A Walk in York

This morning we caught the park'n'ride bus from Grimston Bar to the old part of the city so we could explore York's rich heritage, which started with the Romans as Eboracum, became Eoforwic under the Anglo-Saxons and Jorvik under the Vikings, then finally York.  My first priority on arrival was to spend a penny (or 40p actually) and I was startled to see that my toilet cubicle contained an ashtray. Not really the sort of place I'd be wanting to light up a Viscount, but there you go. Then when I went to wash my hands, I noticed a sign that said "Please do not wash your feet in the hand basins."  Well damn, where else would I wash them?  I did think for a moment I must be back in Peterborough, about which Geoff was so unkind earlier this week.

I know many of our tens of millions of blog readers have been to York and done the tour through the Jorvik Viking Centre.  It was great, as I'm sure most would agree. We loved the guided tour of re-created old Jorvik by trolley - it was almost like being at Luna Park without the screaming.        









   Geoff was particularly keen for this pic on the left to feature.  It shows a Viking in his outdoor dunny.  Presumably there were no redbacks on the toilet seat.

It was interesting that while it was known that York had a Viking history, the actual extent of their settlement wasn't until established until 1972.  Digs have also revealed the remains of earlier Roman and Anglo-Saxon settlements. 


                       

Yorkminster is absolutely huge - our delightful guide Veronica was most informative about its history.  The current church took 200 years to complete and was finished in 1472, It was built over a Roman fort and there were two earlier churches before this whopper was completed.  In the undercroft beneath the church there's a very impressive museum and lots of exposed brick work from Roman times.      







                     

While at Yorkminster, Geoff insisted we sneak into the vestry and don the Archbishop's robes for a photo opportunity. But he refuses to allow publication of his pic, while insisting mine has to feature.  If I'd known this was on the cards, I wouldn't have worn my Minnie Mouse shoes which I think detract from the reverence I otherwise command.
  








After Yorkminster we went to the Museum. Nearby is a  ruined abbey which even now remains impressive.....


                                                                

....and if you look closely at the centre of the pic, you will see two bag gentlemen and all their belongings chatting with a guy in a fluoro shirt. Down on their luck but still with a sense of history!

Over now to Geoff, who will give the day's other highlights: the bus ride and a senior's lunch at a tea shop. Gee, why does Geoff always get to write about all the good stuff?

Well gee, what can I add?  Seeing as how I (underlined) insisted that we dress up as the Archbishop of York.  Just sounds like me doesn't it?  The senior's lunch was that perennial British standby cod and chips, to which we unwisely added a side of mushy peas.  Well, when in York ...  Oh, and tea and a couple of slices of Tip Top Hi Fibe was thrown in gratis.

We felt that the highlight of the Museum was the ruined abbey wall pictured above.  Antiques Roadshow buffs will recognise it as the site of an edition shown in Australia about 3 weeks ago, following its premiere in Britain in 1989.  The Museum's current exhibition is about Richard III.  Readers familiar with Shakespeare probably don't need to see it, as you've already read the book.

And just in case you haven't seen enough ancient buildings, here's a guild hall, from ... well, a long time ago:



At least it's genuine, unlike its numerous copies in St Ives, NSW 2075.

The bus trip back to the Park & Ride was a tad disappointing.  It was advertised as running every 10 minutes, but we and several dozen others waited about half an hour, at which point 2 arrived simultaneously.  It then took another 20 minutes to get back to base, which ate into valuable drinking time.  Oh well, moosn't groomble, as several of our colleagues not only would have said, but did so.

Overall, York is great.  Like a lot of other towns steeped in history it features it very well.  The only downside is the inevitable commercialisation of the town centre that accompanies it.  Masterpieces like the Minster are all but surrounded by every conceivable tourist trap.

Tomorrow we're thinking of a fairly quiet day exploring our more immediate environs.  This is largely due to the fact that our arrival here coincides with the Tour de Yorkshire, a poor second cousin twice removed to sundry other Tours.  Although I understand Sir Bradley is competing.  (If you're not into bike racing and so don't understand that reference, don't worry; it's not worth the trooble).  Since our location is pretty much right in the middle of tomorrow's route, our challenge will be to avoid it like the plague.  We might as well be back in London dealing with last Sunday's marathon.

Archbishop Anne here again. Landlady expected any minute. Geoff!  Have you cleaned the skirting boards?  xxxx

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.