to my ever faithful resource, Google, and type in private doctor, private healthcare and dermatologist. It soon becomes obvious that if you are looking for a private doctor, who is a dermatologist you are looking for someone who will give you a whole new you. Wonder what the cost of botox is and if my insurer might baulk, perhaps they call it something else. I plunge ahead, make a phone call, get put on hold for probably five minutes only to be told I have to go through the local GP. I won't bore you with the additional phone calls it took to convince Dr. Gajibasia's front office that they should see me, but see me they did. So here's the deal, if you need a doctor you must go to the one that is assigned to you by virtue of where you live. Think I probably knew this once upon a time in a land long ago and far away. Dr Gajibasia, a Sikh, with a turban and all is the doctor for Groby. They refer to their offices as “surgeries”, not a very comforting phrase when all you want is something to clear up a rash. BTW. Dental offices are surgeries as well.

I get Mick to drop me off and I plan on walking back to the bungalow when all is finished. We pull up on Rookery Lane in front of one of those black and white buildings that make you think Shakespeare and Tudor and once I get inside it is most definitely a Tudor building that has been renovated. Big beams, fairly low ceilings and a rabbit warren of rooms. Kinda spartan, whitewashed walls, concrete floors but definitely not what one would call clinical. I check in with the receptionist who hands me some forms and says “fill them out and give them to the doctor”. No clipboard, no pen and no history, just who I am.

I take a seat in a black plastic chair, the kind that give you a shock when you get up and wait for my name to appear on the reader board above the receptionist's window. Gayle Church Room 1. I let myself in, the first door I come to says “eye exams”, the next says something about a nurse and the third say Exam Room 1. I push it open , step in to a narrow hallway that leads to room of perhaps 10 x10. There are NHS posters on one whitewashed wall, the other is blank and under the window, seated at an old blonde wood desk, circa 1960, sits Dr. Gajibasia. Spiffy pinstripe suit, Saville Row perhaps? Mind you it's that pinstripe I intensely dislike with the wide white stripes in a deep grey background. French cuffs extend from his sleeves with beautiful silver cuff links. His tie is a deep burgundy which precisely matches his turban. The desk is pretty much empty except for a computer monitor. What kind of a time warp have I just walked in to.

In the end I came away with prescription for a cortisol steroid and a request to return in three weeks. I wandered down to the bottom of the hill and the Chemist to have my prescription filled. The Chemist, Druggist, Pharmacist, Drug store whatever it is you may want to call it has a store front on the Ratby Road around the corner from the Green Grocer, next to the Chinese take-out and just a step or two away from the newsagent. I step in to a waiting area about 4 X 6 with a single plastic chair, is there a theme here? There is nothing to buy if you don't need some sort of treatment, no cards, not candy, no knick-knacks. I had over my piece of paper, they confirm my age and less than five minutes later I have a little tube of white ointment. Thus far no money has changed hands nor do I think it will. Small wonder people get distressed by all the “foreigners” getting medical treatment.

I thought I was pretty aware of just how multi-cultural Britain was until I saw a NHS (National Health Service) pamphlet where they listed all of the languages that they were using for surveys. Albanian, Arabic, Bangla, Cantonese, Mandarin, Farsi, French German, Greek, Gujarati, Hindi, Italian, Kurdish, Polish, Russian, Punjabi, Portuguese, Somali, Spanish, Tamil, Turkish, Urdu, Vietnamese, and Yoruba. This entailed about 15 different scripts (as in alphabets) never mind the languages. Guess that's what comes of being a commonwealth, never mind a member of the EU. This doesn't even address the Caribbean countries, though I suppose they generally speak English, or Belgium, Norway, Sweden, or the like.

UK 2012 ISSUE 9

Mick and the Punto

 For those of you who were enquiring (did you catch the spelling?), Dad is back home from his sojourn in hospital.  Seems to have been one of those inexplicable incidents that happen to all of us as we get older.  He's installed back in his own chair and in front of the telly.  The only thing that he took away from hospital seems to be a cold.  Our experiences with the National Health Service could fill a whole blog all on its own but shall not burden you with the minutiae and inconsistencies to which a nationalised health system is prone.  Will share the one thing that most totally blew me away . . . no television, no radio, no telephones, no entertainments at all were provided.  Peculiar!!

We are gearing up for a trip to London and beyond to spend two weeks with Frank and Carol Sobotka, our neighbours from Ashland.  Despite having the Punto, we shall have to "hire" a vehicle to carry four adults and their luggage.  If you are wondering just how big a Punto might be, think Mini Cooper, not really on.  Discovered one interesting fact about car hire in the UK . . . you don't want to get an automatic transmission unless you don't have a choice.  They cost twice as much and I'm not exaggerating!!!

I have been trying to get out and do some driving every day but I am still somewhat terrified by the big roundabouts.  There are all kinds of protocols about which lane to be in and when to move over, when it is appropriate to signal, blah, blah, blah.  They can have anything from three to five or six exits, never mind two to four lanes that come and go.  The best thing is if there is a big lorrie (truck) entering the roundabout next to you.  You can "draft" alongside of them and they are barrier to any other oncoming traffic.  Once you're on the roundabout things are good,  if you miss your exit you can always go around again.  The lanes seem to have a lot of writing on them.  Great big white lettering and arrows meant to tell you which lane you should be in and the name or number of the road that the particular lane is intended to access.  Crazy business.

We did manage a get away the other week.  We took ourselves off the the Peak District some hundred or so miles away.  Peak is a relative term in England, the highest point in the Peak District being Kinder Scout which tops out at something just over 2000 feet. That is the height at which we live in Ashland!   It is really more of a moor or plateau, a flattish area of peat bogs.  The Pennine Way, which is a notable hiking trail akin to the Appalachian Trail or PCT, runs through this area.  It was also the target of the Mass Trespass of 1932 in which the Ramblers intentionally trespassed on open lands to ensure access and prevent landowners from prohibiting access.  As I understand it trespass is not a criminal offence in England, who knew.

Politically Incorrect

Following our usual guidelines it's blue highways all the way.  In this instance it was really green highways as that is how the "b" roads are designated in our atlas.   On the outward bound trip we were successful with the exception of an approximately two mile stretch of the M50.  It was a lot of open countryside, green and yellow fields giving way to more industrial areas as we left the textile and agriculture of Leicestershire for the pottery and livestock of Derbyshire (pronourced "darby" shur).  Just outside of Ashbourne the road began to climb as we left behind the land of hedgerows and farming for one of dry stone walls, cattle and sheep.  You really need to see this landscape to appreciate it.  It is an area of undulating hills with low growing vegetation.  Trees are few and far between, the green deciduous forests disappear but for the few hardy oaks that make a stark statement against the brown grass and blue sky.  Gone are the hedgerows full of hawthorn, blackthorn, cow parsley and clematis.  It is an arid and somewhat desolate feeling landscape with dry stone walls separating fields.  Cattle and sheep graze on the hillsides and occasional stone farm buildings dot the countryside.  Given the sheer quantity of stone you see used in constructing buildings and walls one wonders if it were ever possible to try to cultivate the land.

We make our way through the Victorian spa town of Buxton which probably deserves a look see but not on this trip.  Onward toward our destination we make it to Chapel en le Frith (guessing this was once a Norman town) only going wrong one time.  The road signs say Pilsbury to the left, Bakewell to the right and Hayfield straight on.  Why we should choose horse fodder and open ground over pastries and goodies can only be explained by the fact that we have reservations in Hayfield.  Bakewell is certainly on my list of places to see.  It is the home of the Bakewell Tart, an absolutely delightful concoction of pastry, filled with strawberry jam and covered in an cakelike almond substance.  It is also a market town which generally means market squares and old building and museums.  Pilsbury, well who knows but I have always be fond of the Pillsbury doughboy.

Pub Beer Garden

I'm not entirely certain how we ever navigated the narrow cobbled lanes of Hayfield in search of the Sportsman Inn, our destination for the next two nights but we did.  It is very nearly at the end of the road , all but the last building in the village.  It is a pub built in the mid 1700's which has five "ensuite" bedrooms.  Ensuite being a euphemism for you don't have to share the toilet and bath with others in the building.  It is lunch time and we have brought our usual picnic lunch.  We purchased a pint from the landlord and settle in to their beer garden for our sumptuous repast of ham sandwiches, raw veg, hummus and ginger biscuits (cookies). 

The day was bright and the weather was fine.  Given that our intent had been to do some hiking, it seemed there was no time like the present.  We laced up our hiking boots, grabbed our sticks and set off.  It was only a quarter of a mile or so to the end of the road and the designated trail up to Kinder Scout.  Public telephones, a dying breed in the US, are still alive and well in England, particularly out in the wilds.  There was a time when most people (like in the 1970s) did not have private phones and pay phones, be they in building foyers or next to row houses out in the country were de rigeur.   Here is an image of a post box and phone box, at least a mile from the village of Hayfield and less than a quarter of a mile from the end of a road that accesses hiking trails that lead out in to the back of beyond.  To the  right of the phone box is a row of four circa 1800 stone houses, these were most likely installed with them in mind. 

Stone walls and Kinder Downfall in the distance

Stone stile over the fields

We did a couple of miles, some of it steeply uphill, alongside a reservoir.  It soon became obvious there was no way we were reaching the summit (if that is what you want to call it) of Kinder Scout.  We made our way back along the Kinder River and back to the Sportsman Inn for dinner. 

Next up, the joys of rooms in an 18th century hostelry and a visit to Little Moreton Hall.

UK 2012 ISSUE 8

I have a lot of pictures to share and, as often as not, there are a whole lot more pictures to share than narrative.  So, will start off this edition with a group of pictures taken in central Leicester more than a month ago.  We took a walk down New Walk, a pedestrianised piece of town just outside the commercial district.  There's some great architecture, check out the chimneys and windows.  I believe most of these buildings are now offices but some are definitely still residential.

Will pick Mick's brain a little on the style of architecture. Should any of you out there have more training than either of us, please feel free to share your opinion.

Victorian row houses

Under renovation

Georgian (1720 - 1840)

These are windows from a church, the unique thing was each pair of windows were unique.

Doors are always good

Double doors are even better, and they even agreed on colour and knockers!!

Do hope they do some renovation on this building, it is one of my favourites

Here's looking at you

Cut off the window above, it's not nearly so attractive

Lots of Buildings have names

The Victorians liked their chimneys! 

Crazy brickwork

Chimneys again

Over the last few years I have used a digital recorder to capture ideas and thoughts about which I may want to write.  Unfortunately the one which I have used for the last few years has decided that it is full, which it definitely is not. I daren't mess with it too much since what it does still contain is the voice track from the Yoga video we use when at home.  Having mentioned Yoga must admit it's always amusing to see the reactions you get when you put out your yoga mat and start doing yoga practice in a midst of an out in the wilds campsite or better still in one of those urban sites where it is our little tent trailer in the midst of the great behemoths that are now considered "recreational vehicles".  Those folks must really think we are rustic, backwoods hippies.  At any rate, either way it, sure beats a sweaty gym with a bunch of others who are much more proficient at the art and practice of Yoga than yourself.

Have now acquired a new digital recorder for far too much  money, but that is the nature of things over here.  What you might pay for something in dollars seems to be the same number that you pay for the identical item in pounds.  In other words about half again as much.  Mind you within days of purchasing the new recorder we went off and left it behind in Coventry when visiting family.  That has been rectified and I am once again collecting, snippets, witticisms and errata.

Had to leave off in the midst of this to finish off Sunday lunch . . .  Beef stew with carrots and mushrooms, parsleyed dumplings, boiled new potatoes, fresh snap peas, mixed vegetables and apple crumble with ice  cream for dessert.  Dad has an appetite!  Not only did he eat all of the above, and not small portions, he also had a bowl of Butternut squash, leek and potato soup for starters.  It's a full time job feeding the man in the style to which he is accustomed.

The first thing I found on the recorder was "fly tipping and vacations in Florida".  Have no idea what this is all about.  Fly tipping I know.  It refers to people disposing of the garbage by dumping it at the side of the road or in a vacant lot .  What the vacations in Florida refers to, hmm cannot say.  Let's move on to the next instalment, "School bags, lunch boxes and two dads walking their boys to school". 

A couple of mornings a week I try to get out for a walk, preferably before 9:00 a.m.  This particular morning was a beautiful Spring morning, a bit of a breeze, blue skies with puffy white clouds, the regulars out walking their dogs . . . all was well with the world.  I noticed down the hill two men walking along at a leisurely pace.  One was in a suit and tie and had a cocker spaniel on a lead.  The other had on dress slacks and a shirt.  Dawdling behind them were two boys of probably seven or eight doing what young boys do best, be silly.  One foot in the gutter one on the curb, chatting, skipping, poking at each other and generally carrying on.  Their pace was slow, neither the dog or the boys were in a hurry and the men were deep in conversation, pretty much oblivious to the antics of their children.  You could tell they were on their way to drop the boys at school.  The boys had on uniforms, white shirts, dark shorts and shoes, and caps on their heads.  Each of the  fathers, who were deep in conversation about the local politics, was carrying  what turned out to be the boys red canvas school bags with logos from the local primary school and Power Ranger lunch pails.  My imagination immediately put the school caps on the Dads . . . it gave me a good giggle, the thought of these two well dressed men going off to schooled with their book bags and lunch pails just like they had done so many years ago.

Did not get to see too much of the festivities surrounding the Queens Jubilee, Dad was in hospital.  He does, however, seem to be on the mend now.  Don't suppose you got much coverage on it stateside.  Here, it was (actually still is) pretty much a mass party.  Bunting and flags are everywhere on shops, in windows, over doorways, over arching the streets, hanging from flag poles and trees.  Not only were there massive festivities in London, there were parties and events all over the country.  My favourite event was Wellie Wanging in some village in the South of England.  Wellie Wanging involves grasping a wellington boot and flinging it as far as you possibly can.  Wikipedia is a godsend . . . just in case you need to know the following are the

World Welly Wanging Association rules

1. Welly wanging is a sport open to all people irrespective of age, sex, race, creed, religion, nationality and colour. And people from Lancashire.
2. The sport shall be a civilised affair. Fair play, good humour and good manners shall be exhibited at all times.
3. No umpire shall be needed. A player’s word and their honour shall be sufficient.
4. Distances shall be measured in yards, feet and inches. None of this European nonsense. That is mean to Europeons.
5. The standard welly shall be the Dunlop green, size 9, non steel toe-cap. Competitors shall select whether they use left or right welly.
6. No tampering with the welly shall be allowed. Factory finish only. No silicone polish is to be applied.
7. A maximum run-up of 42 paces shall be allowed. This distance was chosen in memory of Douglas Adams, himself a proponent of the sport.
8. The run-up shall end with a straight line of 10 feet in length, that being the width of a standard Yorkshire gate.
9. The welly shall land within the area defined by the straight lines between the Upperthong Gala field and Holme Moss television mast on one side, and on the other by the line between the field and Longley Farm windmill. This playing area is known as the ‘Thong’.
10. There shall be four categories: Men’s and Women’s, and Boys and Girls (u-14’s)
11. The welly shall be projected using any action of the arm or foot for the respective categories.
12. The use of wind assistance is allowed and, indeed, encouraged. Waiting for a suitable gust, however, is limited to one minute. No artificial or man-made wind is to be used.
13. The winners of the two adult categories at the World Championships shall be proclaimed world champion for the forthcoming 12 months, and be awarded a prize as set by the organisers.

The reference to Upperthong is due to the fact that the art of Wellie Wanging was first introduced in the town of Upperthong which is in Yorkshire.  

A hike on Windmill Hill

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