Eh by goom, the Yorkshire Wolds!

We said goodbye to Peterborough this morning and I feel Geoff may have done the place a disservice with his harsh and unrestrained criticism, unlike my own more kindly assessment.  We drove out through a nice part of the town and had plenty of time to take in the neighbourhood as we were gridlocked in peak-hour traffic for over half an hour. In that time we saw fresh-faced children, skipping to school, cheerful dads walking Labradors, pretty gardens and lots of parks.  I assume this means our hotel was out in the boondocks and our walk to the CBD took us to the crumbling nether regions of the inner city.




I must also report that our Peterborough hotel had a trouser press.  I'm ashamed to go anywhere without a sharp crease in my Fletcher Jones slacks, so this was a boon to my always impeccable grooming.    

[Geoff elbowing in here: It's also worth mentioning that if you look closely at the power point at the bottom right of the trouser press you might see an adaptor in it, specifically an adaptor that converts Australian appliances (like, you know, phones and tablets) into British points.  Well, not to put too fine a point on it, but it's still there (in the hotel in Peterborough).  It will no doubt be a great boon to the next Australian who visits.  Unfortunately, we ourselves won't have the use of it for the remainder of our journey.  Here endeth this lesson. Signed G Skillen, 4B.]   Sorry, Snorks. Signed Anne Ackroyd, 4A

After a couple of false starts with our sat nav yesterday, we fired it up for a real excursion (Peterborough to Bishop Wilton in Yorkshire) this morning.  As a back-up plan, Geoff had hand-drawn a map for me to interpret in case the sat nav didn't live up to expectations. The sat nav was mostly okay, but it was alarming when we lost the signal, which happened several times, fortunately not at major roundabouts with 10 exits,   Also, Geoff's hand-drawn map bore no resemblance at all to the instructions given by the sat nav so that was a challenge.  But we got here eventually and I must say, ooooh it's looovely!  

Bishop Wilton is a tiny little village in North Yorkshire, and. like so many others, has a massive, ancient church which we will inspect at some stage over the week we are here.  Our home for the week is a not-very-old-but-beautifully-appointed-and-equipped cottage.....

               ...that looks out across the lane to what we assume are the Wolds.  It is such a pretty place - this pic doesn't do it justice. 

The cottage has everything that opens and shuts but is so well-secured with three back doors that all need to be locked when we go out, we ended up asking a neighbour to help us out as we couldn't re-lock them after we opened them. I'm sure she thought we were from Barcelona (a Fawlty Towers reference for those saying 'que?') and we also needed instructions on the shower which I'm not sure we grasped but we nodded politely while feeling stupid.

Question: why are English showers (a) always over the bath tub (a safety hazard surely) and (b) always so complicated. It's never just a couple of hot and cold taps but invariably a big, daunting chunk of metal with levers and switches.   But these are small whinges, because Bramblefield Cottage at Bishop Wilton is an absolute gem.




That woman again, In our backyard eating lunch. The nerve of her.

After we'd sorted ourselves we drove to the nearest biggish town, Pocklington, to get some provisions at Sainsburys.  On the way out of the store with our trolley full of Horlicks, Marmite etc, Geoff decided the door clearly marked "fire exit" was the way to go, and so heave-hoed the big metal bar up, and out into the street we went, closely followed by a Sainsbury check-out chick yelling, "You've set off the alarm! That's the foire exit!"  Ah well, we'll know for next time then.

All in all, a great day and well done, Geoffy for your excellent driving and for finding this little bit of paradise on the interwebz. Over to you, now, lovey-guv. xx

Yes, still getting the hang of the satnav.  So far I'm giving it 8 out of 10.  It sometimes loses the GPS signal, which may not be such an issue if you're on the M1, but not so good if it's taken you down a country lane and you've no idea what to do next.  And the route it chose for us from Peterborough to York bore no resemblance to the one that suggested itself to me via Google maps.  But anyway, it did get us here.  Only minor quibbles, and I'm sure things will improve (everything crossed).

The Yorkshire wolds is considerably more attractive than Peterborough, to say the least.  So far we've explored Wharram Percy, described as a DMV (deserted mediaeval village).  Not a hell of a lot to see, no doubt since it was abandoned several hundred years ago, but there is the remains of a church (St Martins):

.. and a graveyard.  You park the car and walk almost a mile down a path:

      Alright, this photo isn't so special, but you'll just have to take my word for it - it was a really nice gambol through the wilds [or Wolds - Ed.], made better because we had it to ourselves.  Although there's not much left to see, Wharram Percy is described as the most significant DMV is England, and we're glad we went.

The only public facilities in the village of Bishop Wilton are a 'village store', that is in a tiny house, and a pub, 'The Fleece', that we'll be patronising tomorrow.  Talk about priorities - no real shops to speak of, but a pub.  My type of village!

 All up, it's a ripper, Rita.  xxx

Day 9: More carousing with old friends, then to Peterborough and Flag Fen

Last night we dined with my old school mate Cathy Shepherd and her English husband Bob. Cathy has lived in London since 1980. We met in primary school and then attended the same high school. I hadn't seen her since the 1970s so there was much to catch up on and an excellent time was had by all.  In an extraordinary coincidence involving two blog readers,we established firstly, Ms Melons, that your parents and Cathy's mother and step-father had been friends in Mt Tamborine. Second, Oriana Soprano, we established that Cathy's step brother, Brendan O'Loghlen sings with Oriana Chorale and thirdly, he was quite well-acquainted with Geoff during the 1980s.  Small world, eh?   

This morning we lugged our 50,000 kg cases to London Kings Cross for a train trip north to Peterborough in Cambridgeshire. About 8 kilometres away from the city CBD is Flag Fen, a bronze age site with a well-preserved timber causeway and heaps of artifacts still being unearthed.  It's fortunate that Peterborough has this local tourist attraction because I cannot think of any other reason why anyone would come to this truly wretched dump of a place.

Everyone looks unhealthy and impoverished. Many shops are empty. In the town centre where we went for lunch, we saw so many young, hard-faced girls, fags in hand, pushing strollers containing miserable-looking toddlers.  There were lots of cocky-looking young men as well, most of whom seemed to have spilled out of the huge magistrate's court nearby.  It was very depressing - we had never before seen an entire town that seemed so down on its luck. We were glad to get out of there and drive to Flag Fen in our newly-hired 2014 Renault Captur.  Bloke readers who are keen to know about its torque and engine capacity will hear from Geoff on these issues shortly.

Meanwhile, Flag Fen!  The site was discovered in 1982 by Francis Pryor, an archaeologist who often featured on 'Time Team'.  He is still actively involved in excavation work and we were very disappointed to learn that he had been there just this morning, before our arrival.

This  pic on the right is a re-created Bronze Age roundhouse, similar to those that Flag Fen locals would have lived in.  A fen is a sort of boggy marsh. The reason the timber causeway and so many artifacts (swords, axes, knives etc) have survived is the lack of oxygen in the peat.  Most of them were ritually destroyed before being placed in the bog - it was an ancestor-worship ritual that went on for hundreds of years before the water levels rose and the site was abandoned.

                                  

 The digs have also revealed 9 Bronze Age boats
 - this is a pic of a pic of one of them.  The boats are in the process of being 'pickled' so they don't deteriorate now that they're out of the peat so while we saw them, they were wrapped up and would not make a good photograph.







      

                                                                                   By the time the Romans invaded in the first century AD, the landscape was quite different and the causeway was invisible, buried in the peat under a large lake.  They had a garrison not far away and built a road that runs right through Flag Fen - we walked on it today. 

                                                                            

This is a bit of the Roman road, with some Soay  sheep in the back ground. These are very similar to sheep that the Bronze Age flag Fennians would have kept for textiles and meat. The sheep are not shorn - the wool is either shed or pulled off.









All in all, Flag Fen is well worth a visit but Peterborough is such a sad, down-at-heel place it is probably best avoided.  Handing over to Geoff now for bloke news.

Not much in the way of bloke news, particularly regarding the Captur.  Seems to go OK although I still haven't seen what she'll do in a straight line (blokes will understand the reference).  A few idiosyncrasies which we're hopefully in the process of sorting out.  Otherwise, I must agree with all the above - Flag Fen 10, Peterborough zero.  I've just checked out a local watering hole called the Peacock.  In a first for me, I downed my one pint and decamped.  Atmosphere like something out of Eastenders without the charm.  The beer wasn't bad but was from Yorkshire.  Can't they even make beer here? I wonder if Flag Fen can be moved elsewhere?

Heading oop north tomorrow, hopefully to more convivial surrounds.

Rest in peace, Andrew and Myuran

 

 

 

Day 8: There were green alligators and long-necked geese, some humpty-backed camels and some chimpanzees..

A sleep-in till 7am this morning - excellent!  Although I was beavering away on the blog redeeming myself between 1.30 and 2.30 am, so a sleep-in was earned.

Our London stay is almost over. Tomorrow we'll get the train to Peterborough in Norfolk, the start of our adventures up north. We decided today would be a more leisurely day and it would not involve museums.



Before sharing the highlights, here is a pic of Geoff pretending to cook something in our handy pocket-sized kitchen. You can see how much space there is (or isn't) between the wall and the stove. That is the point of the pic. We were about to go out and I am not sure what Geoff thought posing with a saucepan and slotted spoon would add. He doesn't normally cook in his winter-weight coat, especially when our flat is centrally heated to a tropical 30 degrees C.  But he is very good value and that's what counts. (Would insert heart icon here if I knew how.) 








After Geoff had returned the kitchen utensils (both sunbeams) to their rightful place, we were off to Regents Park.  It was a delight, not least because it has a number of dog off-leash areas and we are both feeling very dog-deprived and missing my beautiful Rebel, the Golden Retriever. 

 
We had a lovely chat with all these dogs. The one of the left is Hugo the Bernese mountain Dog. He has to wear a muzzle in the park because otherwise he swallows tennis balls. Behind him is a Golden Retriever.  On the right, just above my shapely leg, is a beautiful rescue Greyhound, originally from Ireland.
       

                                                                                               





Another highlight of Regents Park is the beautiful flower gardens.  There were no Bambis to distract Geoff, so he got some rather nice tulip shots.....

...including this one of a multi-headed tulip.  (If you're reading Ms Melons, these were similar to the shots I attempted to send via Messenger. I'm sorry all you got was a fence post and some sky.)    








It was rather lovely strolling through the park and stopping every now and then to admire both the petunias and the poultry on the pond - it reminded us a bit of Wind in the Willows.


    Although slightly grey-looking, this is a genuine Australian black swan, who shares a pond with his partner and also ducks, swamp hens and geese.  I commented to Geoff that given how graceful and quite beautiful swans are, it seems strange that royalty and the aristocracy used to eat them in large numbers.  Geoff said "Yeah, but Henry the Eighth would eat shit with sugar on it."  Coarse but undoubtedly true!







This is an English magpie.  They resemble Australian magpies only in that they are black and white.  They squark very unpleasantly, unlike our tuneful colonial variety.  (Susie, have you re-filled all the birdbaths? love, Mum)








                                      

After leaving Regents Park we walked along the canal towpath that intersects London Zoo. We saw this very handsome warthog.  We also saw African Wild Dogs in the next yard but couldn't get a pic because they hid behind a fake rock in their pretend savannah.




And that is all from me for the mo.  Handing over to my Prince Charming now....

Yeah, top day in and around Regents Park and a nice change from admiring 5th century artifacts at the British Museum, particularly as they were all looted from their place of origin.  Not that there's anything wrong with museums and artifacts mind.  But the weather was great and we really enjoyed the day out.  Anne has already given a comprehensive picture of the Regents Park flora and fauna, except that we also caught a glimpse of what was obviously a light green coloured parrot.  When we encountered an archetypal twitcher (complete with binoculars) we sought his assistance and were told it was a red necked parakeet, and that they're now quite common in southern England, at least for the last 15 years or so.  We all agreed it's due to climate change, although no doubt our beloved PM would beg to differ.  But who knew there are parrots in the wild in England?  Not us.

The canal towpath led to Camden, where the canal goes right under the main street, complete with a lock.  A lunch at the fabled Camden markets followed by a bit of stall shopping and we were ready for the 253 bus back to Euston.  By the way, Euston Road (which we now know well) was 100 pounds on the Monopoly board, right?  Anyway, a good day was had by all, and we're about to head out to dinner, via one of our favourite watering holes from last time, The Queen's Larder.

Till tomorrow!  xxx

Day 7: Dining with the Tudors

This morning at Russell Square we flung ourselves onto the third train that came along, the first two being full to overflowing with commuters and European tourists with very large suitcases (full of Gauloise probably).  Geoff  said stern words to a latecomer who tried to push in front of us, but resisted the urge to go the biff when the other bloke backed off.

At Waterloo station we rendezvoused with London resident, Ms Rhia Winchester, daughter of my late and sorely missed friend of 45 years, Karen and her husband Bruce. We were off to Hampton Court palace!

Random stranger and Ms Rhia Winchester

Hampton Court was originally the folly of Cardinal Wolsey but that fat bastard Henry VIII took a liking to it and commandeered it as his own, completing the building of it himself. (Not personally of course). 










                                                                                 

Fountain Court

It's usually associated with Henry, but   
subsequent monarchs were also rather keen on it and did their own renos and extensions (again not personally) particularly William and Mary of Orange.

Queen Elizabeth 1 was a frequent resident.  In fact we dined in the café that was once her "Privy Kitchen".  (Lentil and cauliflower pie and a refreshing cup of tea - delicious!)         







We also tramped through Henry's enormous kitchens  where there were large slabs of meat and pies (not real ones but good fakes) on every bench top to symbolise his very hearty appetite.  I expect Henry must have been horribly constipated as fruit and veg seemed to have played little or no part in his diet.  And speaking of matters digestive, we also saw the personal dunny of William of Orange. It had a comfy-looking but not very sanitary or practical velvet seat.

This is Henry's clock tower. It fell into disrepair after he died but Queen Anne had it restored.   (Not Anne Boleyn. She had been executed 200 years earlier!)

We also saw Henry's chapel and a replica of his rather lairy crown, the original having later been destroyed, possibly by Oliver Cromwell.  (Not sure of that, I was momentarily not paying attention.  Nor was Geoff.)


After we were done with the palace, we went out into the many acres of magnificent gardens.

Backyard. (Hills hoist obscured)

William of Orange (I think) commissioned "Capability" Brown to redesign the gardens.  I recall Capability Brown from primary school and I found out today that Capability was just his nick name, not his real name. I can't recall what his real name was (again, not paying attention) but we can be sure it wasn't Jayden or Jaxxon.

This pic is a backview of Hampton Court, with the far end of the path leading to some of William and Mary's extensions.                               



        

That random stranger again with Rhia

Apart from all the ornamental plantings and topiary, there were masses of beautiful tulips in flower.  But sadly we have no pics of them, do we Geoffrey?  Instead we have......

......five shots of various Hampton Court Bambis but I think one will be sufficient for this blog post.








At this point I would normally hand over to Geoff  - my own Incredible Hulk and the scourge of all public transport miscreants - but it's 2.35 am here and he is sound asleep. We had actually completed and posted a blog update on our Hampton Court adventures last night about 8pm.  And then somehow, when using another device, I deleted it.  My best efforts to retrieve it through googling "How do I restore a deleted blog post" came to nought, despite 500 useless suggestions. Thus Geoff's wonderfully witty and wise contribution on our HC adventure is lost forever in the ether.  He has forgiven me and I hope our readers will too.

         

Day 6: Marathon Man and Woman

Yet again we woke early to the bloodcurdling screeches of our neighbourhood pterodactyl, who is such a reliable pre-dawn alarm clock.

At a still early but more civilised hour, we caught the train to Bank, and then switched to light rail along the Docklands route, expecting to get off at Westferry so we could visit the Maritime Museum of London. We were alarmed that every man and his dog seemed to have the same idea, as the train was packed. When it pulled into Westferry station we waited expectantly for the doors to open. We waited a bit more but then, to our dismay, we took off again to the next station - Canary Wharf. It was at this point that another passenger helpfully explained that one has to push a button to open the doors on light rail. Thanks for that, guv.

Fortunately we knew the ropes at the next station and elbowed our way out. There were cops and security goons everywhere and roads cordoned off and we realised that this was part of the London Marathon route.  But we managed to find the Dockland museum and it was pretty damn good. Its focus is the Thames from pre-history to World War 2 and an entire gallery is devoted to the Slave Trade.  London was the world's fourth largest slave port.  And we learned that some abolitionists weren't opposed to slavery on moral/humanitarian grounds - it was often because the trade was thought to be impeding early capitalism. Who knew?   


When we came out of the Museum three hours later, we could hear a huge amount of cheering and yelling in distance and realised that the London marathon was happening under our very noses.  And that was why our train had been packed to the gills - they were all spectators. Despite my best efforts to keep him under control, Geoff got caught up in all the excitement and yelled and screamed and cheered with the best of them. I had to sedate him with some horse tranquiliser when he started bellowing 'Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, Oi Oi Oi' and warbling 'Hey True Blue'.  No, really. ;-) 

Fortunately all this marathon excitement meant we had had the museum largely to ourselves. Perfect!

When Geoff came to his senses we caught the light rail to Cutty Sark (still on the river) where we could have visited the Greenwich Observatory if we'd wished. But I learned all I'll ever want to know about meridians of latitude and longitude in Year 6, so instead we caught the River Bus (which is  like a Sydney River Cat) to Tower Bridge, in the expectation of having a leisurely stroll by the Tower of London, the London Roman Wall remnants and a tiny old church called All Hallows-by-the-Tower.  The scenery along the river was actually a bit ordinary - mainly blocks of newly-built flats in places that used to be warehouses and wharves and piers when London was a bustling port city. But we did get to pat a Whippet on board.  At Tower Bridge we disembarked and strolled up to street  level and suddenly there were teeming millions of people in the forecourt beside the tower.

Yet again, we were in the midst of the London Marathon!  But we did manage to get this pic of the Tower of London...











           


The fugly Shard

Alarmed  by the teeming hordes, we backtracked to the river and moseyed along a walkway with several thousand others who also wanted to avoid the madding crowds.

En route, Geoff took this pic of my least favourite London building - a hideous monument to unchecked capitalism - the pointy, shiny, tizzy, tasteless Shard. Blecch!                                                

Those in front of us...
 

The walkway ended after about 500 metres and we hoped we would be shot of the crowds when we turned left into Lower Thames Street.  But nup. Once round the corner there was nothing for it but to shuffle along a few metres, stop, shuffle another metre, stop, etc all the way to London Bridge.        



Those behind us


 

A few brave (or perhaps unhinged) souls were attempting to walk in the opposite direction. Those with baby strollers that they could use as battering rams were most successful.  We pressed on.  There was no going back.

Eventually we got to London Bridge where the crowds

diminished and we sank to our knees to give thanks.  And also retrieve 50p that someone had lost.

 

Here's Geoff, newly liberated from Hell, with Tower Bridge behind him. I'm done. Good night, grasshoppers! 

 

 

 (Thinks..) "What a day to give up glue-sniffing!"

Geoff now at the helm.  We didn't actually plan our London visit around the marathon, although today's events might suggest otherwise. When we first saw it I started looking for the African runners, only to realise that not only had they all finished several hours ago, but most were already on their way to Heathrow for the 4.15 to Nairobi via Addis Ababa.   

 

Once we found London Bridge we figured we could cross to the south shore of the Thames and hopefully leave the marathon behind us.  And it proved to be so.  We could see the Southwark cathedral in the distance, and used it as a landmark.  Once across the bridge, we found that we could indeed make a visit.  On the way in, we found this interesting sidelight....

 

 

... that commemorates a native American who died in England.  The inscription records that the memorial statue was jointly unveiled by Phil the Greek and tribal elder Bruce Two Dogs Bozsum, which I thought was well worth a mention.  Southwark cathedral is worth a visit.  Nowhere near as grand as, say, Westminster Abbey, but hey, a lot more impressive than St Darren's Rooty Hill.  And we somehow managed to acquire our own personal guide, who gave us an insider's tour.  Not sure how; just got lucky I guess.  Much of the cathedral dates from the 19th century, although there are parts that are circa 13th and 16th centuries.

 

Speaking of blind luck, we found that the walk from the cathedral to the London Bridge tube station just happened to pass right by the George Inn (see two days ago).  Oh, alright, not right past, but close enough.  So we did the only fair thing and dropped in for a refreshment to tide us over for the long trip home (6 stations on the Northern line to be exact).  A good time was had there by all, and a fine way to end a busy Sunday in London. 

                                                           

Day 5: Down the bunker with Winston Churchill

 Our neighbourhood buzzard/vulture began his pre-dawn squarking at 4am today and so we were up and about early, as usual.  I hope he finds love soon and will piss off somewhere else to build a nest.

This morning we visited Winston's Churchill's war offices under Whitehall. It was only coincidence that it happened to be Anzac Day, which is known here as the Battle of Gallipoli and has much less significance than in Australia. That was actually a relief after all the over-egged sentiment and faux patriotism in the Australian build-up to the centenary commemoration, or 'celebration' as some commentators of little brain would have it.  No crass merchandise for sale here either - last week at home I saw "Camp Gallipoli" sweat shirts in Target.  Nothing like making a buck out of a tragic and monumental bloodbath. 

We caught the train to Green Park where, with my slightly                                 

gammy leg and occasional geriatric vertigo, I was much daunted by these escalators up to street level. I felt I was ascending the Matterhorn without a safety harness. Ditto coming down the escalator some hours later.  I watched with envy and fascination as sprightly young things (with people to see and places to be) took the steps three at a time while I gripped the handrails, gritted my teeth and hoped it would all soon be over. What a wimp.










But moving on, Churchill's War Rooms were fascinating -
a huge but claustrophobic labyrinth of underground rooms that housed a large number of both military and civilian staff who worked incredibly long hours for the duration of the war.  They often stayed overnight for months on end, not seeing daylight for the duration. I suspect the female clerical staff were the most put-upon. They worked as long and as hard as anyone else but were paid poorly and shared a dungeon-like dormitory down yet another level at night. Churchill and the military and civilian big wheels had their own rooms but only Churchill had a proper flushing dunny.  And he at least was about and about - his support staff were mostly not so lucky.

When we came out from the War Rooms,
we encountered this London bobby and his automatic         

rifle. Not sure if the monument behind him is
clear, but it commemorates (or celebrates as the Murdoch press might have it) the 2002 Bali bombings.  We think he was there because a march was underway up the road for the centenary of the Battle of Gallipoli.  Also, the Queen was out and about.

We then tried to go another 100 metres along the walkway so we could get a pic of Downing Street but a couple of other bobbies, fortunately not waving machine guns, said nup, it was not going to happen.  So no pic of 10 Downing St.  Ah well. We've all seen it on the telly.




   

                                                                              But we did see a bit of pomp and pageantry, such as these chaps on the left. And the reception person at the War Rooms told us as we were leaving that we had "just missed the Queen outside". 

So it goes without saying that we did not see her passing by.  






The next highlight of the day was a Mr Whippy soft serve ice cream cone with half a Cadbury Flake in it. (2 pounds.) Delicious!  And now over to the Air Commodore (Rtd). 

Yes, it was indeed a day for pomp and ceremony.  Quite unexpected for us in the sense that our destination (the Churchill war rooms) just happens to be in the epicentre of pageantry London-style. Here's a view down the mall towards Buckingham Place.

 

 

No, we didn't do the palace tour, unlike the hordes of tourists from Zagreb, Lodz and Nantes, who are shown here in all their glory (sort of).  By the way, the other reason for all the excitement in this part of London today is that the London marathon is tomorrow and the finish is here (I think).  Anyway, every OB van in Britain is already parked there, so something important must be happening soon.

 

From here on, the day turned decidedly down market, in that we headed for the Oxford Street shoppers' mecca, in search of a satnav, so as not to get lost in the wilds of Shropshire like last time.  You wouldn't think it would be that difficult, but let's just say it took about an hour of tramping Oxford Street and Tottenham Court Road (again mingling with half the population of mainland Europe, almost all of whom were seemingly born with a Gauloise in their mouths).  Anyway, persistence eventually paid off, and we now have a satnav, although I can't tell you if it works, because you have to go online to register in order to receive your free instructions.  Talk about progress - you used to buy a product and get instructions inside the box, now you have to get them from the net.  But it's OK, because it's free.  Once you've paid your 69.99 pounds that is. 

 

Tomorrow I might even brace myself and try to download the instructions. Wish me luck.

Day 4 and a half: An evening with Jack the Rip-Off

Geoff reckons that title is a bit harsh and he's quite right but even so, it's not a bad play on words I reckon, so it's staying.  Overall we gave our Jack the Ripper tour a 6 out of 10 rating - slightly disappointing but occasionally informative.

We caught the train to Aldgate in the East End, and met up with the tour guide there. It was just a spit around the corner to Geoff's rabbi 6th great-grandfather's synagogue, Bevis Marks, built in 1701,where we paid homage on our last visit. (Geoff has never felt the calling himself).


Still on matters ecclesiastic, this church, at the veritable

epicentre of Aldgate, is perplexingly called "St Boltoph without Aldgate" - the sign may be more legible if enlarged - and is yet another example of the delightful quirky pomminess I love (she said, just a tad condescendingly).










               

We we're alarmed when the numbers awaiting walking tours swelled to what seemed like a couple of hundred, but there were several different tours by different operators leaving at much the same time.  Unfortunately ours was by far the biggest, with around 60 people all straggling along
behind the guy in the bowler hat in the centre lower half of this pic on the right. It was far too many people for a consummate Jack the Ripper experience and the competing noise of passing traffic and Friday night pub revellers made it difficult for him to be heard with so many people in the group. 

The point of this pic of Christchurch Spitalfield is that it's a 'white chapel' and that is why the whole area is known as Whitechapel. I never knew that! 




Another disappointing aspect is that, because there were so many of us tramping around the back streets of Whitechapel, we were unable for safety reasons to stop at many actual sites that were part of the Jack the Ripper story.  Mostly we were told to look back 100 metres, to the spot where, for example, Catherine Eddowes was last seen talking with a man in a dark suit and hat a few hours before she was found dead in some other spot that we never actually saw.  Also, very little of Whitechapel looks now like it did then. It still seems very down at heel but is mostly warehouses and Bangladeshi small businesses so it was hard to imagine the atmosphere of terror that pervaded the area over the period of Jack's rampage.

Our tour guide was very good, when we could hear him. But we did feel afterwards that we should have opted for a more comprehensive East End walking tour, which would have had smaller numbers and would have visited a range of interesting historical sites in the area. Instead we chose cheap thrills - not dissimilar to choosing to read a Murdoch publication instead of The Guardian. We were a tad ashamed of ourselves. 

Off to buy a Sat Nav shortly for our tour of the provinces next week.  The lack of a Sat Nav caused some discord in our usually harmonious relationship last time we were in visited.  We will have that covered this time.

More later today!  A xx

Day 4: Elephants, Castles, Turnips and Staffies....

Another early morning wake-up call (4.45am) from our neighbourhood songbird, who we have downgraded from nightingale/lark to starling/Indian myna. 

This morning we caught the train to Elephant and Castle, then walked to the Imperial War Museum. It's quite a stately building so this... um...monument in pride of place out the front was a tad puzzling:

It's a chunk of the Berlin Wall (from near the Brandenburg Gate) that an acclaimed graffiti artiste (known as "Indiano") was commissioned to daub with his spray can and perhaps a paintbrush.(Jeez. Why? Was my first thought.) It even has a bronze plaque applauding Indiano for his artistic genius. "Change your life"?? About as profound as "Change your underpants". Pffft.

But otherwise the War Museum was most impressive and often very moving. A whole floor was devoted to the Holocaust.  It was very heavy going and we were glad to get out of that particular gallery. Another one featured the lives of one particular London family during WW2 and how they coped with regular bombing raids, rationing, sons who were soldiers etc.





There were also Exocet missiles and
other big destructive bomby things as well
as a gallery of assorted planes.  There was also a gallery devoted entirely to Victoria Cross and George Cross medal awardees, which included their actual medals. 





After the IWM, we wandered up the road and round the corner to Borough Market hoping for a leisurely lunch in this acclaimed foody paradise. But every man and his dog was there, including the entire populations of Paris, Berlin and Krakow.  It was Sardine City and while the food looked great, who wants to stand in a queue for 20 mins and then eat standing up? Well quite a lot of people obviously, as that is what most were doing.

We gave up and decided to look elsewhere for a                            

sanger but on the way out were startled to see that the humble turnip is so revered in this neck of the woods that it has its very own aisle at the Borough Markets. I have never been excited by turnips. They are my least favourite vegetable - I am certain a turnip has not passed my lips since about 1964.  

We found a pub in Borough High St, the unimaginatively
named Bunch of Grapes, and climbed their ancient,
ricketty staircase to repose in their bistro for lunch.  I had a chicken sambo while Geoff had grilled haloumi and blood orange salad.  Even so, they still brought us a bottle of HP sauce.  Bless!

Directly out the window behind Geoff in this pic is the stupendously hideous Shard - London's ugliest high-rise building, and so unsympathetic to its landscape.  And they have the nerve to charge people 25 quid if they want to go to the top and admire the view.  Well the view would be good, of course. It doesn't have the vommy Shard in it.

After the Bunch of Grapes, Geoffy insisted we seek out a pub called The George, a 17th century carriage house.  It was lovely.

I met a delightful Staffy there called Bruno.  You

may need your binoculars to see him (and me) in this pic on the right. The George is the white building, built in 1677 but a pub of the same name has been there since the 1500s. The signage says both Charles Dickens and William Shakespeare were regulars. But not at the same time presumably.


Tonight we're off on a Jack the Ripper walking tour. Geoff loves pubs and gory stuff.  It's now his turn to say a few words.  Over to you, handsome.

A couple of notes about the libations and ambience.  The George is quite magnificent and I'd be quite happy to drink most of anything there.  But amazingly, I had an IPA called Goose Island, which mine host told me was from Chicago!  They did advertise 'beers of the world', which included the inevitable Fosters and Stella.  My impression is that the George fully exploits its rightful status as a London institution of great historic provenance, and well worth a visit.  But London being the mecca that it is for drinking experiences, it certainly doesn't have a monopoly.  By the way, my drink of choice at the other pub was a Pale Ale from the Greenwich Meantime brewery. 

The Borough Market is obviously part of old London, but has been very much gentrified.  As an example, look no further than the specialty meats stall that included Zebra burger.  Stupendously crowded, but part of what makes London great.  As Anne says, the Borough High Street is congestion city.  In fact at this time of year most of London is.  I still marvel at the way public transport gets huge numbers of people around so efficiently.  It's not meant for luxury or even comfort, but by god it works.  Australia, take note and hang your head in shame.

Bid-ee, bid-ee, bid-ee that's all folks!  Till next time, A & G xx

Day 3: Hangin with the homeys in Bloomsbury

What a glorious spring day! Last night we decontaminated ourselves and slept the sleep of the dead for oh, a good three or four hours until woken by the cheerful but never-ending trillings of a nearby nightingale or lark at 4.45am. Geoff reached for his sawn-off shotty but then realised he hadn't packed it. So we were up and about bright and early.

I promise this is my last story about the flight over (did I mention we came business class?).  Yesterday morning shortly after departure from Guangzhou and following our inedible breakfast, I decided to turn my seat into a bed and have a nap.  Geoff said that he would stay upright for the time being.  But our very attentive steward had other ideas and suddenly started reclining Geoff's seat while Geoff protested (in vain) that no, he wasn't ready for bed yet. The steward ignored him and almost held him down as the seat became a bed, then removed a doona from its wrapping and tucked Geoff in.  Fortunately he stopped short of kissing him goodnight.  We're not sure why Geoff received this special treatment. Other passengers looked on with bemused fascination. I was chortling so long and hard that there was no danger of me nodding off, so I reconfigured my bed to a seat while Geoff wondered what might be a polite period of time to pass before he too could resume sitting, rather than lying horizontal and feigning sleep.

We have solved our Wi Fi problem. It transpires that Geoff's laptop recalls the password from the last time we were here and it needed to be deleted from some obscure 'properties' file before the new one could be keyed. We feel much better now, if slightly sheepish and bewildered by technology.

Our first port of call after our chores with laptops, phone shops and supermarkets this morning was a visit to the Wellcome Collection around the corner in Euston Rd. Wellcome was a wealthy pharmacist and entrepreneur who died in the 1930s. Although housed in quite a modern building, the collection was a strange sort of experience - it had artifacts like 16th century obstetric forceps and shrunken heads, as well as exhibitions relating to forensic medicine and sexology.  It was a bit bewildering - we couldn't figure out how it all hung together. Perhaps I should have read the introductory pamphlet.  But the toilets were very clean and that is always a plus in my book.  

Next stop, the British Library, also in Bloomsbury. And look. There I am!

The building itself is ugly as sin but oh, the Treasures Room was simply magnificent.  You could spend days in there, utterly captivated. We saw the handwritten lyrics of "A Hard Day's Night" that John Lennon wrote on the back of his son Julian's 1st birthday card (the inconsiderate bastard!). Music scores written by Handl, Gluck and Brahms.  An original Gutenberg bible. A 15th century copy of Aesop's Fables. A letter written by Sir Thomas More to his daughter when imprisoned and awaiting execution for refusing to recognise Henry VIII's marriage to Anne Boleyn. Heaps of other fabulous stuff. But my favourite document was the deathbed Will of Prince Aethelstan the Atheling, eldest son (and therefore prospective king) of the fabulously named Ethelred the Unready.  Aethelstan died in 1016, predeceasing his father and so never became king. But he was a generous soul and bequeathed much of his property to Ethelweard the Stammerer and Godwine the Driveller.  One of the items up for grabs in his estate was a  sword that once belonged to Offa, King of Mercia in the AD 600s.. Those who read our previous blog might recall our acquaintance with Offa, whose legendary dyke along the Welsh border proved elusive despite our efforts to find it.

The man of the house here ... To show  off today's balmy weather, here is half the population of the Bloomsbury district enjoying the sunshine in Russell Square, with the gothic-style Hotel Russell in the background.

The last time they can remember spring weather like this was before most of them were born. 

 

From the British Library we made a return visit to the British Museum, on the way encountering the St Pancras Hotel, which for the architecturally minded of you (surely there must be somebody) will hopefully prove pretty damned impressive.

 

 

 

The question I have about the British Museum (in fact pretty much all their cultural institutions) is: how come they've got the best of everything?  One answer might lie in the explanation about an ancient artefact to the effect that it was 'found' in Rome in the 16th century, and subsequently 'acquired' by Sir Reginald Bartley Crump of Worthington on Fotheringale and then found its way into the British Museum.  Nice work if you can get it, and reminiscent of the manner of their acquisition of the Parthenon (otherwise Elgin) Marbles, one of their biggest attractions.  Anyway, here are a couple of views of the Museum's splendour:

 

 



... which show a very small number of the teeming multitudes of today's patrons (none of whom seemed to be British:

 

 



And to remind us of the birthplace of our current beloved leader, here's the accompanying explanation for an exhibit devoted just to him: it references a 15th century gold ring that evokes St Anthony Abbott as a protection against the plague. Conservatives eh? Always so easily duped. 

 

Till tomorrow, grasshoppers!

Day 2 and a half: We're here! Thank Dog!

The past 24 hours have seemed like an eternity. But we are finally here in our digs at Endsleigh Court, London, WC1. Halle-effin-lujah! 

A few observations about our 'China Southern airline experience'. We would definitely fly with them again because for business class fares they are cheap as chips compared with more mainstream airlines. And that means flat beds!  Priority boarding! Priority customs and immigration processing!  Just like Qantas and the other big players offer!  Also their cabin crews on both legs of our journey were exceptionally polite and eager to please.  To a western palate though their food is mostly terrible.  And after yesterday's five course pig-out at 11pm (which seems like a contradiction, I know) today we were served an inedible breakfast optimistically called 'Spanish scrambled eggs' at 11am just after leaving Guangzhou, and were then starved until 7pm (Guangzhou time) when we were bombarded with five courses of varying edibility.  This was just an hour before we touched down at Heathrow.

But yep, I'd fly with 'em again. Those fabulous flat beds. And you can have your feet up for the whole flight. Their movie and TV options are really shite for an English speaking audience that is not into rootin', tootin' and shootin', so a good book or some other sort of entertainment is a must.  But apart from that and the food, they are fabulous. We were s-o-o-o comfy, whether full or famished.  And as Geoffy and I agreed, we'd rather be hungry and comfortable than full and trussed up in Economy for the 20 + hours it takes to get to the friggin UK that we love so much. Doonas, pillows, proper crockery and cutlery, lovely crew - creditable work, China Southern. Perhaps a little more effort with meals, meal times and your English language entertainment.

I would normally hand over to Geoffy at this point but he is so enraged, so incandescent with rage about the effin failings of this dump of a bumhole of an apartment complex that he is incapable of communicating in any meaningful way. He promises to do so tomorrow.  (I do agree with him though - the promised wifi doesn't work and Idiot Boy in reception was no help at all. We ended up spending 35 pounds on a dongle.  In the kitchen we have 7 slotted spoons but no saucepan lids or even a modest baking dish for my quick and easy veg biryani, and the dunny needs two quick jabs and then a muscular thump before it will flush properly.)  Aside from that, the phone sim that came with our travel insurance cover doesn't work and now the camera is being a complete and utter bastard and won't take pics. Hence, no pictures in this post.  Also, neither of us has slept or showered since early Tuesday morning Sydney time and we have only brushed our teeth once in that time. I am sure we will both feel better when these health and hygiene shortcomings are remedied and that will be imminently. Signing off at 9.55pm Wednesday, London time.  xxx



   

Day 2 Busted flat in Guangzhou, waitin' for a plane...

I'm actually drafting this in the (boast brag) Business Class lounge in Guangzhou where we have several hours to kill.  Not quite as charming as its Sydney counterpart and the alleged free WiFi only extends to email, not internet. So I’m drafting now for later publication.  Our flight to Guangzhou left Sydney around 10.30 pm and we assumed that we’d be offered a cup of tea and a biscuit before settling down in our completely flat beds (ahhhh…) for a few hours kip. This is why we stuffed our faces in the Skylounge in Sydney.  Big mistake! We were served a five course meal on boarding which was mostly quite edible so of course, we ate it. Although we did baulk at the ice cream and crème brulee. “No more!” we pleaded.  I embarrassed myself by tucking my tray tablecloth into my shirt as a napkin.  The very attentive steward snatched it away and put it on the tray table and then handed me an actual damask napkin (you know, to prevent spills on me flanno shirt) with only the barest hint of condescension.

It was bliss to stretch my long willowy frame* out on a flat bed when I have only ever experienced the discomfort of cattle class.  I didn’t sleep but it was still a huge improvement.  Well worth the expense, plus priority boarding and customs clearance!  And now a word from Mr Geoffy:
 

Me, I’m just back from "the exit of flight cancellations". 

 

I’m sworn to secrecy about what goes on down there, this being the Peoples’ Republic of China & all, but if you think about platform 9&3/4 in Harry Potter you’re on the right track.  So to speak. I can but agree that it feels like we’ve done nothing but eat and drink for about 12 hours solid, although I did draw the line at the dim sum and congee breakfast.  Most of it anyway.  And I’m off the demon drink for the next several hours, although the tosspots sitting behind us are downing beer and wine with gay abandon (it being 7.30am in Guangzhou) and the more I see of them the more my resolve evaporates.  Might just wander back to the exit of flight cancellations in the interests of my health.

Next stop London!

*author is occasionally prone to flights of fancy

Stardate 2015-04-21 Sydney Airport: The Skylounge

Well, what a l-o-n-g flight from Canberra to Sydney - a flight that normally takes 40 mins or less actually took an hour.  I am sure we detoured via Dubbo and Cootamundra before finally getting the all-clear to land.  I did think Geoff might be summoned to the cockpit to lend a hand, being ex-Airforce, but he said he doubted there was much call for a lawyer at the controls. Anyway we got here eventually and are now ensconced in the Sky Lounge at Gate 24.

 
 



I'm not sure why this text is suddenly blue and underlined.  Maybe the published version will be different. Not a lot I can do about after a double gin and tonic, which I poured myself. (It's okay, I went easy on the tonic.) Geoff has had a red and a white wine.  He's going in for another round any second.

It's quite a novelty for me to travel business class. Geoff is an old hand, so I do feel for him when he has had to slum it in Economy with me in the past,  We're travelling with China Southern.   Their  Business class fares are about $3000 cheaper than the more popular airlines.  I did worry that our Sky Lounge meal choices would be Stir Fried Duck Beaks or Boiled Pig Pancreas with Ginger and Shallots but was pleasantly surprised to find a smorgasbord of western culinary delights. Right now I'm hoing into the cheese platter.  Meanwhile, here's Geoff having some cheese and another wine: 

 The rain is teeming is teeming down outside. It's been relentless since we arrived, as all Sydney-siders and those up and down the coast would know.  In Canberra it's been cold, windy and a bit showery but nothing like this.  Chin up, coastal dwellers!

Time for Geoffy to say a few (very few) words:  And finally, just to show that the authoress is also enjoying the hospitality:

                                              

 Until London, cheers ...!