School In Our Jammies

We left off, dear readers, with a question:

Should we train to Winchester? Into London one more time? Eh?

This question was much debated before retiring. One more cute town with an old cathedral? Training into the very big city to visit another museum of historical significance?

We slept in and stayed in Reading. In fact, we ventured out only once to buy food for dinner, then napped when we got home. Did we have a fun weekend in Dover? Were we in need of nothingness? Youbetcha.

FYI, cooking in a tiny kitchen in a tiny flat with dull knives and few spices can induce fear into the most seasoned of moms. Am I right? First, I had to remember what to cook, then I had to remember how to cook it because I’m on vacation in the land of plentiful restaurants and pubs with two-word-names. Then, I had to not forget to buy everything I might need instead of relying on staples in the pantry. Finally, I had to substitute gruyere for parmesan since there was no parmesan in the store. I don’t know why.

Thankfully, it was tasty:

Alas, this morning our pep returned, and we hopped out of bed and caught a train to Paddington. Today’s goal: the Victoria and Albert Museum. Here is it from the front entrance:

Inside were many, many, many objects. Outside and around the corner was the Albert Memorial – and this picture does not do it justice. Zowie. Look at those little people on the steps!

Since the temp was around 70, we made tracks for shade and watched people and pigeons in Hyde Park for a while, before finding the Diana Princess of Wales Memorial Fountain. Then, a mile walk through stately residential areas to Paddington Station, and our final train trip into London came to a close.

Tonight, Jasper cooked roasted chicken, potatoes, carrots and broccoli for dinner, and we four reviewed our month of travels through the UK. Coming tomorrow. Goodnight!

(Look!  Chihuly!)

Seven thousand lay dead on the bloody field. Harold, King of England, had taken an arrow through his eye. It was the year 1066. And you’re about to read a very long post.

But before we get to that — from the land of roundabouts, sheep, traffic diversions, castles, abbeys, narrow roads, lambs, clotted cream and two-word-names for pubs, I give you a synopsis of this weekend:

1. Margot and Gordon Thrussell are delightful.
2. Jim and I think it’s too bad that we live on different continents, but at least we’ll see each other again next February.
3. No…this is my favorite castle! Dover Castle is in Dover, where the white cliffs are and where we could have seen France had the sky not been hazy.
4. Dover is a seaport, where we could have taken a ferry and looked back at the white cliffs from France had we more weeks in these parts.
5. Dover Castle is perched on a high bluff. We all achieved our step goals that day.
6. After Dover, we six drove to Folkestone (say it “folk’stun”), for more strolling, eating, and drinking.
7. Here, the tide was out, and the boats were in.
8. Alas, here also were emotional farewells with the Thrussells until February.

So, about that battle. Oops, wait. Before the battle and our trip to Battle, we stopped over in Rye. Rye is yet another of England’s quintessential villages, and it just happens to be on the road from Ashford to Battle.

While in Rye, we discovered where the Brits grow their guns:

We also walked very, very carefully on rocky lanes:

As you know from your high school history studies, this island was invaded in 1066 AD by the Normans. (Should you need a review, a quick google of “William the Conqueror” and “the battle of Hastings” should do it.) The big battle which sealed the deal for the Normans took place at the place now named Battle.

The village of Battle, surprisingly, was so much more than the story of a battle. Why? Because of a Ploughman’s lunch, green fields, lambs, an abbey, an educational film explaining 1066, and an ice cream shop.  The history presentation was excellent; however, my favorite part was the lambs. Here we are, walking the “battle line”:

Finally, we are home again in Jessica’s flat. Tonight’s discussion was, besides what to order for dinner, what to do tomorrow. Should we train to Winchester? Into London one more time? Eh?

Well, dear readers, last night passed without a blog entry.  Did you notice?  No? Is okay. I shall catch up:

Yesterday morning we three managed to loll around the flat until Jasper arrived to walk with Jessica to some government office. Apparently, marrying in the UK, if you’re not a citizen, is a bit complicated.  It shall work, but they must watch Green Card first.

After lunching at the Friday street market, we four jumped into the car for our drive to Canterbury.  Above, we have just parked, and Jasper has demonstrated his paparazzi awareness.  Well done, Jasper!

Canterbury Cathedral is the headquarters of the Anglican church, and one of the oldest churches in England.  Chaucer’s pilgrims headed here (you remember them — the Wife of Bath, the Miller, the Knight, the Friar, the Monk, and the rooster, Chanticleer, etc.).

Canterbury Cathedral is immense. And, currently half of it is wrapped with scaffolding, which is always a bit disappointing for us tourists; however, we do appreciate that very, very old buildings need some TLC once in a while.

The outside of the building is just as jaw-dropping as the inside:

Downtown Canterbury is a bustling, touristy little town where we indulged in scones and hot chocolates after our walk-through. (FYI:  Methinks the reason to eat a scone is for the clotted cream and jam, although the scone itself does deserve applause.) Next stop was our hotel in Ashford, where we would meet Jasper’s parents for dinner that evening.

A meet-the-parents rendezvous with the Thrussells on a bus, and an evening of lively conversation and yummy food ended our Canterbury Tale.

Today we six visit Dover’s white cliffs and castle together.

Some people are constantly aware of the camera.

Most evenings I sit here on Jessica’s couch, after having had a lovely dinner with my people, and I wonder: what shall I write for the blog tonight? Hmmm…I know; I will ask my people.

Me: Jim, what did you like about Oxford today?

Jim: I liked the view from the, I can’t remember what that thing was called. And the, uh, streets and the ancient walls and the wide-open green fields on that one part of the walk and that river.

Jessica: All that stuff?

Jim: Yeah.

Me: Jessica, what are your thoughts? What should I write about?

Jessica: Ummm…we had good Indian food with Jen. You went to The Eagle and the Child. Don’t you have an inkling? Mother! You owe me fifty dollars for that. Just kidding. Mom, I’m not very exciting right now.

Jim: About what?

Jessica: I’m not feeling very exciting right now for her blog inspiration.

Well, that was good for a start. It got me past the blank page, anyway.

So, this morning we trained to Oxford, which got its name from the place where the oxen forded the river. Seriously. With no firm agenda and no entrance tickets, we wandered around and looked at stuff.

While inside Jim’s building with the pretty views, called the Sheldonian Theater, we were swallowed by a tour group. Strangely, this was a good thing, as we learned lots. The views were from the cupola, 114 stairs above the main theater floor.

Oxford is, as you well know, a scholarly place. It is comprised of several colleges, such as Christ Church, Balliol, Magdalen (say maudlin), Merton, Lady Margaret, and such. Visitors can tour a college, sometimes for a small fee.

Visitors can also rent a punt and punt around the river. (I just used that word as a noun and a verb. Is that okay? I’m too lazy to look it up.) Supposedly, punting is harder than it looks, but I don’t know why. These are punts:

All in all, Oxford is a beautiful town and today was a sunny, warm day. Normally on a sunny, warm day in a faraway place Jim and I would get ice cream, but neither of us was feeling it. So, we hopped a train back to Reading. Got milk, walked home, bough milkshakes from the coffee van across the street, took naps, ate Indian food with Jessica and Jen from Los Alamos. Thus, our day is done. My people are in bed. The sun has set. Good night, all.

Dear Your Majesty,

Thank you for opening your home to us (and so many others) today. Truly, I can see why you like it so much. Its flying buttresses, crenulated towers, smartly marching guards, and commanding view of the countryside make it a fitting weekend retreat. Since your flag was not flying, I can only assume you weren’t home. We missed you.

Although we genuinely enjoyed our day, may I offer a couple of suggestions relative to the running of your palace? Firstly, we had to stand in a very slow line, even though we purchased tickets online the evening before. (I’m not whining – I’m just saying — pre-purchased tickets for other attractions in your realm have allowed us to pass the throngs and enter swiftly.) Possibly Disneyland or TSA could help you with this.

Secondly, would you please have a talk with your ice cream ladies? They need a firm, decisive leader, one who will kick out the line-cutters and fire the girl who scoops slower than molasses in January. Oh, and when the power goes out, maybe they could just offer free ice cream to the rest of the line?

Otherwise, we did have a splendid time.

Yours respectfully,

Kim and Jim

Ten highlights (shall we call ’em lowlights?):

1. No tours for us this day.
2. Instead, there was laundry, two cups of coffee, sitting aplenty, and strolling along the river.
3. Also was a walk to the train station for a pasty each.  (Say that word with a short /a/ sound, please — cat, hat, bat, pasty.  I know — it’s weird but important.)
4. There was supposed to be a visit to the Reading museum to see a replica of the “Bayeux tapestry” (depicting events leading up to the Norman conquest of 1066).  But, museum is closed on Mondays, so there wasn’t.
5. There was grocery shopping for dinner stuff:  apples, peppers, sausages, granola, Benadryl. In these parts, one must bring grocery bags or buy them.  We remembered.
6.  Then, there was me going to the mall alone to buy knitting needles.  I may also have discovered my new favorite clothing store and purchased a scarf.
7. There were naps.
8. There was a walk along the river path, where swans and canal boats caught our attention.
9. Next, there was sitting in the sunshine on Jessica’s deck, cooking dinner, and chatting.
10. Finally, there was Jim finishing the box of Shreddies for dessert.

Tomorrow, there will be a train trip to Windsor Castle.

I got to spend Mother’s Day at a shipyard. Well, technically it’s not MD in the UK as theirs is in March, but who cares about that and I like ships.

When my daughters were young, they read historical fiction about English kings and Irish wolfhounds and such. Now, I never paid much attention to Henry VIII and his wifey troubles (the focus of those teen novels) but as of today, I know all about his ship. In fact, I can tell you more than you care to know about the Mary Rose. Ready?

She was Henry’s flagship. She served 34 years. She capsized near Portsmouth. Five hundred years later she was salvaged and now she sits in a climate-controlled, state-of-the-art museum. Good enough? Good enough.  Also, this isn’t her:

Besides the Mary Rose, we toured the Victory (that is her, behind Jim). Admiral Nelson died on the Victory. Shot by a French sniper during the battle of Trafalgar, Nelson fell to the deck (there’s a plaque to mark the spot) and died later in the surgery. He was sent back home in a full barrel of brandy (used as a preservative) and buried in St. Paul’s, where we saw him yesterday.

And now, Jessica and I watch “The Great British Bake Off”, having had our dinner and our facials.  I can say with certainty that our faces feel “refreshed, soothed, and balanced.”  Thanks, Lush.

This about sums it up, friends:

After two weeks of bumming around the UK with and without our native tour guides, Jim and I have settled in. We catch trains. We ride the tube. We drink cappuccinos. We eat pies. We walk and walk. We shop at Sainsbury’s. We dodge pedestrians who are looking at their phones instead of the road ahead. We wait for the “walk” signal, because sheesh! (We are still alive.)

We tour monuments. We read plaques commemorating kings, queens, admirals, apostles, and poets. (Spent three hours in St. Paul’s Cathedral today; saw where many famous people were either memorialized or buried, or both — Admiral Nelson, Lord Wellington, John Donne…).

We gaze at strangely shaped buildings, bridges over a churning brown river, pomp before a palace, and groundlings beneath us. (Walked across the Millennial Bridge again to meet our people for Comedy of Errors at the Globe.  Oh, yeah.)

(Here stand the groundlings, who for a mere 5 pounds can enjoy the cheap seats by not sitting for two hours.  We looked down upon them from above.)

And then, after a pleasant day of traipsing, sitting, and riding the train back to Reading, we four saunter across the river to the mall, where restaurants crowded with lively folk line the riverbank.  We eat French.  We share dessert.  Now, we sleep.

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day, whence I am promised a trip to Portsmouth.

We two travelers to the British Museum saw many vast and legless visages perched on pedestals this day. Most came from places where lone and level sands stretched far away— Egypt, Assyria, Iraq. We said, “Let’s spend as much time as we want!  We have all day.”

Apologies to the poet Shelly, as my parody fizzles here.  Yet our visit lasted a few hours— with breaks to sit between exhibits. We saw Rosetta again.  Also great, big Assyrian beastie statues.

Ramses has a nice face, I think.  So does my hubby.

Alas, museum-walking is tiring, and we thought we did the place justice, so we trekked back to our hotel.

Tomorrow we tour St Paul’s cathedral and then meet our people for some Shakespeare.

Oh, BTW!  The sun came out today.