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

ttfn

UK 2012 ISSUE 7

 Just made it back from a walk around the neighbourhood.  It's nearly 9:00 in the evening and the sun has not yet made it to the horizon; it is no where near getting dark.  As if getting dark late were not enough 5:00 a.m. doesn't exactly look like the middle of the night. Ain't it amazing what going further north does for the number of hours of daylight. Just for grins and giggles checked latitude and sunset times for San Francisco: L 37.775, sunset is at 8:22 p.m., Ashland: L 42.194, sunset is at 8:37, Leicester: L 52.635, sunset is at 9:12 and Anchorage L 61.1919, sunset is at 11:09.

Corrections (thank you Mick): the river running through Lincoln is the Trent not the Severn. There were 100 foot spires on the towers of Lincoln Cathedral which made it the tallest building in the world at the time. Rape is not a verb, but a noun and is a plant with a bright yellow flower, that looks much like wild mustard.  At home it may be "amber waves of grain", in the Midlands it is definitely "sunshine fields of rape".  Don't believe I have shared a picture of the fields, it is really difficult to capture the rolling landscape with the patchwork field system.  Farming is not on such a grand scale as we are accustomed to in the West.  The fields are generally small, often not more than a couple of acres.  As often as not they are separated by hedges of wild hawthorn and brambles or walls of un-reinforced stones gathered from the fields.  On grey days the vibrant yellow of the rape makes a sharp contrast with the skies and when the sun comes out they simply light up, lifting your spirits with their colour.    

Borrowed from the Web

Donation Urinal

So where have we been and what have we done that I have not shared? Not all that much really. There was an outing to the Abbey Pumping Station in Leicester. I was thinking water pump but no, in fact it was an old sewage pumping station. Power, water, sewer, these are all things which we pretty much take for granted, they have become just a part of what we call normal.  It is somewhat comforting to know there are people who look after these very necessary components of  every day life.  Perhaps our sophistication and technology have changed but the infrastructure has been around a long while.  Even Roman Britain had baths, and plumbing and steam rooms.  Come to find out the reason Beaumont Leys (where our local Tesco is located) has such a poor reputation is because it was the terminus for the Victorian era sewage disposal system. The station itself was in a rather graceful red brick building (what else would they build with around here) and the old pump machinery, which had been in operation until 1964, was intact. It had a wonderful little museum which explored the art and science of eliminating those substances which we in the course of a day eliminate. Loved the container for the collection of donations.  When you walk in the door you almost immediately see a urinal hung on the wall with the word "Donations" and arrow pointing in to its' porcelain bowl.  There was all sorts of “potty” trivia,  words pictures and descriptions which to some would be considered “potty mouth”. Shit and piss, as words describing elimination, have been in common usage in the English language since the 1300's, while Samuel Pepys referred to a “turd” and “taking a leak” in his diaries of the 1690's.  So fear not, were you to use the word shit, at least in reference to the act of going to the toilet, you are in good company.

Abbey Pump Station

Victorian Industrial Chic

There was a wonderful example of why you may hear the phrase “pull the chain” as a euphemism for flushing the toilet. There were displays about chamber pots and multi-hole pit toilets. Much like rural America lots of people had sheds at the bottom of the garden to do their business and even if all the conveniences were readily available it didn't mean they had the water source or the means to remove said water from inside the house. As I pointed out previously, remodelling or adding to a brick structure is not always a simple task. One of my favourite stories: During the 1930's there was a program to replace wooden toilet seats with ones made of Bakelite, as it was thought to be more hygienic. One family got there new seat but had ideas of there own. . . the bath was used for storing coal, the flushing toilet, with seat removed, was used for rinsing dishes. The missing toilet seat? That was hanging on the wall framing a picture of King George V.

Warwick Peacock

We made a trip to Warwick castle for a day out with some of Mick's cousins. If you want to know the history, etc try Wikipedia http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Warwick_Castle. I didn't learn much on this adventure.  Must say, though, it was a great day out, laughing and joking with people our age, rather than the senior set. Yes, I know, to some of you we are a part of the senior set but there's senior and then there is SENIOR and I don't believe I will lay claim to either of those designations. At any rate the grounds were lovely, well manicured but, somewhat sterile and definitely lacking in the history and reader boards one comes to expect in buildings of its ilk. Come to find out it is owned by Merlin Entertainment, second only to Disney in size of amusement park operators. That may explain why there was so little history and it felt just a little too well maintained.  The one thing in their favour, at least the building and environs are being maintained, which is more than the previous landed gentry were able to do.  

Rooftops from Warwick Castle

Boat House on the River Avon Warwick Castle

Belton House - A Stately Pile

Belton House

Fields of golden Daffodils

Next week promises to be a bit more exciting, booked a get-away to the Peak District through Living Social. Not the classiest lodging but serviceable and cheap (I hope). Hopefully tomorrow we will take possession of a 2000 Fiat Punto. We felt we couldn't leave Dad without wheels for a prolonged period, even if doesn't do more than drive to the village for Church on Sunday. Hiring a vehicle can get expensive quite quickly. So, we bought ourselves a “beater”. We gave Stefan, the owner, a check which should clear by tomorrow. In the meantime he will get the leaky radiator replaced and have the oil and filters changed. Started out looking at Craig's List but found only four cars listed.  This seemed rather curious so had a general sort of look around.  Craig's List certainly has not taken off in Leicester, perhaps a more sophisticated Londoner would find it more to their taste. There were any number of categories that had no entries at all.  Makes you wonder how the site got established and why it remains given the lack of use. 

Lacking anything of interest on the net we went to the Leicester Mercury, the local paper, where we found plenty of classified ads. The newspaper seems to alive in well in the UK unlike its American counterpart.  Went with the Fiat on a gut feeling that the dude selling it was on the up and up. Found a leaky radiator, maybe it's just a hose, when we went to pay him. So for the original price he has agreed to take it to his wife's uncle who is a mechanic for a replacement radiator and to have the oil changed etc.  He, the uncle, has done all the work on the beast since they have owned it, which is either a very good thing or a very bad thing.  Only time will tell and since it only needs to last until September, we're good. The thing that most recommended it was that its MOT is good until next March and the tax, ie.,  license, is paid until October.

 The MOT is the big thing. After a car is three years old there is an annual test and inspection by the Ministry of Transport. I really wanted to write the Ministry of Funny Walks, thank you John Cleese. They look at everything, seat belts, windshield wipers, exhaust systems, tires, brakes, etc. If you don't pass you don't get your sticker, if you don't get your sticker you better not be driving the vehicle.  It is far more comprehensive than anything I have seen in the states.  As I understand it either you get all the bits in compliance or the certificate will not be issued.  No maximum expenditure, no appeals, just fix it or junk it.  This probably explains why you see so few really beat up cars in the UK. 

 Will begin sharing some pictures with you, this is easier than trying to put them up on Flickr, unless I want to buy a membership.  Blogger purports to have a slideshow that will run at the bottom of the post but I have had no success in setting it up.  If there is anyone out there who has done it please share the how to with me.  As to the pictures, most of them are nothing special so you it's a matter of wysiwyg (what you see is what you get), but they will give you a bigger sense of what it is like over here. 

Warwick Castle Ramparts

Warwick Castle

Castle Garden

Down the Lane

It must be time to call it quits, these pictures are not always ending up where I expect them to be.  So will leave you with "Down the Lane" taken from the backseat while driving down the road.

UK 2012 ISSUE 6

Lincoln  Cathedral

Roof tops from the Castle

So, you may have noticed I left off in a bit of a snit a the end of the last Avatar, but I am recovered now; as is the laptop, almost. Took all of my “help desk” expertise and then some stubbornness to get through it and then some more grumbling, cursing and general bad temper. In the end, between running check disk, disabling or removing a bunch of programs and doing a system restore back to the beginning of time I got everything back except the ability to connect to the Internet. So I am  now  writing and editing photographs on Dad's machine, saving it to a memory stick and moving the lot to Mick's machine. Actually as I write this, the process is still a theory, yet to be tested shortly.

Castle Keep

Allow me to take a moment to address some of the comment I received on my last blog. I am a terrible shoe snob when it comes to what I will put on my feet when travelling in Europe. This may not be entirely sensible but has been true for more than 40 years. I will not wear tennis shoes, otherwise know as trainers or plimsolls in the UK, when travelling abroad. I know I am an American and all I need to do is open my mouth and it becomes patently obvious; but in my mind wearing tennis shoes, particularly white tennis shoes, is synonymous with being an ugly American. Besides, who wears tennies with a skirt, unless of course they are desperately trying to get some exercise in on a lunch hour . . . wahoo, that is not something I need worry about any longer!! So what have a brought this trip, please keep in mind this may seem a bit excessive, but I will be here for six months. First in the case were my hiking boots. I am thinking of leaving them behind when we head home and buying a new pair either back in Ashland, or perhaps here it I find something new and exciting. Second a pair of Clarks' sandals with lots of straps that can be adjusted for wearing with socks if necessary. A pair of brown Mary Janes because they are pretty versatile and look somewhat stylish. Last of all my Dansko boots, first off because I really like them for airline travel (they slip on and off . . . no laces or buckles) secondly because they are boots so they are really useful in the rain, and last of all, being black they look somewhat dressy and I can even wear them with a skirt if I put on a pair of tights (tights is the English generic for any kind of stocking that goes from toe to waist, not just the things that dancers wear.). Hey guys,bet that was more than you ever wanted to know about women's fashion. And just to be on the safe side, don't ask about what kind of a wardrobe I brought, the answer is the barest minimum and a raincoat. My theory is if you need it that bad you can always buy it (as if any self respecting woman needed a reason to go shopping) and I hate having to schlep heavy suitcases through airports etc.

What's for dinner?

Check out the Chinese  Details

The next burning question, what is a full English Breakfast, as served in a B&B. The Ivory Guest House in Lincoln offered four different kinds of cold cereal, apples, oranges, bananas and yogurt to which you could help yourself. There was a choice of coffee or tea. The tea came in a pot, the coffee in a French press, aka cafetiere. There was a pitcher of orange juice on the table, as well a selection of marmalades, jams and honey. For the cooked portion of your breakfast your choices were eggs, bacon, sausage, baked beans, grilled tomato, mushrooms, hash browns, and fried bread. Naturally this comes with white and/or brown bread toast. 

I have a friend who had theory that the English made toast once a year, in great quantities, to be stored and produced on demand. At the time it was always great thick planks of substantial white bread much like what is commonly used for french toast, toasted to total dryness and presented in a slotted device that held each slice upright and sat in a tray to catch the crumbs. The slotted holder and tray still are used but the bread, for better or worse is more like Kilpatricks and/or Oro Wheat.

Most of the choices are pretty much self explanatory, though English bacon is a creature unknown in the US. It looks as though someone might have taken a very thin slice of a pork chop only longer, and with very limited fat. They don't seem to smoke it and I'm not entirely sure what kind of curing is done other than salt. Indifferent would be my assessment though I expect there is some really wonderful stuff out there if you're willing to go looking for it, never mind what the price might be. Fried bread, something I haven't eaten in years (Mick won't have anything to do with it) is precisely what it sounds like, a slice of white bread fried in shallow fat. The first time I ever ate it the fat was bacon fat, oh so tasty, this time who knows. The texture was great, all crispy and greasy, the taste, well it wasn't bacon fat, that I am sure of.

Steep Hill Shop

I left off last time having gotten soaking wet while exploring the castle.  (It's really all right thought as we have terrific raincoats)  We escaped the rain and took up residence in the cafe to sulk over a cup of tea. Finished off the inside bits of the castle, not like any castle you might imagine up for Sleeping Beauty or Cinderella. They were mostly Victorian buildings built within the grounds as a prison and court building.  Next stop the cathedral. Timing was not to be our forte this afternoon as they were shutting things up for evensong.  Note to self and blog followers, what the dickens is the difference between a castle and a palace.

Castle Ramparts

Victorian Court Building

Steep Hill

If you recall I commented that the Cathedral and Castle were at the top of a very steep hill . Truth be told, it is probably one of the steeper streets I have ever walked, in San Francisco it would be one of the ones where the pavement (I want you to know that the computer just changed the word “sidewalk” to pavement and I had to put it in quotes to stop it from being changed.) is made up of steps. Wonder if the ladies in their four inch heels find it more difficult or easier walking on the slope. I imagine that going up hill is somewhat like walking on the flat, but going down that would be a whole other matter. Then if I really stop and think about it when I worked in the city (for those of you not from the San Francisco Bay Area, there is only one “City”, San Francisco) I used to charge up and down California Street without a second thought. Anyway, Steep Hill, as the street is called, is lined with tea shops, antique book dealers, very up market men and women’s clothing stores and gift shoppes. It's all been pedestrianised as has most of the City Centre and the pavement (in this case I am talking about the street surface) is cobblestones. All very picturesque in the sun and slippery and unstable in the rain. Boy am I glad I didn't live in a world of cobblestones and muddy dirt tracks, you get more than enough of that just sightseeing.

Lincoln Cathedral

Architectural Detail

Exterior Frieze Work

Like the shadows

The next morning was sunny and bright and after a substantial breakfast we made our way up the hill through a city park that made you think you were out in the country, all wild and unkempt, and back up to the Cathedral to have a look around. Mick did the tour that took you up above and into the spaces between the ceiling and roof and out on to the roof for a look around. Will have to snag some of his pictures. I did the downstairs tour and we compared notes over a really wonderful chicken pie for lunch. Finished off a couple of other museums and attractions before making our way back down the hill past a windmill. I have to admit, when I think windmill, either those things that they use to generate electricity or the dutch things come to mind. If you really think about it though, the things that you see up a tower in farm yards are windmills too. There used to be one of those on the ranch in Asti and it was used to pump water from the well. Anyway this was a dutch style windmill which had been one of, I believe, five that used to sit along this ridge. It really looks rather absurd sitting on a brick pad in the middle of a residential neighbourhood.

Ellis Mill

Back to our room and shoes off. We make good use of the tea things provided by our landlord and even did in a couple of packets of biscuits. If you know us, you will know we like to explore, so based on the recommendation made by someone during the day, we decided to find the Pye Wype for dinner. The name is pronounced Pie Wipe and we are told it is a bird. Now I have to admit whenever I heard the name I had visions of the Michelin Tire Man holding a pie in one hand and a dish rag in the other.  Whatever it is, a bird or a man with a pie, there is no way it is  spelled Pye Wype. Not only do we like to explore, we like to do it on foot . . . so by the end of the day we will have climbed to the top of the ridge and then down to the bottom of the valley. Fortunately for us, this being the end of two days of walking, our B&B is on the lower third of the hillside and not nearly so steep as the upper part of the town. Down we go, wandering along streets and alleys in an attempt to find the River Severn, and the footpath to our destination.  As we stroll along the canal there are many flat boats (think barge but don't call them that in front of their owners) often referred to as canal boats, which appear to be lived in. We enquire of a gentleman out walking his dog as to how far down the river the Pye Wype might be . . . his estimate, two miles. I'm a little dismayed, but game to give it a try. So off we jolly well go again, river on the left, houses, then a golf course and eventually fields of rape on our right. Two miles it wasn't, but neither was it a short little meander.

Sunny Days

Architectural Detail

To finish off our break we made a stop in Newark on Trent and explored several museum, and their cobblestoned market square. Would love to return sometime when the market is in full swing. Then off down all the country lanes to places with names like Plungar, Car Colston, Hose and ultimately Colston Bassett of Stilton Cheese fame.

Gotta love those arches

Post Box

Now imagine 100 foot wooden poles on top of those spires!!