UK Day 7: In Which the Train is Horrible, Isn't it? But Cumbria is Lovely, Don't You Think?

I’ve always enjoyed train travel and was really looking forward to our trip from London to Penrith in Cumbria. We have Britrail passes and have been using them (or not using them as it turns out) to get around the UK which is super convenient as you don’t need to buy tickets and you can just show up whenever and get on the next train. You are supposed to write the date in, but only one person has asked to see them the entire trip, so we have taken to simply flashing them at whoever looks like they are in charge and getting on to the train. On our trip up to Cumbria, Zoe couldn’t find hers and instead pulled out a facial mask she had in her bag. The ticket guy just looked at it and nodded her on. High security here. However, in what may have been a karmic intervention, things went downhill after the facemask incident starting with us waiting with what felt like the entire population of a small country in the station to see which platform the train was leaving from, and then the two allocated members of our team taking part in a running-of-the-bulls scene to get to the platform first and secure seats, only to realize just minutes before the train left that we were on the wrong train.
So off we all got and headed back to the station, with a brief conversation with the conductor along the way, who had obviously been chatting with my mum:

Conductor (as we approached him): WRONG TRAIN!
Me: ‘Yes I see that now…silly me! I…’
Conductor: ‘You got on the WRONG TRAIN! Oxenholme is different than Penrith, isn’t it!’
Me: ‘yep mmhmmm we did I didn’t reali…’
Conductor: ‘You want the NEXT ONE NOT THIS ONE’
Conductor’s sidekick: ‘Well they could have taken this train and changed at Lancaster’
Conductor: ‘Well that’s Jane’s call isn’t it – why you tellin’ me? Tell her!’
Sidekick: ‘You could have changed at Lan…’
Me: ‘Yes thanks so much I know I took the WRONG TRAIN. I won’t make that mist…’
Conductor: ‘Well you better get on and have your cup of tea now so you don’t muck it up again!’
Me: ‘OK thanks SO MUCH!’
Sidekick (to the conductor): Do they not want to get on this train and change at Lanc…’
Conductor: ‘Don’t keep on about it they’ve lost their sets now, haven’t they? They’re off to have a cup of tea. Could do with one meself’

Which brings me to a point of contention I have with the British which is their insistence on adding ‘isn’t it?’ or ‘doesn’t it'?’ or ‘won’t it?’ or ‘don’t you think?’ to the end of their sentences. It requires one to either agree with everything that has been said to keep the conversation going, or to disagree, which usually causes some kind of abrupt halt to the conversation while you explain your position, and makes you seem disagreeable.  It can be a bit awkward, like that time when I disagreed with a shopkeeper about whether or not a clothing item fit:

Me (trying on a shirt): ‘Do you have this in a medium? I can’t find it…’
Shopkeeper: ‘That’s a medium, isn’t it.’
Me: ‘No, I think it’s a small’
Shopkeeper: ‘But it’s good if it fits a bit small, isn’t it? We like our clothes to fit properly, don’t we?’
Me: (wondering how to answer this) ‘yes we do but this doesn’t…’
Shopkeeper: ‘I think it does, doesn’t it’
Me: ‘Umm, well not really…’
Shopkeeper (looking out the window) ‘I like the rain, don’t you? It’s so calming, isn’t it? Better than the hot sun, don’t you think?’
Me: ‘Not especially… I mean I don’t really like the hot sun but, umm, do you have the medium’
Shopkeeper: ‘Yes I don’t, do I’
Me: ‘No you do, I think'…wait…what?’
Shopkeeper: ‘So you’ll take the medium, will you? Good choice, isn’t it! I bet you’d like this wooden spoon, too, wouldn’t you!’
Me (feeling slightly confused): ‘But isn’t this a small?’
Shopkeeper: (looking at me like I’m a complete idiot) ’Wot, the spoon? No of course not – they only come in one size, don’t they!’
Me (feeling bewildered): ‘Fine I’ll take it, won’t I?’
Shopkeeper: ‘I thought you wanted a medium?’
Me (starting to cry): ‘I’ll take three spoons, and all the shirts, that jar of marmalade and the cat, too’
Shopkeeper: ‘Very good. Have a lovely day, won’t you’

Anyway, back to the train journey. By the time we got on the right train, it was completely packed and also a bazillion degrees in our carriage. You can reserve a seat, but they had closed reservations a long time previous and so we had been out of luck and hence the race to get seats. Travis and Georgia had sprinted ahead and Zoe and my mum and I arrived a short time later and squeezed ourselves on to the carriage only to find the entire thing full and the middle aisle blocked with people standing. Having found my mum a seat, it was some time before Zoe and I could get to our seats that Travis was defending tooth and nail for us. I could see a impeding Snit which I think we only just averted by fighting our way to the seats in time for the train to depart.

Click this link to see a short clip of Zoe fighting her way down the aisle on the train...
It was a bit tight on the train...

And so we all spent an uncomfortable three hours sweltering in the heat and swaying as the train zipped along. Zoe and Georgia gave up their seats to an elderly Chinese couple who, it turned out, had also gotten on the wrong train – I wonder what happened to them.
By the time we arrived in Penrith, we were all on the edge of expiring and looked as though we had just spent the previous three hours in a sweat lodge. Fortunately it was cooler in the north and a very nice lady from the car rental place was there to pick us up and take us back for the car. I somehow made it through the paperwork and we were on our way. I only had to remind myself to stay on the left once or twice and of course Elaine, the nice Sat Nav lady was there to tell me where to go. She’s always been there for me over the years and I was pleased to hear her dulcet tones once again telling me to ‘TURN LEFT’ with what seemed increasing intensity as we sailed along country roads, veering closer to and farther from the hedgerows and past the villages of Upper and Lower Farting, Greater and Lesser Chitwithington,  and my favourite, Snitford, while I became accustomed to the roads. After about 45 minutes and a stop at a supermarket along the way, we arrived at our home for the week, High Houses. I can’t really describe it as it did leave all of us speechless, but suffice to say if I had to stay here for the rest of my life, I would! Built in 1669 of honey coloured stone and set atop a hill in the rolling countryside, it is absolutely idyllic. We were met at the door by the exuberantly friendly owner, Jill, and her three black labs (one puppy!) and ancient terrier, who showed us around (Jill, not the ancient terrier although he did make an effort) explaining to us about the Aga stove, and how the kitchen used to be the stables, and where the garden was to pick veggies, and where the basket of fresh eggs was, and putting the kettle on for us to have tea and homemade cake (which she had also made for us) and I really did almost burst into tears of joy. The rest of our group fell in love with the place too and I’ll stop talking now and show you instead:

As if on cue, Georgia found a robin’s egg shell outside the kitchen door.

The light up here is stunning in the evenings and we can see north west across the Solway Firth to Scotland. Zoe and Georgia were more interested in the puppy.

We were all exhausted after our week in London and the journey up and it took us about two seconds to agree that we would spend the next day doing nothing and not leave High Houses. We slept in and had a  leisurely breakfast then spent the rest of the day in one of the overstuffed armchairs, or in a window seat or out in the garden. Travis and the girls ventured up through the fields behind the house to the next village for tea and the staggered back to collapse on the couch or in the giant cast-iron bathtub. It was a rough day.

Please come back tomorrow for a more interesting day where we visit the home of William Wordsworth, and the farm of Beatrix Potter. So lovely!

Thanks for reading,
Jane

UK Day 6: In Which There Are Silly Trolley Videos Featuring Allan, Among Others, at Kew Gardens

You’ll be pleased to hear that we avoided being knifed overnight and that it also cooled down nicely on Sunday so that we could enjoy a Great Day Out at Kew Gardens in Richmond. If you are not familiar with the British invention of the Great Day Out, you are missing out. It's a nice idea: whenever possible, British families pack up the family and a picnic, put everything in the car or on the bus or the train or donkey and head out to a local destination for the entire day. Leaving after mid-morning is not permitted, nor is coming home before dinner. The day must include the following elements:  packed food/snacks, as many children and family members as possible, some form of weather be it hot sun or cold rain, a playground or park, and some kind of attraction like gardens or a beach or a petting farm. There must also be an Unfortunate Event such as young Nigel getting stung, or Aunt Edith having a fall. Typically the car park must be full requiring a trip to the overflow lot in the next village, and usually, the husband must be tasked with carrying everything whilst the wife or mother-in-law shouts at the children that they won't get an ice lolly if they keep that up. If all these components are present, then the Great Day Out has been successful.

Our Great Day Out started with the Unfortunate Event, which would normally have thrown the entire order of the day out, but even though the trains were not back up and running from our station, we bussed it instead and arrived at Kew Gardens just in time to see Jacob.

This picture doesn’t really do it justice but we were all freaking out at how similar this fellow looked to Jacob. This has happened before in the UK, but this guy really looked like him. I'm sure he was wondering what the hell I was doing...
Anyway we stalked him for a moment and then moved on to the gardens, which were extensive (300 acres!) and lovely, but possibly a bit dull in description in words, so I will instead say that an appearance was made by several members of the British Royal Family and Friends who rode the trolley around the grounds, as one does. I really enjoyed the trolley, and especially the driver, Allan, whose conversational style of narration added greatly to our enjoyment.

And because I am using technology from the 1800's, you will have to click the link below to see the first silly video, if it works at all. I could probably have more success asking a monk in a monastery somewhere to hand illustrate the still frames from the video and post those instead...

Silly Kew Video Featuring Allan the Tour Guide and Various 'Celebrities'


So nice of them to join us.

Kew has an installation art piece known as The Hive, which is a giant structure meant to replicate the sensation of being in a hive. It is covered in LED lights and speakers which are connected to sensors inside the actual hives on site at Kew. 

The vibrations of the bees triggers the lights and speakers in The Hive. It is a pleasant sensation, if you like droning, and not really if you don’t. There is an interactive experience that involves something about inserting a small wooden stick into something and holding it in your teeth and being able to feel the vibration of the hive. This experiment would perhaps be more effective if a) there were little sticks available and b) Kew wasn’t on the Heathrow flight path with a 787 overhead at a couple thousand metres every 5 minutes. Apparently I wasn’t alone in my thoughts…

Other highlights of the gardens included a really good display of carnivorous plants, giant lily pads, and a fantastic kitchen garden. We also passed signs pointing out that we were near a large badger set or den, but I didn't see a single badger - disappointing! I am beginning to think there are no badgers here at all any more as I haven't even seen one since I got here.
Anyway. That's enough about badgers (for now...).

One of the best things at Kew is a treetop walkway installed in a grove of trees (thanks, Captain Obvious). It was lovely but only if it wasn’t windy; it became terrifying when the breeze picked up and I tried not to make a scene by clinging to the railing. Also slightly disconcerting was the Elevator of Death featuring the Door to Nowhere. It seems very sketchy, even if it were working, which it wasn't...

Apparently, for some years in the 1990s and 2000s, Kew was home to Britain’s Largest Flagpole, which was made from a single Douglas Fir gifted to the country by BC. Unfortunately, woodpeckers had their way with it, as they do, and it met an early demise (the flagpole, not the woodpecker). The gardens are now home to a solitary Douglas Fir which looks like it needs to go home to its family in BC. You likely can’t even see it in this picture…

As this was our last day in London, we finished the day with a pub dinner at The Fox in Church Lane in Twickenham and went back to our place to pack and get ready to leave in the morning.
I always hate to leave a good place and this was one for the books.

Good bye, Eel Pie...you've been fantastic.
More tomorrow, including the Train Ride from Hell. Stay tuned...

Cheers,
Jane

UK Day 5: In Which the Heat Causes A Snituation and the Trains All Stop Running and We Still Have a Good Time (and also, Star Wars)

Threats of the horrible heat wave currently making its way across Europe eventually hitting the UK came true on Saturday when the temperature made it to 34C here in London. Of course this was nothing compared to the 45C weather in Paris but it was still enough to put everyone into a snit, including the railways and Underground system, which all came to a screeching halt due to buckled rails, heat-related signal faults, and a ‘trespass’ on the line at Clapham Junction. It’s not uncommon here for there to be a delay on the railways due to a ‘Body Under the Rail’ as they like to put it, but apparently this time there was a 'Nutter with a Knife' on the lines and he had to be subdued by a large police presence. They also had to cut power to the lines to get him off, and consequently put several million people out for the next few hours, including us. Knife crime in London has risen 16% so far in 2019 over 2018 and there have been 64 knifings resulting in death in London since the beginning of the year. It's gotten so bad that schools in the the Southwest are required to install knife arches (metal detectors) and the police are also using pop-up metal detectors on the streets in London, forcing pedestrians to walk through them if they want to go a certain way in the city. There have been two fatal stabbings in London since we have been here and reports of more in the rest of the country- it's an epidemic. I'll be happy to get to the countryside where the risks are somewhat reduced to cow-tramplings and swallow dive-bombings.

Fortunately, all this kerfuffling happened a bit later in the day and didn’t stop us from getting to our destination of the Orange Tree Theatre in Richmond for a production of Terrence Rattigan’s While the Sun Shines, a wartime comedy of errors. The theatre was tiny and seating was on all four sides of the ‘stage’ which made it feel that we were in the room with the actors. Zoe and Georgia were perhaps the youngest in the audience but we all loved the production, and the air conditioning, and the little pots of ice cream that were served at intermission.

I had originally planned to attend some giant musical production in the West End but nothing really appealed to us. It seems that anything can be a musical these days: Shoe Laces: The Musical! (words and music by Donny Osmond) or Cough Drops: The Musical!(words and music by  Rod Stewart) or Heavy Traffic: The Musical! (words and music by Angela Lansbury) and seats are 65 pounds each for a partial view where you may or may not have a tour from mainland China seated around you who may or may not be tired after flying in 5 minutes before the show starts and spending the majority of it snoring in your ears. Not that that has ever happened to me… So this was a better choice and the seats were cheap and the quality high.

Before we made it to Richmond, I dragged everyone to the Shepperton Design Studio, belonging to Andrew Ainsworth, who was one of the original prop builders working on Star Wars: A New Hope in 1976. He now has a studio in Twickenham, of all places, where he reproduces Stormtrooper suits, Darth Vader helmets and other Star Wars memorabilia. It was closed, but I tried not to let that ruin my day and spent some time looking longingly in the windows and wishing I could buy my own Stormtrooper suit, for several thousand pounds. I would even have settled for just a helmet but it was not meant to be.

After I got over my disappointment, we took the train (which was still running at this point) and considered just riding around in it all day to stay cool. By the time the show was over, we had plans to zip into London and meet some friends who are in town, but there was no zipping to be had as everything had by now shut down. We were able to take the Underground for two stops before even that shut down. A very grumpy conductor was yelling at everyone on the platform that ‘NO ONE IS GOING ANYWHERE BY TRAIN TONIGHT SO GO AND FIND ANOTHER WAY HOME’. So pleasant. So friendly and understanding!

We got the message and cabbed it into London instead, arriving 45 minutes late for dinner at Al Duca, a lovely Italian restaurant where the waiters actually were Italian. Or so it seemed. He was probably actually from Whitechapel and only put it on for the customers before reverting to Cockney Slang in the back:
Waiter: ‘Benvenuta Al Duca, Signora, some vino? Acqua? Prosecco? Molto bene!’
Me: ‘Water, please’
Waiter: ‘Of course, Signora’
Me: ‘Thank you, grazie’
Waiter: ‘Of Course, Signora. Una momento per favore’
Waiter: (goes to kitchen) ‘Anuva fisherman’s daughter for the new gooseberry puddin’ at table five. How am I going to make any bees and honey for me and the trouble and strife at this bloody rate. Cor bloody blimey what’s bloody wrong wiv a glass of plink plonk?’ (shakes head).
Waiter (returns to table): ‘Signora, your acqua, buon appetito!’
Me: ‘Err, grazie very much, Signor…’
Signor: 'no problemo'

It’s always fun to spend time with friends from home when you’re travelling and Susan and I have been trying to coordinate a visit for years but always seem to miss each other so it was great to see them all and help them to celebrate 30 years of marriage with their family.

On our way home, we passed by the back entrance to No.10 Downing Street, the official residence of the UK Prime Minister. Theresa May was not home at the time as she was at the G20 in Tokyo likely trying to avoid Ivanka Trump, but we did have a look for Larry the Cat who lives there regardless of who is Prime Minister. Apparently when Trump was here for his visit earlier this month, Larry took up his post under Trump’s armoured car and wouldn’t leave, delaying departures and upsetting schedules. Well done, Larry.

Obligatory telephone box picture.


By the time we made it home, it was well past 10pm and still a bazillion degrees out. We found one of the only stores still open in Twickenham at that hour and raided their ice creams (aka Ice Lollies) before retiring to bed at Ripple.

More tomorrow! Talk soon,
Jane

UK Day 4 In Which We Visit Windsor Castle, and Harry and Kate Make an Appearance, and We Love Eel Pie Island

The population of the UK is currently about 67 million and I'm fairly certain all of them were in Windsor with us yesterday.  Following the wedding of Prince Harry to Meghan Markle and then the wedding of Princess Eugenie to some very rich banker fellow, Windsor has grown in popularity as a tourist destination. It's always a bit of a shame when somewhere lovely in the UK makes a name for itself in the public realm as it inevitably means that where once were quiet cobble stoned lanes filled with tumbling roses and cats sunning themselves by brightly painted front stoops, now are ghastly tourist shops filled with plastic soldiers, horrible tshirts, and cheap bobble heads of the Queen and, for some reason, Donald Trump. What amazes me even more than the quantity of such shops, is the quantity of people actually purchasing said items. There's no accounting for tastes, I suppose. I did observe one man (from the US) go to great lengths to insist on one particular Queen's Guard bobble head/snow-globe that was located at the far reach of the front window of a tourist shop, knocking over a display of plastic hedgehog bells (that's right, hedgehog bells) and a couple of royal Wedding Commemorative plates along the way. Raj the shopkeeper looked on and quietly cleaned up the mess. I can only imagine what he wanted to say:

Raj: Excuse me, Sir, would you mind not leaving a path of destruction behind you on your quest for the tackiest of tacky gifts for your Trump-supporting mother back home in Wichita?
Gerry from Iowa: Huh? Honey what is he saying I can't understand him. Can you hold this hedgehog-be...of forget it, I'll just knock them all over instead.
Raj: I'm so sorry, my good Sir, but I must ask you to take the utmost of care whilst you...
Gerry (knocking over 5 plates and twelve mugs) There's no room in this country! Honey can you understand like, anything he is saying? Do they even speak English here? Tell him I want that one in the corner (turns to Raj and speaks slowly) I WANT THAT ONE IN THE CORNER, THE BLUE AND RED ONE.
Raj: Yes, yes, my Finest of Gentlemen, I do so understand your desire for that particular item but would you mind not...(Gerry knocks over 8 thimbles and 4 spoons)
Raj: ...not knocking over every single thing in the window you idiot of the highest order!
Gerry: (takes out the display of hedgehog bells) I GOT IT!
Raj: Excellent news! Now would you mind fucking off and never coming here again ever?
Gerry: Waddid he say, Honey? HERE'S FIFTY POUNDS THAT OUTTA BE ENOUGH.  Ok Honey let's go play mini-golf.
Raj (waving): Go fuck yourself my good man!

And so it was that I found Windsor to be both charming and tacky, historical and hysterical, lovely and awful all at the same time.

We did take the time to tour the castle, which was lovely. There isn't a blade of grass out of place here so I was happy to see this window. I hadn't realized the Queen was a Star Wars fan. Nice.

In this picture, my mum is explaining to Travis how castles work...
One isn't allowed one's camera in the State Apartments in case one reveals military secrets inadvertently on one's blog so there aren't any pictures but it was suitably magnificent.
Her Majesty was arriving that afternoon so all her minions were busy putting stray flowers back in line and having a quiet word with the bees about only buzzing in certain areas of the garden.

 Henry the VIII, who I may have mentioned before, rebuilt part of the castle during his reign and as befits a man of his stature, it is the short, fat part of the castle...but it's still lovely.
Zoe and Georgia did not accompany us to Windsor as they were wreaking havoc in London with a couple of Zoe's friends who live here in the UK, so we had a slightly less silly day than usual, but only slightly...

Will was busy and Meghan is on mat leave so it was only Harry and Kate in attendance today...

It was lovely to come back to our place on Eel Pie Island in the town of Twickenham in the evening. A tiny little pedestrian-only island in the Thames, Eel Pie Island has had a long and storied history that reaches back through the centuries with an alleged beginning as home to a monastery,  then one of Henry VIII's haunts (he was said to have housed a mistress here), and more recently renowned as home to the Eel Pie Island Hotel which served the region's famous eel pies. In the 1960s, the hotel's jazz club became a hot spot for jazz and rock bands with the likes of the Rolling Stones, The Yardbirds, The Who, Pink Floyd and Genesis playing here. Unfortunate;y the owner was a better partier than businessman and eventually the place fell into disrepair and was closed and finally burnt down in the late 60s. In its heyday, Eel Pie Island was said to be the birthplace of the 60s. The island is now home to about 100 residents and their various art studios. It's very quaint and we have loved staying here.

 The view of the Thames from the footbridge. Twickenham Rowing Club lives here and is one of the oldest rowing clubs in Britain.

Our cottage, Ripple.

More bunting. I think this country would fall apart if everyone took down their bunting at once.

We finished off the day with a delicious curry at the local tandoori restaurant in Church Lane here in Twickenham. There seems to always be a party going on here and everyone was in great spirits, including us.
Just have a couple more days here  and then we are heading up north where I hope the wifi is a little better...
Thanks for hanging around,
Jane

UK Day 2: In Which Baby Shark, Leonardo DaVinci, Candied Celery, and Dickens are Featured

We have had two very busy days of tearing it up here in London, and yesterday I was too knackered (as they say here) to write a single word when I finally crawled into bed at who knows what time it was…midnight? 2 in the afternoon? yesterday? Jet lag is a bitch. Here are a few conversations overheard in passing…
Conversation between 3yr old boy in his pushchair (I’m going to call him Precious) and his Mother (aka Clueless) at the exhibit of Leonardo DaVinci’s drawings at The Queens’s Gallery in Buckingham Palace:

Precious: ‘Mamma mamma maama maaaaaaam where are we I want to GET OUT’
Clueless: ‘I’m not sure, Precious, but there are a lot of people here who seem to be very interested. Hold on a moment, I’m going to interrupt one of them to ask them to take my picture’
Precious: ‘MAAAMMA I want to GET OUT NOW!’
Clueless: ‘Just wait a moment Precious I need to ask another person, preferably one with a headset on, to stop what they are doing and take another picture of me, perhaps this time I’ll stand right in front of these drawings of…what is it…The Last Supper… whatever that is, so you can only see me. Yes – what a great idea! Excuse me could you ple…’
Precious: ‘GET OUT NOW GET OUT NOW’
Clueless: ‘Here, Precious, Mummy has a few more people to bother. Why don’t you play with my phone?
Precious: ‘BABY SHARK BABY SHARK!’
Clueless: ‘Sure that seems like a great idea’.
Clueless reaches down and fiddles with her phone, then hands it to Precious who deftly swipes the phone a few times until, unbelievably, ‘Baby Shark’ begins playing.
Clueless (to another surprised  gentleman): ‘excuse me could you please take my picture while I stand in front of these old scribbles of legs and whatnot?’
Precious: ‘BABY SHARK DO DO DO DO DO DO DO BABY SHARK DO DO DO DO DO DO DO…’
Security Guard: ‘Madam, please turn that down' 

Clueless: ‘But then he can’t hear it and he will want to get out’ Ignores security guard and moves to next room.

I suppose scenes like this play themselves out in many galleries around the world, and who am I to say Baby Shark isn’t the best possible soundtrack for an exhibit of Leonardo DaVinci’s collected drawings from the 1500s. I should probably lighten up…
The exhibit was very good, and enlightening too. I hadn’t realized that DaVinci’s true genius wasn’t really recognized in full until the 1900s and while he was well known and sought after as a designer and artist during his life, many of his drawings depicting mechanisms and machinery were not even published until hundreds of years after his death. Considering how close he was to getting things like, oh, a helicopter and a gunship right, who knows what his influence could have been.

Apparently, for anatomical studies, bear feet were easier to come by than human feet.

I wonder what DaVinci would make of Baby Shark.
We always visit Trafalgar Square to climb on the lions and this time was no exception. It was as busy as always but with a happy addition of some silly signage, explained here:

Conversation in the Sign-Making department for Trafalgar Square between Pete and Stu, sign-makers, who are actually Lorry drivers but are just filling in for Mark and Keith who are on their honeymoon:

Stu: Oy, Pete, we done need anuva sign for the square, which says somfing like ‘Don’t Climb on the Lions, you dumb fuck’ except we can’t say the Dumb Fuck bit’
Pete: Right you are I’ll see what I can come up wiv.
Stu: Fanks, Pete.
Pete, a few days later, holds up a sign and reads it out to Stu: ‘Don’t clyme on them lyons they is right slipprey and you might fall off and bash your fick head in’
Stu: Not bad, but what about all them visiters who don’t speak English. Maybe you better make it wiv pictures, Pete.
Pete: Ok give me a few days:
Stu: Fanks.

Pete, a few days later, showing Stu the sign he has installed in Trafalgar Square:

Let’s look at that again, a little closer.

Seriously?

Stu: Great Job, Pete.
Pete: Fanks, Stu.

Talk about cut and paste

Great job, Pete and Stu. Really nailed that one.

We did have a happy stumble across Maison Assouline,  a fantastic book store of sorts which also has a great bar, and a collection of curiosities hidden away upstairs in a room where it was possible to be the only ones in the room (unusual in London). We happily passed some time there.

We had a quick peruse through Fortnum and Mason which was more like visiting the Cheese Shop of Monty Python fame as they seemed to be out of most things we wanted, with the notable exception of some sugared vegetables (probably not a big rush on the candied celery) and of course, marmalade.

Not today, thank you.










We also had one of our daily picnic lunches in Green Park near Buckingham Palace. This was some time after we had had to battle our way across the many streets that were closed off as our arrival coincided with the changing of the guards.


As it had looked like we were never going to get across (and miss our entry time for the Leonardo DaBabyShark exhibit) I had to have a word with the policeman guarding the cross walk: (True story!)

Me: ‘Will we get across these roads in our lifetime or is this it now?’
Him: ‘Be awhile yet’
Me: ‘Any chance you could be slightly more specific? Narrow it down to hours?’
Him: ‘Think of this as a shark-infested swamp’
Me: ‘Oh. So no then?’
Him: You can’t cross here but if you was to cross down there a ways, I couldn’t stop you , could I?’
Me (the light dawning'): Oh OK! I get it thanks! And I think you meant crocodiles or alligators for the swamp analogy’
Him:
Me: Right – thanks then!

At which point we all ran down the road a few metres and then sprinted across several closed streets in front of hundreds of tourists. Good thing they didn’t all go at the same time as us or Him would have been pissed with me.

This building looks like about 90% of the buildings in London, but is unique in that the roof is the site of the last live concert held by the Beetles in 1969. At least that is what the little blue plaque said. If I lived here I would make my own little blue plaques with absolute nonsense on them and put them up all over the place just to watch the tourists stop and take a bazillian photos of nothing.



We finished the day off with drinks at an open air bar inside the Underbelly Festival and then dinner at The George Inn, a pub that dates back to the 1500s in Southwark, and boasts of having Charles Dickens as a regular customer. It, as were all the bars and pubs, was packed as England was playing Norway in the Women’s World Cup. So nice to see giant screens set up and large crowds of men and women cheering England on. In Canada, that sort of thing doesn’t happen for women’s teams. England won 3-0!

That’s it for today – please come back tomorrow as we are going to Windsor and Travis is going to try and steal Prince Harry away from Meghan Markle.
Cheers,
Jane

Back in the UK Day 1: In Which we Meet Mumford and Son's Aunt, and UK Signage Delivers.

Hello everyone and welcome back to the blog. I'm so happy to be here! I'll keep this short and sum up our day with a crowd-pleaser, the Top 5 list of the best things that happened to us today on our first day.




















5. The flight from YVR was not bad as usual as Air Canada seem to have moved on from pre-ironing their lettuce and serving Pasta Dots in a Blood Sauce to providing something that was actually edible, for the most part. There was still a piece of old sponge masquerading as a bun with the added appeal of a frozen centre, and a slice of chocolate cake (and I use the term 'cake' loosely) that could also have been used as a murder weapon should nothing else be handy, it was that dense.  But all in all, it was not unpleasant.
My only suggestion would be to change this sign which could be quite alarming to those who use a wheelchair. What does it even mean? ‘Wheelchair users: press this button to be sucked down a giant toilet’? ‘Tiny wheelchair users will be using the entire toilet, so look out’? And do we really need the graphic of how a toilet works? So many questions. Also, could they please clean their weird signs.

4. Heathrow airport has finally figured out that an arrivals hall with 6ft ceilings and a two hour wait is akin to torture. I was happily surprised  when instead, we were virtually the only ones in the new immigration centre and even more surprised not to have to explain my life history to Gordon the Bored Immigration Officer who looks like he could either go to sleep, or on a murderous rampage depending on one's answers to his inane questions. Instead, I had only to scan my passport and we were through. So refreshing!

3. When we arrived at our house, a charming cottage located near Twickenham, on Eel Pie Island (more on this later) in the Thames River, we were all amazed to see a couple of CDs on a table, not because they were CDs and no one knows what they are anymore, but because of the note tucked under the case.

Perhaps you have heard of Mumford and Sons? As it turns out, the Ms. Mumford I had rented the house from is none other than Marcus Mumford’s Aunt. When she arrived at the house to greet us, needless to say we had a few questions, like, could he come by for a cup of tea, what was he like as a child, and could we all have free tickets to their next concert. No I’m just kidding. We weren’t interested in his childhood.


2. Twickenham is a lovely little spot just west of London. W spent the afternoon napping and exploring and came across, as one does in the UK, the burial place of Alexander Pope, who lived (and died) in Twickenham. Pope was a 17th century writer, essayist and satirist who will be well known to those of us who studied English at school as a bit of a pain in the ass when it came to analyzing his works. Still it was interesting to come across his grave and that of his…wetnurse? nanny? mother?

1. Speaking of being a pain in the ass, I think someone on the Council for Richmond-Upon-Thames might have stepped in dog poo one too many times….

Well alright then.

I would also like to extend a special thank you to June and Tony for being in the Departure Gate for our flight to London yesterday. I always feel a sense of comfort when they show up with their post-wartime dentistry, smart shirts, sensible footwear, and flasks of tea. Bless them! I also saw Lynne and Andy, unmistakeable in his 'I hate Mondays’ tshirt, undoubtedly on their way back to Leeds or Newcastle having just toured Banff, Science World in Vancouver, and the Butchart Gardens. Bless them too. You'll have to take my word for it as I couldn't take a photo but I'm sure I will see them again in London, along with Tom and Barbara, Raj and Viv, and Anne and Rick. The UK does do stereotypes so well!

That’s it for now. More tomorrow!

Thanks for reading,
Jane