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.
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