Monday morning. I awake, terrified to even move, afraid of the pain. When I do pluck up the courage I am surprised to find that I don't feel bad - I might even get through the day without painkillers....and so I pack and drink the cup of instant coffee Tony has made for made. (England...have you HEARD of the coffee machine?)
Remember I was surprised that I didn't fall up the stairs? I was less surprised when I feel down....tripping on the carpet and bending my toe under me at 180degrees. The suburban staircase achieved what the might of Tesco's couldn't - it fractured my big toe ( no...just strap it....no really....I don't want plaster....no...you see...I'm on holiday....)
It took three hours in the car from Narej to Nottnem.... Robin Hood Country!
It then took 1 1/2 hours to find our hotel - because Last minute,com had attached the wrong map. We were driving in circles until finally we called Eastwwood Hall and they directed us in. By that time I would happily have launched a jihad against the British Isles and any tourists who happened to get in the way.
The hotel is sympathetic and upgrades us to a superior room....it's luxurious and comfortable and ON SPECIAL ( my favourite phrase) and I need to rest so we've booked in for an extra night.
With my sugar levels now erratic ( somehow I lost my Diabex XR...an integral part of my meds) I hastily clean up and go to meet my friend Hils whom I have known online for 7 years. She's a delight - and we get on well. The Trip to Jerusalem is Britain's oldest pub - dating back to 1189 when the followers of Richard the Lionheart drank toasts to God and Country before leaving for the Crusades.
The pub is literally carved into the rock face beneath Nottingham Castle....scene of all those swordfights between various Robin Hoods and Sheriffs of Nottingham. It's charming and atmospheric and does great pub food which which Hils, Tony and myself devour with relish. Made up of many small tudor and medieval rooms, it oozes history in a way we in Australia can only dream of. A group of Americans is in another room with a whitewashed cave face. There's lots of shrieking and cheering as they play ringling - a very old game where you swing an iron ring on a rope and try to hook it onto a cow's horn on the wall! Whether they are drunk or just intoxicated by the ambiance - who can say?
But most of Nottingham doesn't have that charm...it's a seiously depressed area and it is so sad to see boarded up shops crying out for some love and attention. I'm glad I came but I shan't be sorry to leave.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Day 13/54 - Tested at Tesco's!
Sunday morning - a glorious start. There we are eating cornflakes ( which seem to be more English than roast beef) when a brace of magnificent male pheasants in full plumage wonder out of the long grass and nonchalantly cross in front of the window. Isn't it strange that in nature the only female species which primps and parades and looks more ornate than the male is HUMAN! We hold our breath - willing the deer whose ears we can only just see, to follow, but it doesn't.
We say goodbye to John and Jenny with many hugs and look forward to another perfect day. But it's day 13 innit? I always thought it was my lucky number - but not today.
We make the drive from Beccles to Norwich ( which is pronounced "Narej") - stopping on the way for roast beef and Yorkshire puddin....only a child's portion and it's still enormous. Lashings of hot horseradish....yummy.
Outside Norwich we stop at Tesco's to pick up an offering for Tony's nephew and his wife - and that's when it happens.
Some great pillock (Isn't that a great word...it's even better than Dickhead....though not quite as self explanatory) has emptied one of the frozen food cabinets but hasn't mopped the floor. I feel my feet slide in what is almost a duckpond; I yell out; but there's no way I can stop myself. My feet go up....and I go down - cracking my head on the concrete floor. For a few seconds I lose consciousness but then I hear Tony's voice calling me and the world comes back into focus and there's a nurse telling me not to move, and my husband looking white and scared and Tesco staff calling for an ambulance.
Now there is no bloody way I am spending my holiday in a NHS hospital eating rotten food when France is beckoning! It takes about 40 minutes to get me off my back and onto my feet. Nothing is broken - but my back is hurt and me head took a pounding. Another half hour to fill out the accident report while they give me strong tea and check my blood sugars to make sure I am not in shock. I'm given a huge bunch of flowers and a forty pound gift card - the colour is coming back into Tony's face and my two good samaritans ( it appears that one is a lawyer) are muttering threats about suing and neglogence. They're right of course - but all I am focussed on is not being held up.
We arrive at Tony's nephew's and I meet yet more new relatives and give Sue the lovely bouquet courtesy of Tesco's. They have googled me on the net and somehow discovered I love smoked salmon and avocadoes. I do of course and there is a lovely summer lunch spread with both included and I don't have the heart to tell them about the roast beef!.
English strawberries taste like no others. Did I say that before? Well it's TRUE. Now if I could just find somewhere that serves Gooseberry pie! We watch the world cup with England horribly disgraced by a pathetic display of overpaid egotistical show ponies. And the pain of the game triples the pain of the fall. I need to collapse and just hope the headache doesn't get worse and I don't have concussion.
Up the narrow steep staircase which for some insane reason is carpeted - and the carpet is LOOSE. If I don't fall again it will be a miracle! But miracles do happen.
It's a small stuffy room with just a desk fan to disperse the 31c heat - and we're sleeping in twin beds again....but I crawl into bed and try to ignore the pains that are chasing each other through my body and focus on what a wonderful day yesterday was.
We say goodbye to John and Jenny with many hugs and look forward to another perfect day. But it's day 13 innit? I always thought it was my lucky number - but not today.
We make the drive from Beccles to Norwich ( which is pronounced "Narej") - stopping on the way for roast beef and Yorkshire puddin....only a child's portion and it's still enormous. Lashings of hot horseradish....yummy.
Outside Norwich we stop at Tesco's to pick up an offering for Tony's nephew and his wife - and that's when it happens.
Some great pillock (Isn't that a great word...it's even better than Dickhead....though not quite as self explanatory) has emptied one of the frozen food cabinets but hasn't mopped the floor. I feel my feet slide in what is almost a duckpond; I yell out; but there's no way I can stop myself. My feet go up....and I go down - cracking my head on the concrete floor. For a few seconds I lose consciousness but then I hear Tony's voice calling me and the world comes back into focus and there's a nurse telling me not to move, and my husband looking white and scared and Tesco staff calling for an ambulance.
Now there is no bloody way I am spending my holiday in a NHS hospital eating rotten food when France is beckoning! It takes about 40 minutes to get me off my back and onto my feet. Nothing is broken - but my back is hurt and me head took a pounding. Another half hour to fill out the accident report while they give me strong tea and check my blood sugars to make sure I am not in shock. I'm given a huge bunch of flowers and a forty pound gift card - the colour is coming back into Tony's face and my two good samaritans ( it appears that one is a lawyer) are muttering threats about suing and neglogence. They're right of course - but all I am focussed on is not being held up.
We arrive at Tony's nephew's and I meet yet more new relatives and give Sue the lovely bouquet courtesy of Tesco's. They have googled me on the net and somehow discovered I love smoked salmon and avocadoes. I do of course and there is a lovely summer lunch spread with both included and I don't have the heart to tell them about the roast beef!.
English strawberries taste like no others. Did I say that before? Well it's TRUE. Now if I could just find somewhere that serves Gooseberry pie! We watch the world cup with England horribly disgraced by a pathetic display of overpaid egotistical show ponies. And the pain of the game triples the pain of the fall. I need to collapse and just hope the headache doesn't get worse and I don't have concussion.
Up the narrow steep staircase which for some insane reason is carpeted - and the carpet is LOOSE. If I don't fall again it will be a miracle! But miracles do happen.
It's a small stuffy room with just a desk fan to disperse the 31c heat - and we're sleeping in twin beds again....but I crawl into bed and try to ignore the pains that are chasing each other through my body and focus on what a wonderful day yesterday was.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Day 12/55 - Changing Tack
Christopher Cross had a great song called "Sailing" ( so did Rod Stewart...bigger hit - inferior song.)
Today I sailed...me! In a Waveney ( which is a type of competitive little yacht). Now before you start yawning - I mean I SAILED. I didn't go as a passenger - I skippered and took the helm.
Now I finally GET IT and have new insight into my Beloved man. There surely can't be anymore spectacular feeling in the entire world than making a pact with the wind and God and feeling the sails fill and the boat lift and cut the water, racing away.
Buckets gave me a few quick lessons and he and Tony crewed for me. It was a Tony I have never seen, overflowing with happiness and energy and totally in tune with the boat. He loves it so much and now I understand the need for him to be near water - and why he feels so hemmed in by the trees.
I did a halfway decent tack out of instinct and both my lovely crew looked at me in amazement. We all talked about it when we finally got back to the clubhouse - but I could have stayed out there forever!
The little town of Oulton is charming enough in itself. But it's the gateway to the Broads - which actually start in Suffolk. And Oulton Broad is spectacular - as beautiful as any place on earth you can imagine.
The weather Gods smiled on us - clear blue skies - 28 degrees - the water glistening like a diamond mine stripped naked. Bliss.
We had already been to see Lowestoft, just a few miles away, where I spent one summer of my childhood when my dad did a summer season there at the theatre on the pier. There's a plaza there now with dancing water spouts which little children run in and out of, shrieking with delight.
Tuna Mayonnaise sandwiches, a ginger beer, and a walk across the park in Oulton and suddenly there it is...WOBYC ( Sounds like someone from Lord of The Rings rather than a modest yacht club)
It's the Waveney world championships....not that huge a deal since Waveneys are a boat peculiar to this area. Tony is greeted by all as the Prodigal son - to some he is still known as Coca Cola trousers, after some outrageous Coca Cola beeach pants he wore 40 years ago...he still has them and still wears them occassionally. He is clearly loved and he loves everyone there....touching, hugging, back slapping, laughing - and always the Broad is in the background ( no...not me...the water) and the sails zip past us.
It is only after the racing is over that the lovely Jenny ( she of the soft Suffolk burr) says her dad has left the boat rigged in case we want to go for a sail. It's 5.30pm but it doesn't get dark till 9.30 - so why not. I try to beg off but Buckets is having none of that - and so I get to skipper a Waveney and find myself talking to her, encouraging the sails to fill, urging her to find the wind. The exhilaration is overwhelming and I swear I am no more than eighteen years old. Time stops when the wind and the water do their thing - was ever a do more perfect?
Of course, Perfection can only be measured by comparison with imperfection. As we dock and I try to alight - both my bung knee and hip give way and I fall flat on my arse in the boat. A second attempt but my hip is locked and this time I pull Tony over with me!
Thankfully, my ego now put firmly back in its place, I succeed at the third attempt - but where the hell was the 18 year old who had skimmed the water with full sails?
Still, NOTHING could spoil the day. An extra hour in the clubhouse with my crew talking about my one perfect tack..... and then it's fish and cheaps in batter made with the local beer and home to bed. Being a helmsman is a tiring business.
What memories for when I am truly old and dementia sets in...I'm sure by then I will remember winning the America's cup...or at least the Oulton Broad Waveney trophy!
And I'm think maybe....only maybe mind.... when we move to Franmkston we should get a little boat.....
Swallows and Amazons.... aah, a book of my childhood...and now I am living it.
And I am finally up to date with this blog!
Today I sailed...me! In a Waveney ( which is a type of competitive little yacht). Now before you start yawning - I mean I SAILED. I didn't go as a passenger - I skippered and took the helm.
Now I finally GET IT and have new insight into my Beloved man. There surely can't be anymore spectacular feeling in the entire world than making a pact with the wind and God and feeling the sails fill and the boat lift and cut the water, racing away.
Buckets gave me a few quick lessons and he and Tony crewed for me. It was a Tony I have never seen, overflowing with happiness and energy and totally in tune with the boat. He loves it so much and now I understand the need for him to be near water - and why he feels so hemmed in by the trees.
I did a halfway decent tack out of instinct and both my lovely crew looked at me in amazement. We all talked about it when we finally got back to the clubhouse - but I could have stayed out there forever!
The little town of Oulton is charming enough in itself. But it's the gateway to the Broads - which actually start in Suffolk. And Oulton Broad is spectacular - as beautiful as any place on earth you can imagine.
The weather Gods smiled on us - clear blue skies - 28 degrees - the water glistening like a diamond mine stripped naked. Bliss.
We had already been to see Lowestoft, just a few miles away, where I spent one summer of my childhood when my dad did a summer season there at the theatre on the pier. There's a plaza there now with dancing water spouts which little children run in and out of, shrieking with delight.
Tuna Mayonnaise sandwiches, a ginger beer, and a walk across the park in Oulton and suddenly there it is...WOBYC ( Sounds like someone from Lord of The Rings rather than a modest yacht club)
It's the Waveney world championships....not that huge a deal since Waveneys are a boat peculiar to this area. Tony is greeted by all as the Prodigal son - to some he is still known as Coca Cola trousers, after some outrageous Coca Cola beeach pants he wore 40 years ago...he still has them and still wears them occassionally. He is clearly loved and he loves everyone there....touching, hugging, back slapping, laughing - and always the Broad is in the background ( no...not me...the water) and the sails zip past us.
It is only after the racing is over that the lovely Jenny ( she of the soft Suffolk burr) says her dad has left the boat rigged in case we want to go for a sail. It's 5.30pm but it doesn't get dark till 9.30 - so why not. I try to beg off but Buckets is having none of that - and so I get to skipper a Waveney and find myself talking to her, encouraging the sails to fill, urging her to find the wind. The exhilaration is overwhelming and I swear I am no more than eighteen years old. Time stops when the wind and the water do their thing - was ever a do more perfect?
Of course, Perfection can only be measured by comparison with imperfection. As we dock and I try to alight - both my bung knee and hip give way and I fall flat on my arse in the boat. A second attempt but my hip is locked and this time I pull Tony over with me!
Thankfully, my ego now put firmly back in its place, I succeed at the third attempt - but where the hell was the 18 year old who had skimmed the water with full sails?
Still, NOTHING could spoil the day. An extra hour in the clubhouse with my crew talking about my one perfect tack..... and then it's fish and cheaps in batter made with the local beer and home to bed. Being a helmsman is a tiring business.
What memories for when I am truly old and dementia sets in...I'm sure by then I will remember winning the America's cup...or at least the Oulton Broad Waveney trophy!
And I'm think maybe....only maybe mind.... when we move to Franmkston we should get a little boat.....
Swallows and Amazons.... aah, a book of my childhood...and now I am living it.
And I am finally up to date with this blog!
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Day11/56 - Sellers and Buckets and more Messing about.
Friday morning - a bowl of cornflakes and a piece of toast to go with the inevitable cup of instant coffee!
I had hoped to make a quick getaway but it's not to be. R wants to take Beloved to see his yacht - sailing is such a huge thing here, and though no-one expects Onassis and orgies I'm a little disappointed by the sail boat which is shown with pride.
A ploughman's lunch at 12.30....I'm going to look like a ploughman if this keeps up - and then finally, after giving up any hope of a sensible reply to any of E's ramblings, we are on the road again.
After this experience I am expecting to be underwhelmed by these visits to Tony's past - but as we travel further East and reach Horseshoe Cottage, the home of Beloved's childhood friend, i feel more at ease - perhaps the suicide pact can go on hold for a few more years..
Another masterpiece of English quaintness greets us....not the friends - the cottage. Again it's pink and set in gardens that might have been used as illustrations for seed packets. Paul looks for all the world like Peter Sellers, and apparently always has. Lesley if terrific - open and without self consciousness....traits which are not in abundance. We have a lovely visit....two hours with cups of tea and sliced bread pudding that we brought with us ( It's a dirty job but someone has to do it.) I'm reluctant to say goodbye - it's been such a relief to laugh and talk and feel in tune with people.... I almost wish we could stay longer.
But it's on to Beccles - a little suffolk town close to Lowestoft and Oulton Broad....scenes of Tony's sailing youth. We manage to get ourselves lost in the old town and Tony realises he doesn't actually have Bucket's address. You can imagine how thrilled I was at that. After driving round in circles for half an hour, Beloved admitted defeat and called his friend to tell him we were lost.
The house is modern, and that's a surprise - but there are four acres of woodlands behind it and they're full of wildlife...ducks, pheasants, grouse, bunnies, deer and even squirrels are all curious about our arrival. The ducks waddle up onto the patio to quack at us.... the bunnies are too busy frantically bunnying to pay us much mind. The little deer stares at me with only mildly inquisitive eyes. The air is incredibly fresh and we could be a million miles from anywhere rather than three hours from London.
Buckets and Jen are a lovely couple... they welcome us with genuine affection and Jen has cooked a fabulous dinner which we have with a bottle of Chardonnnay. There's a stunning guest bedroom and burr walnut furniture to complement the old brass bed.
I manage to catch up with some work online then stumble into bed .
Tomorrow is another day and since I am in arrears with this blog, I can say with the absolute certainty of hindsight that it will be one of the most special days of my life, and one I will always treasure.
I had hoped to make a quick getaway but it's not to be. R wants to take Beloved to see his yacht - sailing is such a huge thing here, and though no-one expects Onassis and orgies I'm a little disappointed by the sail boat which is shown with pride.
A ploughman's lunch at 12.30....I'm going to look like a ploughman if this keeps up - and then finally, after giving up any hope of a sensible reply to any of E's ramblings, we are on the road again.
After this experience I am expecting to be underwhelmed by these visits to Tony's past - but as we travel further East and reach Horseshoe Cottage, the home of Beloved's childhood friend, i feel more at ease - perhaps the suicide pact can go on hold for a few more years..
Another masterpiece of English quaintness greets us....not the friends - the cottage. Again it's pink and set in gardens that might have been used as illustrations for seed packets. Paul looks for all the world like Peter Sellers, and apparently always has. Lesley if terrific - open and without self consciousness....traits which are not in abundance. We have a lovely visit....two hours with cups of tea and sliced bread pudding that we brought with us ( It's a dirty job but someone has to do it.) I'm reluctant to say goodbye - it's been such a relief to laugh and talk and feel in tune with people.... I almost wish we could stay longer.
But it's on to Beccles - a little suffolk town close to Lowestoft and Oulton Broad....scenes of Tony's sailing youth. We manage to get ourselves lost in the old town and Tony realises he doesn't actually have Bucket's address. You can imagine how thrilled I was at that. After driving round in circles for half an hour, Beloved admitted defeat and called his friend to tell him we were lost.
The house is modern, and that's a surprise - but there are four acres of woodlands behind it and they're full of wildlife...ducks, pheasants, grouse, bunnies, deer and even squirrels are all curious about our arrival. The ducks waddle up onto the patio to quack at us.... the bunnies are too busy frantically bunnying to pay us much mind. The little deer stares at me with only mildly inquisitive eyes. The air is incredibly fresh and we could be a million miles from anywhere rather than three hours from London.
Buckets and Jen are a lovely couple... they welcome us with genuine affection and Jen has cooked a fabulous dinner which we have with a bottle of Chardonnnay. There's a stunning guest bedroom and burr walnut furniture to complement the old brass bed.
I manage to catch up with some work online then stumble into bed .
Tomorrow is another day and since I am in arrears with this blog, I can say with the absolute certainty of hindsight that it will be one of the most special days of my life, and one I will always treasure.
Day 10/57 - Messing about.
Thursday June 24th.
It's only a week since we arrived in England but it seems a lifetime since we left Melbourne. I'm missing the cats terribly, especially Oliver, and wonder if he will haver transferred all his affections to Vanessa with me gone so long.
Today was another of those days where I played the dutiful wife while being pissed off inside. It's not ego to say I am more than a little charismatic - but here on his home turf Beloved truly is master of all he surveys and this part of the trip is pretty much about him doing what HE wants to do. That's okay - I've put him through the mill the past two years but now I see, despite his great love for OZ, that he indeed an Englishman...and every castle is his home. What's more, he is astonishinmgly dynamic - like and exiled king returning home. Everybody loves him and bends to his will and wit. Not complaining....it's just a novelty I'm not sure I want to repeat.
WE left Hartley Wintney for six days of touring... mostly to see his old sailing buddies. First stop is the village of Messing to see his old boss and I'm not looking forward to it.... Tony and R will talk sailing.... I will be left to entertain E - whom I have not met and who knows nothing of my existence - though she knew wives 1 and 2!
The day starts badly - Margaret is late home from her lunch and. although we did get to see the end of the Isner/Mahut match from Wimbledon ( true heroes, both) we didn't get on the road till 3.30pm. Not used to the route we took the northern instead of the southern branch of the A25. Apart from seeing an horrific smash in which a car was torn in half, another crumpled like a sardine tin, and bodies everywhere - the peak hour traffic meant we took 2 hours to travel 30 miles.
Finally we arrived in Messing, a charming village in Essex - where R and E live.
The cottage is like something from Britian's most Beautiful homes or Escape to the Country.... thatched roof, painted pink, roses climbing up the wall...it's 500 years old and is attached by one wall to a similarly aged old pub called The Crown Inn. Picture postcard stuff ...it takes your breath away.
R and E come out to meet us. They are....um...charming, sweet, ....and DECREPIT! They are OLD - older than I can possibly imagine. The good news is that they make me feel suddenly impossibly YOUNG - almost adoloscent. Tony and I always say age is just a number and means nothing. But looking at these ancient people I remember how terrified I was of maths when I was a kid.
We are shown the garden - which is to die for - full of big trees - roses - an ivy covered deep well, and a hedge that backs on to corn fields. Magic.
As predicted Tony and R prattle on about the past and I try to entertain E - who starts discourses on many subjects only to abandon them mid sentence. It's tiring trying to keep a conversation going. We have a drink in the pub next door but nothing is said about food... 7.30 turns to 8 - and then 9 - and finally we are taken into the cottage and served chicken curry - COLD with a cold rice salad and some lettuce leaves. Since we're ravenous and would happily have eaten the apples on the tablecloth, we devour it gladly - and there are at least English strawberries ( does anything taste quite so good) and cream and a good stilton to follow. The English seem to drink a lot of orange juice with lemonade...a habit I hope not to pick up.
Since there is nothing worth reporting on the meal or after dinner conversation - let me describe the marvellous higgledy piggledy cottage. It's grade two listed and so original features cannot be moved. There are beams and timber supports everywhere - huge chunks of old oak that have held the house together since the early 15th century. When the floor was dug out downstairs to makeway for more headroom upstairs, the beams had to stay in situ. So Upstairs - in the charming guest bedroom we are assigned... there is a beam, some 18inches ( 45cms) thick that is suspended 1 foot ( 30 cms) above the ground and TOTALLY BLOCKS THE DOORWAY! No kidding, you have to climb over it to enter or leave the bedroom. We are offerred a chamber pot to avoid trips to the bathroom during the night, as forgetting the beam is there could result in you breaking your neck! But the bed is comfortable and Tony and I got to fall asleep in each other's arms without a single cat coming between us. We did however agree to a suicide pact if we ever got to be that decrepit!
It's only a week since we arrived in England but it seems a lifetime since we left Melbourne. I'm missing the cats terribly, especially Oliver, and wonder if he will haver transferred all his affections to Vanessa with me gone so long.
Today was another of those days where I played the dutiful wife while being pissed off inside. It's not ego to say I am more than a little charismatic - but here on his home turf Beloved truly is master of all he surveys and this part of the trip is pretty much about him doing what HE wants to do. That's okay - I've put him through the mill the past two years but now I see, despite his great love for OZ, that he indeed an Englishman...and every castle is his home. What's more, he is astonishinmgly dynamic - like and exiled king returning home. Everybody loves him and bends to his will and wit. Not complaining....it's just a novelty I'm not sure I want to repeat.
WE left Hartley Wintney for six days of touring... mostly to see his old sailing buddies. First stop is the village of Messing to see his old boss and I'm not looking forward to it.... Tony and R will talk sailing.... I will be left to entertain E - whom I have not met and who knows nothing of my existence - though she knew wives 1 and 2!
The day starts badly - Margaret is late home from her lunch and. although we did get to see the end of the Isner/Mahut match from Wimbledon ( true heroes, both) we didn't get on the road till 3.30pm. Not used to the route we took the northern instead of the southern branch of the A25. Apart from seeing an horrific smash in which a car was torn in half, another crumpled like a sardine tin, and bodies everywhere - the peak hour traffic meant we took 2 hours to travel 30 miles.
Finally we arrived in Messing, a charming village in Essex - where R and E live.
The cottage is like something from Britian's most Beautiful homes or Escape to the Country.... thatched roof, painted pink, roses climbing up the wall...it's 500 years old and is attached by one wall to a similarly aged old pub called The Crown Inn. Picture postcard stuff ...it takes your breath away.
R and E come out to meet us. They are....um...charming, sweet, ....and DECREPIT! They are OLD - older than I can possibly imagine. The good news is that they make me feel suddenly impossibly YOUNG - almost adoloscent. Tony and I always say age is just a number and means nothing. But looking at these ancient people I remember how terrified I was of maths when I was a kid.
We are shown the garden - which is to die for - full of big trees - roses - an ivy covered deep well, and a hedge that backs on to corn fields. Magic.
As predicted Tony and R prattle on about the past and I try to entertain E - who starts discourses on many subjects only to abandon them mid sentence. It's tiring trying to keep a conversation going. We have a drink in the pub next door but nothing is said about food... 7.30 turns to 8 - and then 9 - and finally we are taken into the cottage and served chicken curry - COLD with a cold rice salad and some lettuce leaves. Since we're ravenous and would happily have eaten the apples on the tablecloth, we devour it gladly - and there are at least English strawberries ( does anything taste quite so good) and cream and a good stilton to follow. The English seem to drink a lot of orange juice with lemonade...a habit I hope not to pick up.
Since there is nothing worth reporting on the meal or after dinner conversation - let me describe the marvellous higgledy piggledy cottage. It's grade two listed and so original features cannot be moved. There are beams and timber supports everywhere - huge chunks of old oak that have held the house together since the early 15th century. When the floor was dug out downstairs to makeway for more headroom upstairs, the beams had to stay in situ. So Upstairs - in the charming guest bedroom we are assigned... there is a beam, some 18inches ( 45cms) thick that is suspended 1 foot ( 30 cms) above the ground and TOTALLY BLOCKS THE DOORWAY! No kidding, you have to climb over it to enter or leave the bedroom. We are offerred a chamber pot to avoid trips to the bathroom during the night, as forgetting the beam is there could result in you breaking your neck! But the bed is comfortable and Tony and I got to fall asleep in each other's arms without a single cat coming between us. We did however agree to a suicide pact if we ever got to be that decrepit!
Friday, June 25, 2010
Day 9/58 - You lucky sod Inspector Morse
When I was young I sat the Junior Oxford exam and passed. I can't remember exactly what its importance was but I do know it meant I could go to Oxford University without waiting to pass my A levels.
I never went...instead I went to Australia during the Equity strike in England which meant my dad couldn't sign his new television contract. I stayed - and all I saw of Oxford was in countless British films and the Inspector Morse series. I never regretted it - until today.
WEdnesday June 23rd. More magic villages and winding English lanes contrasting with the overcrowded and sluggish motorways. England has this magic thing called Park and Ride. You park for free on the outskirts of a city and then pay a nominal return fare on a bus to the centre of the town. Brilliant.
I don't need to describe Oxford...we've all seen it. Aaaaah, but we haven't all FELT it.....that strange combination of vibrance and history, the old and the new, the past and the future. Just walking the town's length, taking pics of anything and everything ( Oxford was surely created to be photographed long before the camera was invented) was a wondrous experience. It was graduation day at some of the colleges..... kids in their velvet trimmed gowns, overblown Chan cellors and their svelte, chic wives, all mingled with the great unwashed of a dozen countries, carefully avoiding the Goths with cigarettes hanging from their mouths and beer bottles in their hands. The architecture is astonishingly beautiful - but it's the quaintness of the side streets that charms you.
We had a ploughmans lunch in a tiny inn, lost in an alleyway, called The Chequers. The building has been there since 1206 and originally belonged to a money lender. It has operated as a public house since the 1600s and some of the decor looked as though it had always been there: Not so the giant Plasma Screen on the wall....well It was England's last chance in the world cup after all and Tony accompanied the match with many toasts of Brakspeare beer.
A lovely afternoon....the weather is beautiful, and even though I preferred light blue as a colour in my youth and thus supported Cambridge in the annual boat race, I could imagine the coxed eights in their dark blue singlets, rowing steadily under the watchful eyes of 500 year old buildings.
I even managed to get some shopping done at Bhs ( Sounds much more chic than British Home Stores). EVERYTHING is on sale over here, and the economy is bleeding, but amidst the air of pessimism the sun is still shining and all is right in MY world.
Tonight we took Margaret to a little French restaurant L'Auberge in Hartley Wintney. The food wasn't spectacular but they did do scrumptious escargots and the pale and subtle grenache voignier wine came from near Niems...where we'll be spending our time.
To cap it off we arrived home to discover our PM had been deposed. Arrogance and idealism don't make comfortable bedfellows.... and now we have Julia....whose greatest claim to fame in Britain is that she was born in Wales.
The Times is a Tabloid - surely a sign of the end of civilisation as we know it. If The Age goes the same way I shall DEFINITELY stop reading the news forever.
I never went...instead I went to Australia during the Equity strike in England which meant my dad couldn't sign his new television contract. I stayed - and all I saw of Oxford was in countless British films and the Inspector Morse series. I never regretted it - until today.
WEdnesday June 23rd. More magic villages and winding English lanes contrasting with the overcrowded and sluggish motorways. England has this magic thing called Park and Ride. You park for free on the outskirts of a city and then pay a nominal return fare on a bus to the centre of the town. Brilliant.
I don't need to describe Oxford...we've all seen it. Aaaaah, but we haven't all FELT it.....that strange combination of vibrance and history, the old and the new, the past and the future. Just walking the town's length, taking pics of anything and everything ( Oxford was surely created to be photographed long before the camera was invented) was a wondrous experience. It was graduation day at some of the colleges..... kids in their velvet trimmed gowns, overblown Chan cellors and their svelte, chic wives, all mingled with the great unwashed of a dozen countries, carefully avoiding the Goths with cigarettes hanging from their mouths and beer bottles in their hands. The architecture is astonishingly beautiful - but it's the quaintness of the side streets that charms you.
We had a ploughmans lunch in a tiny inn, lost in an alleyway, called The Chequers. The building has been there since 1206 and originally belonged to a money lender. It has operated as a public house since the 1600s and some of the decor looked as though it had always been there: Not so the giant Plasma Screen on the wall....well It was England's last chance in the world cup after all and Tony accompanied the match with many toasts of Brakspeare beer.
A lovely afternoon....the weather is beautiful, and even though I preferred light blue as a colour in my youth and thus supported Cambridge in the annual boat race, I could imagine the coxed eights in their dark blue singlets, rowing steadily under the watchful eyes of 500 year old buildings.
I even managed to get some shopping done at Bhs ( Sounds much more chic than British Home Stores). EVERYTHING is on sale over here, and the economy is bleeding, but amidst the air of pessimism the sun is still shining and all is right in MY world.
Tonight we took Margaret to a little French restaurant L'Auberge in Hartley Wintney. The food wasn't spectacular but they did do scrumptious escargots and the pale and subtle grenache voignier wine came from near Niems...where we'll be spending our time.
To cap it off we arrived home to discover our PM had been deposed. Arrogance and idealism don't make comfortable bedfellows.... and now we have Julia....whose greatest claim to fame in Britain is that she was born in Wales.
The Times is a Tabloid - surely a sign of the end of civilisation as we know it. If The Age goes the same way I shall DEFINITELY stop reading the news forever.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
DAY 8/59 - BRIGHTON'S FOLLY AND VILLAGES TO DIE FOR
Tuesday June 22nd. Today my first thought was for my brother, who was told on his birthday 4 years ago that he had only a few months to live. Ravaged with cancer he died four weeks later - leaving his young wife 5 months pregnant, He didn't live a good life...but he died a noble death and strangely - though we weren't close when he was alive - that still touches me and I cried this morning. He would have been 63 years old.
We headed off to Brighton today. I spent the years between 4 and 6 living there, part of that at a very strict convent boarding school while my parents were on tour. The drive was sensational....through Surrey and Sussex.
There's a stunning county town called Farnham taht takes your breath away - and the village of Petworth is sooooo pretty. Drool factor 10! But it was the little town of Arundel that won me. It's full of medieval buildings and a sensational castle on the river. WE had an egg mayonnaise sandwich and scones with cream at a teahouse which has been operating in some form since the 16th century. Just bliss.
This was another 3 degree day.....my Mum's nickname was Arundel because - at age 2 - she went with her parents to South Africa on the liner The Arundel Castle. I have learned to live without my immediate family - all gone now - but here, in this country of my birth, there are constant reminders and memories come flooding back.
I couldn't find the convent in Hove - long gone now - but I did remember the beatings with coat hangings if the taps weren't polished brightly enough, and the curry comb that tore at my hairt....to this day I can't bear anyone else touching my hair. And I remmbered the school uniform....cherrey red dress with white polka dots and piping....the straw hat with the cherry hatband and a navy blazer. Was I really that small? I have never remembered our address in Brighton until we drove past it...Lansdowne terrace....and there was the row of Georgian houses with parquet floors and bay windows.... I could almost see my Dad, so young, so devilishly handsome. He must have only been about 27.
Brighton is just amazing. It has a wonderfully chic and cosmopolitan atmosphere coupled with grand hotels and elegant houses - small wonder that people pay through the nose to live here. Th gardens around the royal pavilion were full of sunbathers....office and shop workers on their lunch breaks. It's 27c - wonderfully warm and the sun has a real bite. I'm actually getting a tan...in England!
The Royal Pavilion is a folly - and one that almost sent the country broke. It's quite bizarre with it's middle eastern Arabian feel.....both ugly and fascinating at the same time.
I took a photo of the front of the Theatre Royal where my mum and Dad played many times - but I didn't feel any sense of belonging there. It was just interesting - but not home.
Scampi and salmon for dinner tonight....and more white wine. If I stay away long enough I might get to like Chardonnay!!
We headed off to Brighton today. I spent the years between 4 and 6 living there, part of that at a very strict convent boarding school while my parents were on tour. The drive was sensational....through Surrey and Sussex.
There's a stunning county town called Farnham taht takes your breath away - and the village of Petworth is sooooo pretty. Drool factor 10! But it was the little town of Arundel that won me. It's full of medieval buildings and a sensational castle on the river. WE had an egg mayonnaise sandwich and scones with cream at a teahouse which has been operating in some form since the 16th century. Just bliss.
This was another 3 degree day.....my Mum's nickname was Arundel because - at age 2 - she went with her parents to South Africa on the liner The Arundel Castle. I have learned to live without my immediate family - all gone now - but here, in this country of my birth, there are constant reminders and memories come flooding back.
I couldn't find the convent in Hove - long gone now - but I did remember the beatings with coat hangings if the taps weren't polished brightly enough, and the curry comb that tore at my hairt....to this day I can't bear anyone else touching my hair. And I remmbered the school uniform....cherrey red dress with white polka dots and piping....the straw hat with the cherry hatband and a navy blazer. Was I really that small? I have never remembered our address in Brighton until we drove past it...Lansdowne terrace....and there was the row of Georgian houses with parquet floors and bay windows.... I could almost see my Dad, so young, so devilishly handsome. He must have only been about 27.
Brighton is just amazing. It has a wonderfully chic and cosmopolitan atmosphere coupled with grand hotels and elegant houses - small wonder that people pay through the nose to live here. Th gardens around the royal pavilion were full of sunbathers....office and shop workers on their lunch breaks. It's 27c - wonderfully warm and the sun has a real bite. I'm actually getting a tan...in England!
The Royal Pavilion is a folly - and one that almost sent the country broke. It's quite bizarre with it's middle eastern Arabian feel.....both ugly and fascinating at the same time.
I took a photo of the front of the Theatre Royal where my mum and Dad played many times - but I didn't feel any sense of belonging there. It was just interesting - but not home.
Scampi and salmon for dinner tonight....and more white wine. If I stay away long enough I might get to like Chardonnay!!
Day7/60 - 3 degrees and a palace.
So who needs Kevin Bacon?
I'm sitting in the internet place in Fleet....the one that caters for incontinent geriatrics in wheelchairs who are hoping to become net junkies before they die.
Talking to a petite blonde in her thirties, I happen to mention I live in melbourne; which she has been to and loves. She tells me her cousin is from there and he is rather famous. Oh, I say, feigning interest. Yes, she replies, his name is James Reyne.
Get out of here!!! James Reyne was the lead singer of Australian Crawl and my brother toured the band many times when he was a promoter...Just three degrees of separation!
Hampton Court Palace for the rest of the day. In true Disney style there are now actors dressed as historical figures wandering the grounds.... and a spontaneous audience participation show centred on the wedding of Henry V111th and Katherine Parr. Tony was chosen to be an archbishop of the privy council - advising the King on what would happen to the realm if the new Queen were left as regent. King Henry asked my Beloved...and what of our religion in transition? Without missing a beat my lord archbishop replied "I had hoped your majesty wouldn't ask me that question - I come from a land not yet discovered and know not such matters of importance"
Gotta love a guy that quick witted even if he is a selfish git some of the time....most of our time in Britain is being spent catching up with his old sailing buddies....Grrrrr.
When we left the palace Tony said he was taking us to a stag party...sure enough he drove through Hampton Court's home park....and there was a group of magnificent stags with musk on their antlers, resting under the chestnut trees.....just gorgeous. I was so taken with them I forgot to take a photo!!! a few hundred metres away were all the does and the young deer, segregated from the males. A bit like an Aussie barbie really.
Food seems to be cheaper in the supermarkets here.... we grabbed salad stuff and cold chicken breasts and more strawberries and white wine and dined in style on the patio.
My sugars are still fantastically good....hard to believe I have diabetes at all.
A good day - and one of my "Things to see" crossed off the list.
I'm sitting in the internet place in Fleet....the one that caters for incontinent geriatrics in wheelchairs who are hoping to become net junkies before they die.
Talking to a petite blonde in her thirties, I happen to mention I live in melbourne; which she has been to and loves. She tells me her cousin is from there and he is rather famous. Oh, I say, feigning interest. Yes, she replies, his name is James Reyne.
Get out of here!!! James Reyne was the lead singer of Australian Crawl and my brother toured the band many times when he was a promoter...Just three degrees of separation!
Hampton Court Palace for the rest of the day. In true Disney style there are now actors dressed as historical figures wandering the grounds.... and a spontaneous audience participation show centred on the wedding of Henry V111th and Katherine Parr. Tony was chosen to be an archbishop of the privy council - advising the King on what would happen to the realm if the new Queen were left as regent. King Henry asked my Beloved...and what of our religion in transition? Without missing a beat my lord archbishop replied "I had hoped your majesty wouldn't ask me that question - I come from a land not yet discovered and know not such matters of importance"
Gotta love a guy that quick witted even if he is a selfish git some of the time....most of our time in Britain is being spent catching up with his old sailing buddies....Grrrrr.
When we left the palace Tony said he was taking us to a stag party...sure enough he drove through Hampton Court's home park....and there was a group of magnificent stags with musk on their antlers, resting under the chestnut trees.....just gorgeous. I was so taken with them I forgot to take a photo!!! a few hundred metres away were all the does and the young deer, segregated from the males. A bit like an Aussie barbie really.
Food seems to be cheaper in the supermarkets here.... we grabbed salad stuff and cold chicken breasts and more strawberries and white wine and dined in style on the patio.
My sugars are still fantastically good....hard to believe I have diabetes at all.
A good day - and one of my "Things to see" crossed off the list.
Day 6/61 - Anyone for cricket?
Tony went to church with his sister this morning.... nobody died of shock. I think it was to pray for balmy summer weather and it obviously worked. It's 26c and just glorious in a way that very special english summers are.
I stayed home...figuring God will visit if I need him or he has something to tell me.
I cooked the brunch - if only to avoid the constant procrastination over wheteher we should eat and what it should be. I think Margaret is appreciating the company and she certainly woolfed the eggs, bacon, mushrooms, tomatoes ( why don't Aussie tomatoes taste like English ones?) and the pork sausages which were to doe for.
So what does one do in a model English village on a Sunday?? Well you watch the cricket on the village green. But first...you go to visit the open gardens. A whole row of stunning old houses bordering the village green opened their English country gardens to raise money for charity this Sunday afternoon. Stunning Summerhouses and lawns...Pimms number 1 and strawberries and queen. I can't imagine anything more english. It's amazing how many people take photographs of flowers...even not very spectacular flowers. Yet no-one took a photo of the biggest Poppy I have ever seen in my life.
In a village like HW- everyone knows everyone else and there's a great sense of community. but apart from Sunday cricket and open gardens, there isn't a stunning social life. ( though there's a pub with a "garden quiz - not sure if that's a quiz on the gardens we saw - on Monday nights with a £20 prize.....now THAT'S rock and roll)
Evereyone over 50 seems very OLD.... Tony looks a good 20 years younger than his peers and women younger than me are referring to us as the youngsters. Quite bizarre!
The walking made us sleepy - or perhaps it was boredom after a while - so we sat and watched some very gentle and gentile cricket for a while before the pleasant walk home where we crashed for a nap.
Tony made his famous chilli tonight and it was yummy - though not really to Margaret's taste.
Tomorrow we become true tourists.....can't wait.
I stayed home...figuring God will visit if I need him or he has something to tell me.
I cooked the brunch - if only to avoid the constant procrastination over wheteher we should eat and what it should be. I think Margaret is appreciating the company and she certainly woolfed the eggs, bacon, mushrooms, tomatoes ( why don't Aussie tomatoes taste like English ones?) and the pork sausages which were to doe for.
So what does one do in a model English village on a Sunday?? Well you watch the cricket on the village green. But first...you go to visit the open gardens. A whole row of stunning old houses bordering the village green opened their English country gardens to raise money for charity this Sunday afternoon. Stunning Summerhouses and lawns...Pimms number 1 and strawberries and queen. I can't imagine anything more english. It's amazing how many people take photographs of flowers...even not very spectacular flowers. Yet no-one took a photo of the biggest Poppy I have ever seen in my life.
In a village like HW- everyone knows everyone else and there's a great sense of community. but apart from Sunday cricket and open gardens, there isn't a stunning social life. ( though there's a pub with a "garden quiz - not sure if that's a quiz on the gardens we saw - on Monday nights with a £20 prize.....now THAT'S rock and roll)
Evereyone over 50 seems very OLD.... Tony looks a good 20 years younger than his peers and women younger than me are referring to us as the youngsters. Quite bizarre!
The walking made us sleepy - or perhaps it was boredom after a while - so we sat and watched some very gentle and gentile cricket for a while before the pleasant walk home where we crashed for a nap.
Tony made his famous chilli tonight and it was yummy - though not really to Margaret's taste.
Tomorrow we become true tourists.....can't wait.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Day 5/62 - Leg of Lamb at the Shoulder of Mutton
Saturday June 19th -
Ooooh...a stunning butchers and deli in Hartley Wintney. He makes his own pork sausages with apple and sage..... we bought some for Sunday breakfast and also Gala Pie ( which is what happens when a pork pie mates with a scotch egg!) and French Brie and strawberries and beer....why? Because the Socceroos were playing Algeria. The World Cup dominates television and beloved doesn't need any excuse to watch sport. I went to Tony's niece's house to catch up with the first few days of this blog and left Tony with his nephew to watch us snatch a draw from the jaws of victory.
Tonight we went to a wonderful old Engliah pub called the Shoulder of Mutton where I had hoped to have leg of lamb....but it wasn't on the very eclectic menu ( Roasts only on Sunday). The chef is French and I had Duckling a L'orange....a half a rather tough duck...which explains why a French Chef is working in an English pub. But the atmosphere was lovely, it was a balmy english summer night - the vodka tonic was long and cool...and my blood sugars are STILL behaving wonderfully.
Home to yet MORE World cup - whoever invented soccer has a lot to answer for!
I feel as though I am in limbo - that we're marking time and our holiday hasn't yet begun and I'm starting to get ever so slightly pissed off ( will those who know me well kindly stop laughing)
Ooooh...a stunning butchers and deli in Hartley Wintney. He makes his own pork sausages with apple and sage..... we bought some for Sunday breakfast and also Gala Pie ( which is what happens when a pork pie mates with a scotch egg!) and French Brie and strawberries and beer....why? Because the Socceroos were playing Algeria. The World Cup dominates television and beloved doesn't need any excuse to watch sport. I went to Tony's niece's house to catch up with the first few days of this blog and left Tony with his nephew to watch us snatch a draw from the jaws of victory.
Tonight we went to a wonderful old Engliah pub called the Shoulder of Mutton where I had hoped to have leg of lamb....but it wasn't on the very eclectic menu ( Roasts only on Sunday). The chef is French and I had Duckling a L'orange....a half a rather tough duck...which explains why a French Chef is working in an English pub. But the atmosphere was lovely, it was a balmy english summer night - the vodka tonic was long and cool...and my blood sugars are STILL behaving wonderfully.
Home to yet MORE World cup - whoever invented soccer has a lot to answer for!
I feel as though I am in limbo - that we're marking time and our holiday hasn't yet begun and I'm starting to get ever so slightly pissed off ( will those who know me well kindly stop laughing)
Day 4/63 - An English Country Garden
What are Canterbury Bells, Hollyhocks, Foxgloves and pansies? No---they're not artists in a drag show - they're english flowers I had totally forgotten! And they all grow in my sister in law's beautiful garden. It's stunning and very restful ( pictures to follow).
My SIL lost her husband of 55 years last year and she is lost in her bungalow. Despite it being our holiday we feel obligated to amuse her - if only to reassure ourselves she's still alive......I am ITCHING for us to get away and start exploring...but it isn't going to happen today - or tomorrow - or even the next day. Take a deep breath Coral. Sometimes having a lot of energy is a drawback!
English villages are special - there is nothing like them in Australia, or even in Europe. It's a little like being in a timewarp - even the cars move more slowly. It's like being in an episode of Doctor Who where David Tennant is showing his 1,000 year age.
I feel like I am 16, with an 80 year old lady telling me which side of the cupboard the mugs must go in and which direction the handles must point....and that I must wear a cardigan or I'll catch cold.
Today we went to Fleet - a small town just a few miles away from the village. We looked for an internet cafe.... and found one!!! It's combined with a disabilities shop, so the computers ( two of them) are available midst a collection of commodes, wheelchairs, and incontinence pads. It's a strange combination - nappies and the net - and you can get a mug of instant coffee for £1 if you are a total masochist...but the bloke that runs it - John - is lovely.
I took our holiday money on the new Travel Money card....but to top it up you use Bpay - and for every new biller the bank sends you an SMS on your mobile.....so, as I went to transfer funds.... guess whose mobile was happily ringing back in Melbourne???Yep...muggins didn't bring her mobile. It took a few hours to sort out on the phone by which time I was knackered. So after a really awful Penne Bolognese with courgettes ( zucchinis to you lot) cooked by Margaret, I tumbled into bed, jet-lagged and frustrated.
My SIL lost her husband of 55 years last year and she is lost in her bungalow. Despite it being our holiday we feel obligated to amuse her - if only to reassure ourselves she's still alive......I am ITCHING for us to get away and start exploring...but it isn't going to happen today - or tomorrow - or even the next day. Take a deep breath Coral. Sometimes having a lot of energy is a drawback!
English villages are special - there is nothing like them in Australia, or even in Europe. It's a little like being in a timewarp - even the cars move more slowly. It's like being in an episode of Doctor Who where David Tennant is showing his 1,000 year age.
I feel like I am 16, with an 80 year old lady telling me which side of the cupboard the mugs must go in and which direction the handles must point....and that I must wear a cardigan or I'll catch cold.
Today we went to Fleet - a small town just a few miles away from the village. We looked for an internet cafe.... and found one!!! It's combined with a disabilities shop, so the computers ( two of them) are available midst a collection of commodes, wheelchairs, and incontinence pads. It's a strange combination - nappies and the net - and you can get a mug of instant coffee for £1 if you are a total masochist...but the bloke that runs it - John - is lovely.
I took our holiday money on the new Travel Money card....but to top it up you use Bpay - and for every new biller the bank sends you an SMS on your mobile.....so, as I went to transfer funds.... guess whose mobile was happily ringing back in Melbourne???Yep...muggins didn't bring her mobile. It took a few hours to sort out on the phone by which time I was knackered. So after a really awful Penne Bolognese with courgettes ( zucchinis to you lot) cooked by Margaret, I tumbled into bed, jet-lagged and frustrated.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Day3/64 - There'll Be BlueBirds Over
Whatever is left of the white cliffs of Dover. Apparently they are crumbling faster than the British economy - unthinkable.
Still, the only topic of conversation - stuck in a cab in another traffic jam, this time on the M3 ( Australia does NOT have traffic jams...trust me on this) is The world cup and whether Rooney is a tosser who shouldn't even be in the English Team and Capello does nuffin to warrant five miwllion bleedin quid a year!
It's all wonderful....the accents - the flags of St George on the cars on either side - the huge groves of silver birches on each side of the motorway...the smell of early summer - and the fact that we are finally off the plane!
The trip was fine, but long...and I saw 5 more movies - nine in total.
I'd recommend The Lovely Bones for PJ's direction, Crazy Heart for Jeff Bridges charismatic performance and wonderful hair, A Single Man for Colin Firth...straight or gay he's yummy - and suggest you skip Edge Of Darkness if you saw the Original, and The girl with Dragon Tattoo if you've read the book.
On to Hartley Wintney - a stunning English village where the local pub The Lamb, has been renamed Zazanka( I refuse to ask) and the local butcher makes his own pork sausages with apple and Sage.
It's Thursday 17th June and though this is all very beautiful - there is nothing about it that feels like home or reminds me that I am English - of the rose and peachfuzz variety. This is not home...though I am happy to visit.
Tony's sister has a lovely bungalow ( a house style reserved for the elderly in GB...what would they make of Melbourne?) with an exquisite garden. As soon as I can I will download and post some pics.
it's 7.30pm but feels like 4 in the morning ( probably beacuse it is back home.) We listen to a thrush singing it's evensong and eat strawberries and drink Lindeman's Chardonnay (yikes) and Tony and Margaret - who is 80 and lost her very special husband of 55 years last year - reminisce about childhood while I try to keep my eyes open. It's gentle and gentile and at last I feel the holiday has begun!
Still, the only topic of conversation - stuck in a cab in another traffic jam, this time on the M3 ( Australia does NOT have traffic jams...trust me on this) is The world cup and whether Rooney is a tosser who shouldn't even be in the English Team and Capello does nuffin to warrant five miwllion bleedin quid a year!
It's all wonderful....the accents - the flags of St George on the cars on either side - the huge groves of silver birches on each side of the motorway...the smell of early summer - and the fact that we are finally off the plane!
The trip was fine, but long...and I saw 5 more movies - nine in total.
I'd recommend The Lovely Bones for PJ's direction, Crazy Heart for Jeff Bridges charismatic performance and wonderful hair, A Single Man for Colin Firth...straight or gay he's yummy - and suggest you skip Edge Of Darkness if you saw the Original, and The girl with Dragon Tattoo if you've read the book.
On to Hartley Wintney - a stunning English village where the local pub The Lamb, has been renamed Zazanka( I refuse to ask) and the local butcher makes his own pork sausages with apple and Sage.
It's Thursday 17th June and though this is all very beautiful - there is nothing about it that feels like home or reminds me that I am English - of the rose and peachfuzz variety. This is not home...though I am happy to visit.
Tony's sister has a lovely bungalow ( a house style reserved for the elderly in GB...what would they make of Melbourne?) with an exquisite garden. As soon as I can I will download and post some pics.
it's 7.30pm but feels like 4 in the morning ( probably beacuse it is back home.) We listen to a thrush singing it's evensong and eat strawberries and drink Lindeman's Chardonnay (yikes) and Tony and Margaret - who is 80 and lost her very special husband of 55 years last year - reminisce about childhood while I try to keep my eyes open. It's gentle and gentile and at last I feel the holiday has begun!
DAY2/65 - Honk if you're in Honkers
I have been to Hong Kong a number of times - what strikes me every time is how green and lush it is - and how much open space considering there are over 4million people crammed into 28 square miles.
What I hadn't remembered was how stinking humid and uncomfortable it is.
Wednesday June 16th is a holiday to one of the Gods - and it was the a Dragon Boat Festival. How fantastic that we fluked to be here on this one day of the year. How lucky are we? Well....not very!
Stanley is a little fishing village on the South Side of Hong Kong Island....and we're staying in Kowloon. It seemed liked a good plan to go over there and see the Dragon Boat races and "do" the Stanley Markets which are terrific, and have dinner there.
Simple but inviting, right? WRONG!!!
The forty minute journey took us more than two hours by train and Bus. At one stage we were stationery in a traffic jam on a steep hill for 35 minutes. Alongside us a traffic sign mocked us with the logo - reduce speed NOW! The sign was clearly a comedian on an island where the traffic is a joke!
When we finally arrived in Stanley we discovered that the entire 4million population plus a few terrorist types and some mainland Chinese dissidents had all looked forward to meeting us so much that they had all descended on Stanley at the same time.
Fighting our way through the crowds...all of whom were waving autograph books at us....or were they paper fans to drive away the humidity - we travelled the 100metres to the beach in a staggeringly fast 20 minutes. Don't laugh...that's ten times faster than the bus was going!!! We could hear the noise of drums and cheers and the atmosphere was starting to get to us. Unfortunately we couldn't get to IT! We reached the beach only to find a sign which said "Beach Full - you no enter anyone" - and even though we hadn't planned to enter anyone, we were turned away. Our only glimpse of a dragon boat was through a chink in a doorway - and he wasn't very happy about it.
The markets were too crowded to move and so we got on ANOTHER Bus and made the 2 hour (now 2hours and 20 minutes) trip back....By which time I had totally melted into several gallons of fatty water and had to be carried inside the hotel in a bucket like I was a refugee from the gulf oil spill. So much for our big day out.
Dinner in a little chinese restaurant with a pirate theme-(DON'T ASK) and some drinks with Tony's friends in the cocktail bar where a girl duo sang ABBA and Boney M hits and encouraged us all to join in ( Does anyone actually know the words to Ma Barker???) and then a trip to Temple Street markets which truly were just like a giant $2 shop - only more expensive than Australia.... Whatever was left of me in solid form melted into a pool of water which caused flash flooding down Nathan Road - and despite the hotel being only 400 metres away I insisted on getting a cab to spare passersby the ignominy of me splashing them as I walked by.
And so to Bed - England's green and pleasant land tomorrow.
What I hadn't remembered was how stinking humid and uncomfortable it is.
Wednesday June 16th is a holiday to one of the Gods - and it was the a Dragon Boat Festival. How fantastic that we fluked to be here on this one day of the year. How lucky are we? Well....not very!
Stanley is a little fishing village on the South Side of Hong Kong Island....and we're staying in Kowloon. It seemed liked a good plan to go over there and see the Dragon Boat races and "do" the Stanley Markets which are terrific, and have dinner there.
Simple but inviting, right? WRONG!!!
The forty minute journey took us more than two hours by train and Bus. At one stage we were stationery in a traffic jam on a steep hill for 35 minutes. Alongside us a traffic sign mocked us with the logo - reduce speed NOW! The sign was clearly a comedian on an island where the traffic is a joke!
When we finally arrived in Stanley we discovered that the entire 4million population plus a few terrorist types and some mainland Chinese dissidents had all looked forward to meeting us so much that they had all descended on Stanley at the same time.
Fighting our way through the crowds...all of whom were waving autograph books at us....or were they paper fans to drive away the humidity - we travelled the 100metres to the beach in a staggeringly fast 20 minutes. Don't laugh...that's ten times faster than the bus was going!!! We could hear the noise of drums and cheers and the atmosphere was starting to get to us. Unfortunately we couldn't get to IT! We reached the beach only to find a sign which said "Beach Full - you no enter anyone" - and even though we hadn't planned to enter anyone, we were turned away. Our only glimpse of a dragon boat was through a chink in a doorway - and he wasn't very happy about it.
The markets were too crowded to move and so we got on ANOTHER Bus and made the 2 hour (now 2hours and 20 minutes) trip back....By which time I had totally melted into several gallons of fatty water and had to be carried inside the hotel in a bucket like I was a refugee from the gulf oil spill. So much for our big day out.
Dinner in a little chinese restaurant with a pirate theme-(DON'T ASK) and some drinks with Tony's friends in the cocktail bar where a girl duo sang ABBA and Boney M hits and encouraged us all to join in ( Does anyone actually know the words to Ma Barker???) and then a trip to Temple Street markets which truly were just like a giant $2 shop - only more expensive than Australia.... Whatever was left of me in solid form melted into a pool of water which caused flash flooding down Nathan Road - and despite the hotel being only 400 metres away I insisted on getting a cab to spare passersby the ignominy of me splashing them as I walked by.
And so to Bed - England's green and pleasant land tomorrow.
Day 1 - or 66 - Tuesday June 15th
There's nothing funny funny about 5.30 Am ANYWHERE - but Tony woke me with a joke...
"So i said to this beautiful blonde - what's a girl like you doing working in a bakery? And she replied - I'm a roll model¬"
I wish I could have rolled over and gone back to sleep - but we had a plane to catch. Unfortunately I was hit with a hypo as we hit the airport.... Diabetes is a lousy holiday companion ...and I was shovelling jelly beans into my mouth as we boarded the plane.
I'm not sure if this blog is counting upwards from Day1 or down from 66 - but finally we were on our way and leaving cold bleak Melbourne on a Tuesday morning in June. Cathay Pacific is a great airline....great service, food and entertainment. I watched four movies in 9 hours - and was glad I only had to pay a couple of thousand dollars to see them.
Although we landed in Hong Kong at around 3.30 pm - it was nearly 6pm when we finally checked in to the hotel and I really felt lousy. 32c and 98% humidity didn't help. We were supposed to have dinner with an old sailing friend of Tony's at The Royal Hong Kong Yacht Club - but the last thing I felt like dolling up and being charming to strangers when I felt like crap. Tony went alone while I went downstairs to the Jordan MTR station and bought a Peking Duck wrap and a Japanese cheesecake bun for dinner before collapsing into bed, unable to sleep with the cramps in my legs.
Not a great start to the trip. Why does my 65 year old body keep dragging me back to earth when my 17 year old spirit wants to fly. It's bloody annoying.
"So i said to this beautiful blonde - what's a girl like you doing working in a bakery? And she replied - I'm a roll model¬"
I wish I could have rolled over and gone back to sleep - but we had a plane to catch. Unfortunately I was hit with a hypo as we hit the airport.... Diabetes is a lousy holiday companion ...and I was shovelling jelly beans into my mouth as we boarded the plane.
I'm not sure if this blog is counting upwards from Day1 or down from 66 - but finally we were on our way and leaving cold bleak Melbourne on a Tuesday morning in June. Cathay Pacific is a great airline....great service, food and entertainment. I watched four movies in 9 hours - and was glad I only had to pay a couple of thousand dollars to see them.
Although we landed in Hong Kong at around 3.30 pm - it was nearly 6pm when we finally checked in to the hotel and I really felt lousy. 32c and 98% humidity didn't help. We were supposed to have dinner with an old sailing friend of Tony's at The Royal Hong Kong Yacht Club - but the last thing I felt like dolling up and being charming to strangers when I felt like crap. Tony went alone while I went downstairs to the Jordan MTR station and bought a Peking Duck wrap and a Japanese cheesecake bun for dinner before collapsing into bed, unable to sleep with the cramps in my legs.
Not a great start to the trip. Why does my 65 year old body keep dragging me back to earth when my 17 year old spirit wants to fly. It's bloody annoying.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
The sixty seventh day
We're leaving on a jet plane..... I'm thinking of that song and all the people who have never heard of Peter, Paul and Mary or John Denver. Hong Kong - then 23 days in England driving to all the places of my past - plus some I have never seen but always wanted to. Then the train all the way to Avignon and four weeks in Provence - a few days in BarTHelona ( practising the accent already) and two weeks in our favourite city - Paris. AAAAAAAAAAHHHH!
What made me even think of this trip after fighting so hard to be mortgage free? (Even though we didn't quite make it) Was it the amount of funerals in the past twelve months? The people I knew, younger than me, who suddenly gave up on living, or life gave up on them?
It was a new writer - Cristina - whose script I was assessing for the Writer's Guild, who put the thought in my head. She is immensely talented, and hungry, and pushy, all the things that spell success. And she and her husband also happen to own a farmhouse in Provence. When she said we could go and stay there any time...the seed was sown.
So here I am, on the last day of countdown. Tomorrow we fly to Hong Kong and, though I hope this blog will be witty and poignant and all the other things that make up backcover blurbs ( Coral Drouyn's diary of her European trip is both witty and poignant - you may all vomit now!), right now I am in a panic...I haven't packed; I haven't made notes for the house/cat sitter: I haven't done my washing, or paid the bills - the cheque for our travel funds still hasn't cleared; I have an assessment to finish for the AWG; and a couple of scripts I'm editing to locate, plus transferring my files to Tony's laptop...and we need to be out of here in 9 hours....TOPS!
So here it is. In October I turn 66. I don't believe it; my kids don't believe it; my friends (who all look older - no I'm not being a bitch....well...yes I am but a TRUTHFUL bitch) don't believe it and my beautiful husband - who, at 73, looks at least 10 years younger - calls me his 16 year old Dolly Bird. I guess it helps that we've only been married five years. But one thing is for certain - that picture in the attic ( thanks Oscar) that is old and wrinkled, is going to disintegrate one day - so now is the time to capitalise on the amnesia of old age - and be the thirty year old I am inside.
When we booked the trip I had no intention of blogging. My little Birman kitten Mighty Mouse ( Lord Oliver Monta Purrington) has his blog - and his facebook page - and his followers who love his liddle kidden filoserfy - but that was enough of a distraction from work for me. Then we made the booking, and locked in the dates, and it wasn't until weeks later that I got out a calndar and realised the trip was 66 days. Sixty six days and I'm turning 66? Play the Twilight Zone music....doo- doo-doo-doo.....
Coincidence, Synchronicity; Serendipity ( LOVE that word)...probably all three - but I refuse to believe that Sixty Six Days isn't relevant to my future.
If nothing else it's providing a title for this blog.
Coral
14/6/2010
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