Brighton to Bakewell, and London In Between.

How nice to know that I'm not the only person out there who cares deeply about sheets.

Carry on.

Cant wait for more!

Looking forward to more of this!

hi stoke,

I'm agog for more details of your trip.

soon, please!

ann

Wow, what a great start to your report! Waiting for more...

Lee Ann

Lovely start! ( I'll trade you one MC for 5 "ladies of a certain age" for my next trip )

Thank you, all!

MC and I share a lot of interests and some strong points (pretty good at directions for instance), but the poor dear has inherited some of my qualities that make us less than a dynamic duo at times. Flexible, yes, but on the indecisive side. A tendency to dawdle that can be unfortunate when trains run on time. That sort of thing.

I'm glad we could make this trip before the kinds of entanglements that would make her unwilling to spend so much time with her old ma.

janisj, your trip leadership might make you eligible for sainthood. You might want to check..

Great report so far. Which Priceline category covered the Grosvenor House, please?

Tickets and Reservations

MC is a dancer and we both enjoy (most) opera, so we checked the Royal Opera House for whatever looked good. http://www.roh.org.uk/ They’ll send an email when the next season’s tickets go on sale, so we snagged the best cheap seats by jumping right on it. The website slows down a lot that day or two.

I had to wait until 12 weeks before our trip to book train tickets to Bakewell by http://www.nationalrail.co.uk/ . The process was a little mystifying in spots, since I had to go to the appropriate train companies’ websites to book and pay. The 1 hr 45 min trip there cost 69 GBP standard class, and 16 GBP to return first class by Virgin. When it seemed we had missed our train and I checked the machine at St.Pancras, last minute round trip standard class for the next train was even a little cheaper than that. A great bargain and part of a very well run public transport system.

CW helped me find the website for the Major General’s Review, a tech rehearsal for Trooping of the Colours. http://www.changing-the-guard.com/sched.htm
To attend the following week’s Colonel’s review, you send £10/ticket. The Trooping of the Colours, complete with royalty birthday person on June 13 this year, is £20. (Setting up the grandstands, paying guards to look at our tickets and direct us, sweeping up after the horses and so forth must add up.) If you miss tickets for the Horse Guards Parade, they all march and ride out towards the Mall for further parading. Payment must be by mail and on a cheque drawn on UK account in GBP. Luckily for us, the Major General’s Review is on the house; fill in a request and mail to The Brigade Major, HQ Household Division, Horse Guards, Whitehall, London SW1A 2AX in January or February. Very much worth it. Just addressing an envelope to such a person was worth it. I enclosed an international reply coupon but later realized that hadn’t been necessary.

(The elusive IRC, needed for Ceremony of the Keys: you stand in line at your local US Post Office, and the clerk tells you they haven’t any. Not much call for them, and they expire in a year, so not worth the trouble for postmaster. No way to call individual PO’s to inquire. Clerk suggests a more international-travellery part of town. You and your daughter ride your bicycle over there, wait in another line, are told that they USUALLY have them, but are clean out just then. Sympathetic clerk gives us secret phone # to a PO not too far out of our way home, we wait in another line, and voila.)

Otherwise we wanted to keep our commitments to a minimum so we could choose our Brighton day based on the weather. I wanted to see a West End show, preferably The 39 Steps, and Fodor’s sources correctly thought we’d be safe waiting to book.

Following another Fodor’s tip I made a reservation for Friday afternoon tea at the Cavendish Hotel, two for a bargain £20, but we ended up finding something better to do that evening, so I cancelled. Our final reservation was breakfast at the Wolseley for the last morning in town.

Hi, tuscan. Grosvenor House is in Mayfair/Soho on Priceline.

Off we go.

BREEZING THROUGH THE WINDY CITY

We only ever go through the Chicago Loop while changing trains, and in between I always forget what a vital city it is, dynamic and full of delightful vulgar public art.

One of the visual themes of our trip was Children Splashing in Fountains. Millennium Park just north of the Art Institute has Crown Fountain, two large monoliths covered with glass bricks. On the facing surfaces huge LED photos of different Chicagoans purse their lips every few min and spout water. Children screech and run under, then splash in the shallow pool in between. Just beyond is The Bean or huge silvered Cloud Gate: walk through, become funhouse reflected and disoriented.

The Art Institute has just opened a new Modern wing. http://tinyurl.com/lgw8vg
Beautiful soaring architecture. We were unwilling to spend the $18 apiece to walk in, though, (reasoning cheaply that Chicagoans could visit our free art museum compliments of local taxpayers and should be willing to reciprocate) admired it from the lobby.

UNFORESEEABLE

MC accused me this morning of meaning to start a Fodor’s thread about the film we watched on the flight home, "In the Loop." I indignantly denied any such intention, but will go ahead and mention it here to get it out of my system. I loved it. It’s full of amusing invective that I could possibly get away with here at home, depending upon my tone of voice, once I check the definitions online. (“Seaside donkey” for instance seems safe enough.)

The word “unforeseeable” figures in the plot, so I will probably be slipping it into conversations for the next week or so. One benefit of travel is the chance to form new favorites in various categories, and this is my new favorite profane political satire film. The trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RT3z67v_22k

Unforeseeable for us was how interesting UK politics would become, and how interesting it might have been to slip into Parliament and listen in. Cabinet ministers resigning daily, new revelations of creative PM accounting, denials and partial admissions. I’m glad it was a money scandal and not the hanky panky kind, because I never can get that interested in the sex lives of others. Taxpayers’ outrage at paying for bogus mortgages I can grasp.

London especially is full of the written and spoken word. Walk down the streets and someone will put a tabloid in your hand. People stand outside pubs after work and talk to each other for hours. The daily papers are full of wit and intelligent analysis, mostly over our American heads. They care about words; maybe my new favorite thing about England.

"London especially is full of the written and spoken word. Walk down the streets and someone will put a tabloid in your hand. People stand outside pubs after work and talk to each other for hours. The daily papers are full of wit and intelligent analysis, mostly over our American heads. They care about words; maybe my new favorite thing about England."

That's it - you've hit it on the head !

My little group preferred watching tape-delayed American Idol at night over heading to the pub to actually converse . . . .

Oh, dear. Well, I suppose they were a-weary from travelling.

I am really enjoying your report. Bakewell sounds like a place we should visit. For one of our countryside trips we enjoyed Cradley in the Malverns. Thank you so much for your effort to write your report!!!!

In the loop is a fillum version of The Thick of It a britsh TV comedy/satire. Youtube is your friend, but I will warn you that it is possibly the most sweary thing ever commited to video. And most of it in a scottish accent that will baffle you.

And it's reckoned to be pretty accurate...

The Crossest Man in Scotland was another great character. I love that accent.

BRITISH AIR IS MY NEW FAVORITE AIRLINE

Where have they been all my life? Apparently flying here and there taking good care of their customers.

The reason we were able to watch very sweary Scottish-accent videos that might not go over so well with the masses: each seat has a screen with a menu of classic and recent release films, TV shows, spoken word, music of all kinds.

Attendants walk through every half hr or so with trays of water and juices. The food was very good. Did I mention they gave us two nights in a lovely London hotel? (this offer may vary, according to global financial crises) I will use them in the future fates willing.

SOUTH KENSINGTON FROM OUR STUDIO ON CROMWELL RD.

Fraser Place Queen’s Gate is a short walk from the Gloucester Rd. tube stop, convenient to Heathrow. Our 1st floor studio apartment had 15 foot ceilings, a bay window onto a balcony overlooking Cromwell Rd, loft bedroom, and a basic closet style kitchenette. We were delighted with it. A very good continental breakfast was included, served in a large bright dining room on the ground floor.

Proximity to the Victoria and Albert allowed us a few short visits and minimal museum fatigue (A state characterized by diminishing degree of attention due to sensory overload, leading to physical exhaustion and decreased motivation and interest. Studies show that it generally sets in within 45 min).

Another antidote for that malady is the café set up in V&A's large central courtyard. More children splashing in the pool; we decide we would bring our children over often if we had any and lived nearby. If not, I’d come anyway, sit and watch. I am a sucker for a certain kind of looking counter man who asks with a French accent whether madame would like anything else with her tea, so I went for the asparagus tart. Lovely.

I’d just finished directing a group of teenagers in Antigone (very well received, thank you), and was feeling legitimately Theatrical. We looked through the new theatre exhibit and enjoyed it very much. (“Richard Burton wore that tabard!” a woman whispers to her husband.)
www.vam.ac.uk/collections/theatre_performance/features/Costume/index.html

I don’t suppose in my day I had any more princess fantasies than the next little girl, and I don’t crave that sort of adornment, but I loved the Jewellery Gallery at the V&A. They keep it dark, with lighted cases to enhance the glittering of diadems and whatnot. http://www.vam.ac.uk/collections/fashion/features/jewellery/index.html
Why stand in line at the Tower to be whisked past the Crown Jewels, when you can stand with your nose pressed against the glass and admire bangles, rubies, sprays, stomachers. There’s a slide show with photos and paintings showing how they were worn.

Don’t miss the amazing cast rooms, either. Or the British galleries, or or…..

Next door to the V&A, the Brompton Oratory is well worth a visit. There was a service in a side chapel, so we were extra quiet. I particularly admired the carved wood confessionals labelled with the various priests’ names, wondered if there was any competition among them for the particularly fine ones.

I thought the Bakewell station was closed. Has it re-opened?

Hmmm. No, it's quite defunct, tracks pulled up and the railbed made into the Monsal Trail. We detrained at Chesterfield and were picked up by B&B host, then took excellent bus back on our return.

stokebailey, I know a rather rude story about a famous actress and "character" (now resting in another place) and Brompton Oratory, but it's not for this board (BTW, were we discussing draperies on a certain other messageboard - it's so hard to keep track).

Yes, I am lola over there. Send me an email with the rude story, please!

sorry to have missed you, stoke, how was the ballet?

ref the UK politics that you so enjoyed, you were lucky to be over here when there was so much ging on that might interest a non-Brit. it isn't always this fascinating.

I caught up with Sunday's Bremner Bird and fortune [Channel 4, 7pm] tonight. it is worth watching for the song finale alone - "Gordon Brown" performing Mica's "I could be brown, i could be blue". a real hoot if you can get it on the web, somehow.

regards, ann

Hi, Ann,

Sorry we missed you, too! Next time for sure.

One senses that Brown is not too beloved right now.

Looking for the Mika song- and getting angry doesn't solve anything -- stumbled on YouTube clip called "Gordon assesses the fallout from the Euro Elections." (in translation from the German, Brown depicted with small moustache discussing the aftermath of MEP elections with his staff.)

How much is just bad timing? I don't see how any one person could ruin an economy, for instance.

About getting angry: a few more weeks there and we'd be pronouncing the t's in the middles and ends of words.

stokebailey:

I just found your wonderful trip report.

I fly out of St. Louis and I am especially interested to hear a bit more detail about Amtrak to the Chicago Loop and light rail to O'Hare. How much time was involved and the cost vs. simply flying.

Thanks for taking the time to share.

Sandy

Hi, Sandy. We seem to travel many of the same roads. (I'm the fellow survivor of I-44 March snowstorm.)

We took the 0640 Amtrak Lincoln Service from STL, arriving in CHI 1220. This train originates in STL and therefore departs on time. It zipped through IL and even arrived as scheduled, but in the past we've taken the Texas Eagle and been several hours late boarding and arriving.

With a 7 hour buffer between scheduled arrival and the time we'd need to be at ORD for our 2200 flight, and a beautiful day to putter around the Loop, it worked out very well for us.

A quick check of www.amtrak.com shows the fare for at $42 later this month and $23 in September. We paid $21 each I think, a considerable saving for the two of us over airfare, plus the bonus adventure of the Loop. Trains didn't work out, so we flew ORD to SLT on return home.

For the truly frugal, there's also MegaBus.com and its fabled $1 seats, Union Station to Union Station. Probably more likely to be on time than TX Eagle.

The light rail to ORD is the Blue Line, from the Clinton two blocks south of Union Station. Part of the CTA. Departs every 10 min, and takes ~ an hour. As it happened, we travelled on a weekend when they were working on the line, had to shuttled by bus for quite a few miles through some interestingly funky neighborhoods. Still arrived in plenty of time since we decided to allow 1.5 hrs for that leg of the journey.

stokebailey:

Thank you for such marvelous detail - it is certainly another way to think about the journey if connecting thru O'Hare. Obviously you have done this more than once.

Yes we did survive the March I-44 snow storm, totaled the vehicle we were taking to our son in California. I was a bit sorry that I wasn't able to travel one time by road out to California. We did of course later fly out and that is our usual mode of travel.

Carry on with your delightful report.

Sandy

OPERA, BALLET, AND A WEST END PLAY: CULTURE HEAVEN FOR PROVINCIALS

We were still a little jetlagged when we arrived at Covent Garden for L’Elisir d’Amore. Buskers in the Piazza took cover from a light rain. We sat in the Lower Slips Left, where you lean forward onto a velvet railing and still can’t quite see all the stage. My favorites.

I can’t remember enjoying a performance more. The staging was inventive, the acting frisky and funny, and the whole tastefully and appropriately sexy. The curtain rises to a huge stack of hay bales, with Adina sunning herself halfway up, painting her toenails. I was all theirs from that moment on. Nemorino reminded me of John Belushi, very physical and a fine tenor. Loved his Una furtiva lagrima.

I admire the way ROH set designers keep us Lower Slippers in mind. The play was set around 1940 in rural Italy, with the open door of a trattoria back lavatory facing us. The poor emerging with toilet paper trailing from his foot.

Opera is my pricy art form of choice, though I have developed more of an eye for dance over the 15 years my daughters have been studying. At the ROH later in our visit we saw the combined ballets Les Sylphides, Sensorium, and the Firebird: respectively very nice, all right, and wonderful in my estimation. MC enjoyed Sensorium, a new piece by Marriott, and she would be a better judge than I. Our seats for the ballet were high but with unobstructed view, good for dance.

Were those coughing during the ballet all Americans? Thoughts of swine flu flit through the mind at such times. My first time at ROH was with ages ago with my mother, who whispered a question to me during the overture, then firmly shushed when I started to breathe an answer into her ear. Oh, for such shushing in the US, where some people think nothing of carrying on low conversations throughout concerts, oblivious to glares. I’ll save my comparative analysis of standing ovation inflation for another time.

I wavered back and forth about seeing The 39 Steps, with so many alternate entertainments available, though I’d long been interested in the production and really like the older English Hitchcock.

Then we saw that Jude Law would be playing Hamlet at the Wyndham, previews and then opening that week, and were tempted by that prospect. Because, umm, well, high minded literature, you know. More indecision. Our last evening in town we opening night and Hamlet sold out. So much the better. We popped over to Piccadilly Circus and the Criterion, got our tickets 10 min before curtain time. What a great theater, built 1870s. You descend to the highest balconies, and further to the dress circle and our excellent bargain seats.

39 Steps closely follows the Hitchcock version, with 3 actors playing the hundred-odd parts besides a consistent Hannay. Very clever, brisk, and funny. We laughed all the way through.

I mean to say that the poor people in pricy orchestra seats would miss gags like a man exiting with, okay maybe you had to be there, toilet paper dragging from shoe.

OUR ANSWER TO THE OYSTER vs PAPER TRAVELCARD QUESTION: YES

We’d be in London for a week or so, then in the country, then back in town, and many of the 2 for 1 offers looked attractive. So we decided to go with both Oyster and 7 day paper Travelcard. We put £20 each on Oystercards at terminal 5. Luckily we were just ahead of the group of ~25 sari’d travelers who queued behind us, so it only took a few minutes.

The “all you care to ride” Travelcard turned out to be just right for our personalities. No matter whether it was less expensive overall, we like being able jump off and on the underground and buses without concern for each fare. One less decision, one large No Agonizing Zone. Psychological, if you follow me: it feels financially prudent, whatever the reality may be.

We bought our Travelcards at the National Rail ticket counters in Victoria Station a few days after arrival. Quick, easy, and started using them right away.

The only 2 for 1 offer we ended up using was at the Courtauld, and saved £5. MC and I kept mentioning the Thames Clipper, but somehow never ended up at the correct pier at the right time. By the time we saw 39 Steps our Travelcard had expired, and anyway the box office gave us a last minute deal for good seats that otherwise would have been empty. The two mornings we’d considered for the Fat Tyre tour were wet and chilly, so we let that pass, too.

When we got back to town after Bakewell we used our Oysters, and had plenty of money left on them after underground ride back to Heathrow.

no luck I'm afraid in getting Channel 4's on demand service to work for me - you clearly need better IT skills than mine to access whole programmes.

However, I did manage to access these clips, which should give you a flavour of mr. brown's level of popularity:

http://www.channel4.com/programmes/bremner-bird-and-fortune/video/series-16/episode-1

regards, ann

Thanks, Ann. Channel 4.com tells me I'm in "the wrong country" to watch them, though; how do computers know these things?

Wow, L'Elisir d'Amore @ the ROH, what a treat, even if it's Lower Slips! I used to sit there long time ago, but I didn't like how I had to crank my neck for the whole time. (I also paid my dues at the Upper Slips... those are brutal!)

And you missed Jude Law??? OMG. Even if the show was sold out, I would have just waited at the stage door for him so I could salivate.

Hamlet's the longest Shakespeare play, though. Lots of soliloquies and bloodshed before he'd have emerged.

A few years ago I saw Hamlet at RSC in Stratford w/ Sam West (maybe even more breath taking the Jude Law)

I had dashed to the box office and hadn't even noted who was in the the title role. Was sitting in the 2nd row w/ my shoulder touching the bit of stage the protruded out from the proscenium. A cast member came out and sort of crouched down in the darkness about 6 inches from me. The soliloquies and such took place and then it was Hamlet's turn and the spotlight shown on this dark figure (and my shoulder) and he turned and said his opening lines and I about fainted

Jude Law would have had about the same effect . . . .

PUBS AND FOOTBALL

Our behavior all along was pretty much beyond reproach, except for taking up with a London man and having him show us some pubs. You know how it is: you model virtuous bourgeois womanhood all those years, and then you demonstrate what not to do. Shamelessly picking up men, I mean. He was charming and knowledgeable, didn’t seem too very dangerous, and was probably more fun to talk to than Jude Law would have been anyway. Plus MC and I were there to chaperone each other.

Our Holiday Inn was a stone’s throw from Fitzroy Square and the prime pub territory in Fitzrovia. First stop was The Hope on Tottenham Rd behind Goodge St. tube stop; on this fine evening the sidewalks were crowded with people chatting and having a pint. I didn’t have time to notice the décor, but the Landlord’s ale was very good. MC downed a pint of cider, legally. Good atmosphere, and everyday authentic, so just what we wanted.

We moved a couple of blocks southwest to The Newman Arms, and formed part of the sidewalk scene with a glass of London Pride -- the only beer brewed in London nowadays. We never ventured into the pie serving area upstairs. I really admire their pub culture, an unfilled gap in our country's soul, and enjoyed that evening very much.

Another evening MC and I went to the Fish Bone, a nearby chippie on Cleveland St. www.timeout.com/london/restaurants/features/28.html
The fish was crisp and tasty, and each portion comes with a family sized mound of chips. We dawdled there and so arrived later than we intended at The Lukin on Conway St. just off Fitzroy Sq.
www.fullpint.com/showpub.php?pubid=1089
We were in it for the European football final between Manchester United and Barcelona, and the place was packed. We checked the upstairs room, seemingly full of men. As we stood there considering our options, two women over by the wall waved us towards a chair near them, so grabbed another and squeezed in. Very Kind!

I resolved to back whoever the friendly women were rooting for, since I didn’t have a dog in that fight, but warmed towards Barcelona as the game went on. A group of eight or so French and Spanish speakers sat to one side of us, cheering Barcelona, and the rest of the room was for Man U. Messi’s lovely headed second goal took the remaining wind out of Man U’s sails, and the entire room applauded the winners at the end. Next day we read of less sportsmanlike reactions elsewhere in Europe.

We felt perfectly safe walking home from all of our late night adventures, in all three of our neighborhoods.

OMG, two american women go to pubs, get picked up and cavort with football fans.

this is extremely unfodorite behaviour Stoke. the "is it safe to go out at night" brigade will be fanning themselves and reasching for the smelling salts. AND you took a minor with you AND gave her alcoholic liquor.

Have you no SHAME, woman?

Walking on the Wild Side in Foreign Capitol: us.

All that was missing was you, ann. Next time!

promises, promises!

Oh, now you're going to try to get out of it when you know what kind of serious partiers we are?

what a delightful report. i feel like i'm your traveling companion and i'm having a wonderful time.

What's going on in here? Jude Law and hard partying with hooligans? I've only had time to take a quick scan so I need to come back and have a better read, but I can already see that yk is drooling, janis has fainted, and annhig is shocked. This must have been a good trip!

Now I'm tempted to start inventing interesting scenes, and hope that MC doesn't read this far.

Let's see: As Jude turned to me with a grateful sigh....

The maid had just finished tidying up last of the champagne bottles from our previous night's party when...

What is it about Jude Law? Still, I suppose any actor who can keep a straight face while delivering a marriage proposal(in "The Holiday") that includes the line "I'll admit, I've a rather small package" must have some professional competence.

Normally I don't give Jude Law a thought from one month to the next, and am not interested in celebrities in general. I did like him in Talented Mr. Ripley, Cold Mountain, and Road to Perdition. All American accents, come to think of it. And he is above average cute.

Why are British actors so good at American accents, but not vice versa? I couldn't sustain a decent British accent for an entire sentence, myself. I suppose you all have to develop an early ear for nuances, and we really don't.

but I can already see that yk is drooling, janis has fainted, and annhig is shocked.



This is what happens when a single trip report includes an opera, a ballet, a mere mention of Jude Law, getting drunk at pubs, and hanging out with football fans...

And I bet there's lots more to come!

More, more, stokebailey! We can hardly wait!

Thanks, Virginia, yk, and all for your kind comments.

As far as getting drunk goes, I can usually hold ~3/4 pint without any serious consequences, if I spread it out over an hr or so.

(a cheap date)

poor Hugh Laurie - apparently he hates doing House's accent, but somehow he keeps signing those contracts.

IMHO, he was MUCH better as Bertie Wooster and the Prince regent.

stokebailey, I'll raise you... I am on the ground after a few sips of alcohol. One time I went out with some colleagues and they ordered for me a LI Iced Tea that comes in a foot-long (or, foot-tall) glass. I drank an inch of it and I was gone for the rest of the night.

Signed,
the cheapest date on earth

ann, I could only sit through House once, for various reasons; only made it that long because I was idly alone in a hotel room, and never would have guessed they'd make the ending QUITE so improbable. Stupid lure of big bucks.

And wasn't Laurie great in those two roles? I need to request Blackadder DVD from the library again.

Someone bought me a LI Tea once, too, yk. They go down smoothly for awhile, don't they? I think I might have to concede the contest to you.

Sorry continuing a bit off-topic. My husband LOVES to watch House (all those reruns on USA Network). I cannot stand that show (for various reasons) for one single second!

Bookmarking!

Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful reading! Add "stokebailey" to the list of amazing Fodorite writers.

Just saw "39 Steps" in NYC and particularly enjoyed the 2 guys doing many parts.

More report to come soon??

you're too kind!

Family reunion this weekend, plus I'm still working through a mild case of PTD (post trip depression).

Wasn't the play fun? The London version threw in a few local jokes, like Hannay saying at the beginning that he was so bored he had to do something really trivial and meaningless: go to a West End play.

Really enjoying this report. I would love to duplicate that pub crawl, although I'm a cheaper date than anyone so far.

Are those seats at the Royal Opera House where you have to lean to see the stage similar to the ones at the Palais Garnier in Paris where everyone leans over and by doing so blocks the view of everyone farther down the line?

I'm looking forward to a week in London next month.

Wondering how much an NMS8 equals in US dollars (or in GBP, for that matter).

Hi, Nikki,

Thanks!

I've never had those Palais Garnier seats, but in the ROH lower slips you don't have that. You're looking down and to the side, just you and the other true opera lovers. Everyone leans forward most of the time. Had more of a problem in the ballet seats, really, where a young man in front of me had a bouffant hairdo.

Our lower slips seats were £12, quite the bargain.

Oh, Yes. a NMS8 is roughly $80.

I've finally had the chance to catch up- this trip really does sound like fun! You're making me want to be in London. I would have loved to have seen the Firebird (off topic but I'm also already feeling sulky that I'm missing Blur's reunion dates this summer)

Hugh Laurie is nicer than Jude Law I think. And I'll have to check out In the Loop. I love this:

http://www.imdb.com/media/rm909740800/tt1226774

Looking forward to reading more!

Hi, Apres. I want to be in London, too, spoiled brat that I am.

Mara Galeazzi was great in title role of The Firebird. I loved the costumes.

Do check out In the Loop, though as CW warns it is amazing sweary.

Sweary by UK standards must be very sweary indeed.

Tis.

I just watched the first episode of The Thick of It on youtube and the Alastair Campbell guy is hilarious. I love the faces he makes.

I'm not a huge fan of the shakey make-me-sick-up cam style but it had the perfect amount of sweariness I thought. And apparently one of the actors/comedians was busted for downloading child pornography a couple of years ago? (not the Alastair Campbell guy with the lovely funny faces though)

Sorry for going off topic- looking forward to the next installment.

I need to figure out how to watch things on YouTube. I suppose the film must have been released in the US, since the NYTimes reviewed it, but it won't be coming to my burg probably. Normally I can get more movies than I have time to watch at our local library, but not everything I'd like to see.

Hi stokebailey,

Watching stuff on youtube is easy- all you have to do is search for whatever it is you're looking for (and hopefully someone has been kind enough to upload the program episodes or movie you want). Stuff gets taken down all the time due to copyright violation but you can often watch quite alot this way.

(and do you know about torrents? It's very easy to download stuff for free- try googling or if you've got a somewhat tech savvy person around ask them)

Here's a link to the first part of the first episode of The Thick of It (the other parts and episodes should easy to find from here)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wIzx_Z-TGe4

There are clips up of In the Loop on youtube but not the entire film. I won't suggest downloading the film for free on a torrent because...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8wRxfz_6E7o

Thanks, Apres. I'm no pirate.

Today Google.co.uk has a firebird flying through the G in honor of Stravinsky’s birthday.

BRIGHTON: BY THE BEAUTIFUL SEA

We monitored the weather forecast for maximum sunniness, and chose Friday for our Brighton day trip. The day stayed fine, and we later heard a newscast calling it a “scorcher” at nearly 25 degrees. (Swing by St. Louis next month and we’ll talk about scorchers.) We also later learned it was the end of school half-term holiday week. More people had headed to Brighton and Hove, making for an even livelier seaside town.

Trains leave Victoria all day for Brighton, and after purchasing from an electronic kiosk by the ticket counters we jumped on a train that left soon, and promptly at the stated time. (What a country.) Three stops and ~45 min later, the rolling Sussex landscape opened out into surrounding white cliffs, and we pulled into Brighton station.

A couple of the guide books, including Fodor’s excellent one, recommend Nia Café. We walked down the street to check it out before proceeding to the shore, and liked the looks of it. It has a few tables on the sidewalk of fairly busy Trafalgar Street. We walked past the west side of the Royal Pavilion, one of the world’s amazing residences,
www.royalpavilion.org.uk/
and down and down streets lined with shops and cafes.

At last we can see the sea, and I begin to hum the song from Mr. Bean’s Holiday: La Mer. It’s still early, so not many people on the pier or the beach. A bicycle path stretches for miles along the shore. Pebbled beach and hardly any surf. Walking out on the long pier, we see that it hasn’t begun to stir into action yet. www.brightonpier.co.uk/indexflash.htm
Rides, amusements, mechanical bulls, try your luck and win a prize! Cotton Floss! We'd like to watch someone fresh from the pubs try the bull. The roller coaster is running, but empty.

MC would like to find a summer dress, and it’s getting towards lunchtime, so we walked back past the eastern side of the Pavilion, decide that touring it would be a fine thing to do on a less lovely day, and make our way up the hill past more shops. We ended up eating at Tootsie’s on Meeting House Lane, attracted by their quiet sunny courtyard and a chance get away from the bustle. The staff was friendly and the food was just fine.

We split up then, and MC went shopping. I found an internet “café,” the upstairs of a candy and newspaper shop where I suppose you could buy coffee if you wanted to. (The going internet rate here and in London is £1 for 20-30 min, except in the 24 hr one just west of Warren St Tube stop, where you get an hour for a pound. This compares favorably for our purposes with the £19/day Grosvenor House charges to use the large flat screen in their room.) Checked my email and some reservations we had made, then headed down towards the shore.

Lots of people on the streets by this time, carrying shopping bags. I was tempted to buy wildly impractical hardware store items like a stainless steel garden fork, or a flat of lobelias, or a really fine looking dustpan and broom.

One hotel had a sign painted on the side: “Assembly Rooms, Suitable for Balls.” I wanted to rent one and invite the county.

Back at the shore a man on stilts plays the tuba: The Entertainer, written by a St. Louisan. I throw him some coins and lie back on the warm pebbles at our rendezvous spot to watch the sea and the seagoers, smell the sea air, listen to the tuba.

MC joins me, having found a pretty sundress, and we linger and enjoy the scene. Children bungee jumping, teenagers pretending to throw each other into the water.

A fine city, a fine beach, and a fine day. We dawdle, miss a few trains, and get back to town later than we'd intended for our evening out.

hi stoke,

I have some great pics of my two kids aged about 5 & 2 on the grass by the pavilion covered in icecream. My strogest memory of the inside is that with huge originality, prinny had the kitchens put close to the dining room, so the fod was stil hot when the diners got it. this apparently was revolutionary!

no wonder he ended up the size of a bus. hot food for te hgentry - who'd have though it!

Prinny must have had some good points surely. (though he was not very nice to poor Caroline of Brunswick) He certainly left quite a seaside cottage behind, even if he had to max out dad's credit cards to do it.

I usually like the kitchens best when we tour palaces. Clearly I belong belowstairs.

Would love to see photos of your dairy-covered kids.

sorry about the tyosp in the above.

the pics are pre-digital I'm afraid, but I do get to look at them everyday which is better than just having them on some disc.

i like the kitchens too. funny how people always imagine that if they'd lived in earlier times, they'd have been one of the toffs. me, I'm sure that like you, I'd have been a pleb. imagine all that washing up, and no rubber gloves.

regards, ann

>>Prinny must have had some good points surely<<

Hard to find, especially under all that blubber. Selfish, extravagant, vain and vainglorious. He wasn't very nice to Mrs. Fitzherbert, either.

I like his dad a lot better.

The Prince Regent's bedroom looks like a girly boudoir - all oriental silk and lacquer. The dressing table is covered in brushes, jars of cosmetics and perfumes. He must have been an extremely vain man.

Did you spot the 60 course menu on a board in the kitchen, and the stuffed rats on the jelly mould shelves, Stokebailey?

"I like his dad a lot better."

Too right.

If it wasn't for him, we'd never have needed to colonise Australia. Without him, the damn Yanks would have ruined cricket, Dame Edna would be politically correct and Her Maj would be spending half the year in the Hyde Park near Poughkeepsie.

Mind you, without him, slavery in the American colonies would have been outlawed in the early 1800s. And - unlike in the French colonies - stayed outlawed.

So we wouldn't have to listen to everyone going on about St Obama all the time. The Dominion of North America would have got its first black Prime Minister (no doubt living in a city named after the great patriot, Benedict Arnold, though not of course in a White House since we'd not have had to burn it down to teach the Yanks manners, so it'd never have needed to get repainted.) about the same time the first Jew moved into 10 Downing Street.

Now wait. You can't lay that all on poor GRIII. For starters, cricket isn't ruined. Furthermore, you only gutted and charred the White House. Thirdly, we never learned manners.

Hi, RM67,

60 course meal? So soon after the French Revolution? Or ever? No wonder he got plump.

We didn't go into the Pavilion, since it was so pretty out and we wanted to spend our time on the beach. I will keep my eyes peeled for the rodent décor next time.

Flanner, are you counting Disraeli?

THE MAJOR GENERAL’S REVIEW

Saturday morning we got up early and went to the Patisserie Valerie in Soho for breakfast. Good tea and latte, artistically made pastries, a pleasant room, and they undercharged us somehow – maybe forgetting to add extra for eating in the shop. We liked everything about the place.

We lingered maybe a tad too long, and it took a few minutes to get the check underpaid and the server overtipped, so we had to walk briskly down the hill towards the Horse Guards Parade. Our tickets for the Major General’s Review said we must be seated by 1000. We tried to enter by the park side, but a helpful red coated guard directed us back up towards Trafalgar Square to enter by the other side of the building. Lots of people were still streaming in with us, and we were seated by 10 minutes past. We sat in the stands where those in their Morning Dress would have been last Saturday, backed against 10 Downing St. garden. This is similar to our viewpoint:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=marPGfyYTTA

Splendor, gleaming helmets, horses, bagpipes. Irish and Scottish guards, maybe Welsh for all I know, in their kilts and capes. A mounted band. A dapple grey horse that backed respectfully away from the reviewing stand all the way down the parade ground. Lots of families, old men in blazers with regimental crests I suppose.

We had another glorious day for it. It was a fine spectacle.

He was charming and knowledgeable, didn’t seem too very dangerous, and was probably more fun to talk to than Jude Law would have been anyway>>>

Sounds like a pooodlefaker to me.

Oh to be in England....

Hooray!

It's sweet that CW seems jealous -- or possibly envious -- of our pub date. Not everyone can play in our partying league, Cholms.

I know the bloke. He's a wrong'un. A real poodlefaker and general cad.

Was he wearing co-respondent's shoes?

He should be horsewhipped on the steps of his club.

SHOPPING: NOT VERY MUCH FOR US

London was full of people carrying clothing store logo shopping bags. It's true that Primark bags greatly outnumbered the upscale types, but outwardly commerce seemed to be ticking along nicely.

MC and I walked along Oxford St., so she could get an overview of what was there, after an evening in Soho. Many still strolled the sidewalks, and people darted in and out of shops. I wasn't in the market for anything, so by the time we got to Speaker's Corner I felt annoyed by it all.

Primark is quite the phenomenon. MC went back a few days later, got an armful of things she wanted to try on, but became overwhelmed by the crowds and gave up before she could reach the fitting room. A clerk told her to get there first thing at 0900, or late in the evening to avoid the mobs. There's a certain Primark royal blue embroidered dress that MC pointed out to me later on the street, and we spotted four different young women wearing it around town and in Brighton.

We went to Portobello Rd on Wednesday, bought gifts in antique stores and fruit from a woman who called me "Lovey." I'd go back again just for that.

MC eventually bought herself an Arsenal jersey, after carefully choosing her favored team, and some clothes for herself and her sister at various stores. I got my other daughter some earrings at the Tate Britain museum store. Otherwise, we didn't buy too much to bring home.

MC eventually bought herself an Arsenal jersey, after carefully choosing her favored team,><>>>

She is dead to me.

re: shoes.

The men are wearing long narrow square toes.

You know the rules: only north Londoners can back the Spurs.

poodle faker
noun
U.K.
ladies’ man: a man who seeks out the company of women, especially a genteel young man who flatters older women, often for selfish reasons ( dated informal disapproving ).

Oh, dear. I'm afraid you've nailed him.

Oh, dear. I'm afraid you've nailed him.>>>

Rather too often I'm afraid.

John Ruskin had some choice words about Bakewell:

"There was a rocky valley between Buxton and Bakewell, once upon a time, divine as the Vale of Tempe; you might have seen the Gods there morning and evening—-Apollo and all the sweet Muses of the Light—-walking in fair procession on the lawns of it, and to and fro among the pinnacles of its crags. You cared neither for Gods nor grass, but for cash (which you did not know the way to get); you thought you could get it by what the Times calls "Railroad Enterprise." You Enterprised a Railroad through the valley--you blasted its rocks away, heaped thousands of tons of shale into its lovely stream. The valley is gone, and the Gods with it; and now, every fool in Buxton can be at Bakewell in half an hour, and every fool in Bakewell at Buxton; which you think a lucrative process of exchange--you Fools everywhere."

Of course John Ruskin was rather eccentric.

Oh, that opinionated Ruskin. In this case he was right: we did see countryside just pretty much worthy of Apollo and the sweet Muses of the Light.

SUNDAY MORNING AT ST. ETHELDREDA’S

I’d go to St. Etheldreda’s pretty much every week if I lived within commuting distance, just to hear the kinds of things the priest says and how he says them, to be surrounded by that stained glass and listen to the choir. It’s a very peaceful hour.

The old chapel of Bishops of Ely, it’s a Catholic church a couple of blocks west of the Chancery Lane underground stop, on Ely Place, EC1. You won’t find it by standing on Holborn Circus scanning the horizon for steeples and churchlike facades, but must walk up Ely Place and look for a rose window.

It’s one of two buildings left in London from the reign of Edward I, “despite Thomas Cromwell, the Great Fire, neglect, Nazi bombs and property developers” as its website says. www.stetheldreda.com/home.html.
You enter through a side door and down a dark passageway, under the choir loft, into a smallish upper church with a heavy beamed ceiling and a brilliant east-facing wall of stained glass. High relief statues of the English Martyrs line the north and south walls. There are maybe a hundred or two people attending.

The professional choir sings plainsong at 1100 on Sundays, and the mass is said in Latin, so it’s a Medieval experience, but the priest is contemporary and human: dry wit, plummy voice, lovable. His sermon is about Pentecost Sunday and the stage effects of a mighty wind and tongues of fire. My new favorite priest.

Incense is heavy in the air. As we leave, paramedics in the hallway assess a woman who had fainted. I could tell them what the problem is: incense.

I’ll send them my remaining pound notes to help rebuild their organ, which I think has to be dismantled this month, though I prefer the acapella sound they had when we were there.

I need to put St Etheldreda on my London list next time!

Yes, do. It's lovely.

TWO THINGS ABOUT ENGLAND THAT COULD BE IMPROVED, IN CASE ANY OF YOU HAS THAT KIND OF INFLUENCE:

1. Not enough places to discard trash when out in public.
2. Not enough ways to get a quick and free drink of water when out in public, like drinking fountains or bubblers, or those fancy things they have in Paris.

These suggestions are both courtesy of MC.

Next I will discuss Bakewell and the Peak District, as soon as I can decide whether to be truthful or to keep my promise not to make it sound very attractive so as not to encourage further tourism.

The lack of trash can in London/UK was due to IRA bombings back in the late 20th c. People could easily hide bombs in a trash can, which led to the removal of them. Nowadays I see a lot more "see through" trash bags on the streets.

When I lived in London for a year in the early 1990s, there were frequent tube disruptions due to bomb scares, and there was actually an explosion in the City on a Sunday which led to quite a lot of broken glass in one of the highrise office buildings.

That never occurred to me, yk. Really too bad.

I am impressed with how many people from all around the world swirl around and bump up against each other in London, with so much potential for chaos, and yet how it all works. People mostly behave very well as yet more people come from more different places, and without a feeling of repression.

Partly thanks to CW and colleagues, partly to underlying civilized character of the place?

Mainly down to the civilising influence of beer.

"Mainly down to the civilising influence of beer."

More likely a near-universal belief among the local population that:

- emotional incontinence is unEnglish, and practised only by silly girlies (of all ages and sexes) attending self-assertion workshops

- unsolicited familiarity with strangers is a ridiculous fad that probably suits those professional beggars America's restaurant industry employs instead of real waiters. But best kept at a good 3,000 miles' distance. Stokebailey will have noticed, for example, the complete - and highly laudable - absence of pointless community activities at St Etheldreda's, where the celebrant invariably acknowledges his departing flock with little more than a sheepish (or do I mean collie-esque?) grunt.

- what anyone else is doing, saying or wearing is up to them and no-one else. Looking a complete prat is a fundamental human right.

They did shake hands to greet one other, strangers included, at St. E's. But not at the pubs of course.

collie-esque: good one.

>>collie-esque<<

He means tongue out, panting and running around trying to herd everyone...

"They did shake hands to greet one other"

Only because they'd been ordered to.

The bloke say 'offerte vobis pacem': you shake hands. You don't talk to them or anything.

Ooops. I might have thrown in a Hello, or smiled and nodded, or something.

>>running around trying to herd everyone...<<
and yet sometimes a few manage to stray.

The bloke say 'offerte vobis pacem': you shake hands.>>

I don't. I hate it. When did we start doing this. We didn't do it when I first went to church.

For the love of God I have seen people kissing one another in the style of johnny French.

It's not British.

During the Lords Prayer in some churches here, you are expected to hold hands with the person next to you. Even though it was my mother who took one of my hands recently, I disliked it; I couldn't fold my arms and had to submit to the stranger on the other side.

New Age-y vibrations-y kind of thing? If it makes some people irritated, not even counting the germphobes, is it worth it?

I learned to play guitar by playing in church. I can, to this day, play Kumbaya and Lord of the Dance. But I don't.

That was Satan's work. I wanted to be Buddy Holly (my favourite ever ever) but he made me play Black Sabbath.

One advantage of having a guitar in your hand is that you don't have to go through this "sign of peace" fandango.

Usually the person next to me is an 80 year old lady. What harm could she do me? And I am by nature pacific toward old ladies. So why? Why oh why?

"And I am by nature pacific toward old ladies. So why? Why oh why?"

Because the liturgy prescribes it (and did in the days of the Early Church). And we're British, so we follow tradition. But Pape, so we don't hold hands, kiss, embrace or anything else (though I do give Mrs F a quick peck at Xmas Eve Midnight Mass).

The otherwise totally sane Prod church next door has them all holding their hands out during the Lord's Prayer. Which would have had Tyndale et al emailing the Whore of Babylon, telling him it was all a terrible mistake, they'd seen the error of their ways and were there any good indulgence franchises still up for grabs in the SW1 postcode?

We don't do that. Just say 'Peace be with you" to our neighbour after the Pax Vobiscum. Or, at HQ if the Fuhrer's doing it in Latin, say 'Pax Tecum'.

What's wrong with that?

It reeks of hippy nonsense.

I basically put quiche, brown bread, soup for lunch, guitars, and bearded vicars in the same basket.

Which I would throw into Mordor's furnace.

CW - occasionally has difficulties teling the Bible from Lord of the Rings.

Years ago, when we were still regular church goers, my husband started passing me small gifts -- like a peace button or a sugar packet with Richard Nixon's picture on it -- at the sign of peace. I finally put a stop to it on a Sunday that happened to be also St. Patrick's Day, when I whipped out the quart jug of Tullamore Dew I'd stashed in my oversized purse and refused to take it back.

That might be my mum who keeps trying to sit next to you, Cholm.

Tell her to stop.

I'm not violent towards old biddies, but there are limits.

TEARING OURSELVES AWAY FROM THE METROPOLIS

Speaker’s Corner these days consists mostly of Bible Thumping in various accents, sometimes mere Bible Reading. One American wore a cowboy hat and attracted a fair-sized crowd with his Southern version of Good News. Hyde Park on a lovely day must be an attractive alternative to churches for many, and you could certainly do worse. The only other lecture topics offered were from two men eager to tell us about the Big Bang or Zoroastrianism.

My favorite was a group of students offering passersby a look at the sun through their filtered telescope. You saw a red disc against black, and solar flares at the margins. Their enthusiasm and generosity were very sweet, and they assured us that it was quite safe.

MC wandered off to watch a football game and I rented a chair to write postcards. The ample time we had appointed to head back towards St.Pancras came and went as we lingered, enjoying the park scene, the fresh air, the sunshine. Then it began to seem, well, late, and we roused ourselves to push on.

Victoria Line was closed on weekends for maintenance when we were there. We changed between lines, power walked to the hotel from Warren St. tube stop, got our bags from the concierge, and hailed our only taxi of the trip. (MC later said the driver seemed to be going at a snail’s pace.)

We might have made the train by a whisker if I’d had the ticket Booking Number from my confirmation email. I had assumed that train ticket machines would be similar to those at airports where you insert a credit card and your itineraries magically appear. Wrongly assumed, it turned out; no number, no ticket. The next train was two hours later, amazingly soon by Midwest American standards.

MC stayed with our luggage and I ventured into the King’s Cross area for an internet café, got the crucial numbers, and returned to satisfy the ticket machine. Meanwhile, MC learned that St.Pancras was the only place she’d stumbled upon where she could pick up free WiFi and use her IPod Touch for email. I was just as glad to have seen rumpled and seedy King’s Cross area for myself: as others have noted, it’s typical of areas around big city train stations and not your first choice for genteel lodging.

I called our B&B host, who was to have picked us up at the Chesterfield station and driven us the 13 miles to Bakewell, and we negotiated a new time. The new station is a pleasant place to while away an extra hour, and soon we were safely aboard our train.

Shhh...don't tell everyone how lovely the Peak District is, or they'll all want to visit!

Lee Ann

Thanks, Lee Ann.

I'm still considering how to go about that, based on an earlier pledge. With luck, and maybe also by droning on about my personal train missings and such, I'll have lost everyone by that time.

Nope, you manage to make even train missings interesting. We'll follow you to the end, enjoying every minute.

Thank you, dear.

Shhh...don't tell everyone how lovely the Peak District is, or they'll all want to visit!>>>>

Testify sister! Testify!

(honestly - it is jaw droppingly beautiful and is my favourite part of the country).

But it's in the north !

But it's not in the grim part.

Lee Ann

YOU PROBABLY WOULDN'T LIKE BAKEWELL OR THE PEAK DISTRICT

No waxworks museums, no immense ferris wheels, very few celebrity sightings. They talk with a funny accent. Also, it's in the North, and you know how things are up there. Best just to stay in London, or better yet dash off to Stonehenge.

But, hold on. I see Cholmondley_Warner mentions it has good points. Very well, then.

Next: WE LOVE BAKEWELL AND THE PEAK DISTRICT.

stokebailey, I don't know WHY I haven't been reading your report all along, but I've been sitting at my office desk trying not to laugh out loud for several minutes now. (not that I would ever log on to Fodors at work... oh, never mind) Can't wait to hear more from you (and also C_W, who appears to be in rare form on this one).

Thank you, jent.

(I am one of those that CW is kinder to than we deserve, no doubt because of all the youthful Kumbaya)

Hi stokebailey, are you going to be posting any photos? No pressure or anything. Well maybe a little bit

(I am one of those that CW is kinder to than we deserve, no doubt because of all the youthful Kumbaya)>>

Largactyl and Prozac. And Beer.

I can't begin to say how fabulous the Peak District is.

Obviously you will have a fight every night because you are in the north - and all teenagers will instantly become pregnant (and you will have to strangle kestrels). Them's the rules.

But it's damned pretty.

"teenagers will instantly become pregnant (and you will have to strangle kestrels)"

Those are some sexually advanced kestrels.

The two are not inclusive.

So much for kumbaya, then.

Yup, the north is grim.

Please keep travelling-this is fun...

Apres_L, I only ever take a sketchbook and watercolor crayons on trips, so I won't keep feeling obligated to document things. I use the backs of pages for an out of sequence journal.

We sat down quite a few times to draw and paint. For instance, at the British Museum I really liked a Roman bronze statue of a boy dancing, possibly Cupid, and sketching gave me an excuse to sit and look at him for along time. The results don't look like much, but it's restful to do.

I hope to get MC to post some of her photos, though.

THE CROOKED SPIRE COMES INTO VIEW

Chesterfield is 1 hr 45 min north by train from St. Pancras, past pleasant rolling farmland that could pass for Missouri in spots, with the bonus of grazing sheep. Soon we’re in Chesterfield and see the twisted spire of St. Mary’s Church.
www.derbyphotos.co.uk/areas_a_h/chesterfield/chesterfield03.htm

During our stay in Derbyshire, five different locals wanted to tell us the spire’s “virgin bride” story (too goofy for me to relate)(though one elderly man had the grace to glance at MC before phrasing it as “the bride, um, who hadn’t been with a man”), and then followed with what they each referred to as the real story.

The real versions differed: the lead roof was too heavy or got too hot in the sun, or the beams were unseasoned, or no cross beams. Or the original experienced carpenters died of Plague when the steeple was partly done, leaving the rest to beginners. Our B&B host Gary told us that when the spire first became deformed, they dismantled and rebuilt it, only to have it twist identically a second time. This seems implausible, but I am always glad to believe different true versions of a story. He says that unlike the Pisa Tower it is done settling.

Gary has a new minivan he uses as a taxi all around the area.. One steady customer is a retired cricketer whose name we would recognize if we knew cricket . Our host is energetic and friendly, with a country accent I’d never heard before. He said he’d been to London once, and saw no need ever to go back again. We began to understand his attitude as we got closer to Bakewell.

Once you get past the outskirts of Chesterfield, the country becomes increasingly beautiful as you enter the Peak District National Park. You drive through well-ordered hilly farmland, lovingly tended for thousands of years, with the occasional farmhouse and village, stone walls, and wild flowers everywhere. The book says the Park is the second most visited anywhere next to Fuji in Japan, but we see hardly anyone on the road.

At Everton B&B we meet our hostess Trisha, and find the Blue Room to be immaculate, bright, comfortable, with its own bathroom and a sitting room with tea things. Just right for us simple folk. It’s on Haddon Road, but quiet, and a five minute walk through the city park and along the river to the center of town. ( I did misstate the price earlier, due to my habitual failure mentally to convert GBP to USD. We paid £55/night, or less than one NMS8 with no added tax.)

We settled in and walked into town, admiring the cottage gardens and the River Wye on the way, and it was just 8PM by the time we got to the first eatery-looking place we came upon, The Peacock. They had just finished serving food. Sorry. All right, then. The Castle Inn, The Red Lion. Kitchens just closed. Not a bowl of soup to be had, not even for ready money. The barmaid directed us almost with a sniff to our only possibility so late on a Sunday night, “the Italian place” across the river.

We crossed the ancient bridge and went past the car park to find the elegant Il Felicini. Ristorante, Pizzeria, with very nice dining room, but we wanted to take advantage of the perfect evening and asked to sit on the terrace. The host, later our waiter, took this and all of our requests with an air of surprise, a moment of hesitation, and then as if having overcome any obstacles, agreed. I liked him and the way he and other young men there brush their hair up on top. The terrace has an idyllic setting right on the river, with ducks and swans gliding by, willow trees. It’s the kind of place Bertie Wooster would meet the imposter he means to slip into Blandings. We had bread, olives, cheese, grilled vegetables, and wine. Taken altogether, with the evening, the river, the company and the food, one of the great meals of my life.

THE “BRITISH RESERVE” MYTH

I have to wonder when the British on Fodor’s act as if Americans are always frisking and bleating up to them, tails wagging, to impose our beastly friendship on them. When and where does this happen? Why does no one do that to me here, with the US so full of such people? Why do I always forget to do that when I’m there? (except, I guess, with our genteel young flatterer.)

Maybe being in a B&B is different, and being under the roof constitutes an introduction. Every morning but one in the Everton breakfast room, fellow guests struck up conversations with us as we minded our own business. Maybe because they could tell we were Americans and therefore had lower standoffishness standards?

But there was also the old guy who approached us as we gazed up at the Chesterfield spire, and a Bakewell man who, on greeting us for the second evening in a row as he walked his dog said, “Hello! I talked to you last night!” And since we murmur only in ladylike tones on the streets, our Americosity wouldn’t have been that obvious.

One man in the breakfast room started off by asking what the Americans thought of the Scandal. I hated to tell him that of the maybe 1% who were aware of what was going on there, a tiny percent would have a firm opinion, so I told him what I thought: we’d seen much worse financially, and were a little perplexed at all the fuss. He had driven over from Wales, where he was a Council member, and was attending a conference in town. I congratulated him on spending the public dime at a modest B&B instead of at someplace more Rutland Arms-y.

Another morning in the breakfast room a retired Northamptonshire man with his sweet wife was busy giving a couple of German men the business before he turned to us, and we had the nicest talk through the meal. The posh-accented woman who checked our tickets at Haddon Hall complimented me on my hat, the kind of personal comment I always find acceptable, and we chatted back and for the for awhile on the hat theme. I valued these conversations, and found people pleasant and friendly wherever we went in the country.

(I had encountered one of the Germans in his underwear as I went out for an early walk and he exited the bathroom, so I already felt somewhat aquainted with him. We merely nodded and smiled in our reserved non-British way.)

What were you doing in the German's underwear?

Lee Ann

Once I shot an elephant in my pajamas.

Say, Cholms dear,

Normally I don't run around thrusting advice at people, but since you mention it and I do this for a living:

Chlorpromazine (Largactil) and fluoxetine (Prozac) can cause unfortunate side effects taken together. Like, neurological and cardiac, fairly important systems. Mightn't it be better to be mean and grouchy? Or take one or the other?

The "American Nosiness " reality

Normal touring in sensible parts of Britain and the US isn't that different. Most hotel staff in decent New York hotels ignore their guests as courteously and thoroughly as their peers in London: staff in New York breakfast joints are about as sensibly brusque (and convinced they're "characters") as those in the few remaining London greasy spoons. British B&B owners are as politely conversational as those in touristed America (though generally less prissy): volunteers at National Trust sites as chatty as customer-facing volunteers in US monuments or whatever.

The differences are at the margin:

- There are inevitably more Americans (proportionately) who've never been outside America than Britons who've never been outside Britain. So many US visitors here think they're exotic, are disconcerted to find they're not and feel somehow slighted by the "snobbish" British.

- Equally, every UK visitor to the US has a tale of being buttonholed under bizarre circumstances. I recently got spoken to, unasked, on the New York subway of all places (is NOWHERE sacred?) by an otherwise normal looking person who wanted to tell me about his holiday in England five years ago. Unsolicited conversations on the Tube are grounds for calling in the anti-terrorist police, and we assume similar standards of civilisation elsewhere.

- Unrequested and near-incessant familiarity on the part of waiters in the US (oddly, rarely by the owners of small eating places, who've got better things to do with their time) is a permanent scourge - and one which hasn't crossed the Atlantic yet

- Because businesses are typically less busy in the US, and foreigners more exotic, routine transactions (like buying a shirt at a suburban JC Penney) attract attention, and subsequent uninvited life history sharing, a great deal more often than an American would find at an M&S.

- Most of which is pretty trivial. But there DOES seem a real problem for many Americans moving to Britain, who expect to be pulled into networks, are often disturbed when they're not and create complicated explanations about snootiness or reserve when they've simply not grasped that etiquette's different. It's particularly difficult when people, unthinkingly, move into circumstances where there aren't that many networks anyway, or bring unhelpful attitudes ("I don't like bars so I'm not going to a pub").

Hmm. Yes, flanner. I see what you mean. The JCPenney thing rings especially true.

BTW of course I expect B&B owners to be friendly. What surprised me was the fellow guests, and I thought they were just right. I was very happy to share selected parts of my life history with them.

A few years ago on the NY subway I told my daughter I liked the 5-piece Mariachi band that had filed in at the last stop and was vigorously making music in the aisle. (something I don't remember ever seeing on the Tube.) The woman on my other side said, "You LIKE that? Where you from?" Then when I told her my city and state, she had no idea where they were.

I have to admit I enjoyed that exchange, so there's a cultural difference right there.

(something I don't remember ever seeing on the Tube.)>>>

We may not be reserved but we are incredibly violent.

Actually busking's illegal on the tube - apart from a few designated areas so if anyone did that in London they'd get nicked (after we'd beaten them up, then plod would beat them up again).

Glad I didn't bring out my harmonica then.

If I lived in NYC, I'd probably get annoyed with the subway mariachis after the 4th or so time and stick my foot out to trip the guitarron player.

I got onto the subway in New York in 1974 and saw my boyfriend sitting there, head down, avoiding eye contact, normal subway position. I sat down next to him and he didn't realize it was me until I called his attention to the fact. He said he was just wondering who the creepy stranger was who was sitting too close to him.

Thirty-five years and two children later, I wouldn't be surprised if he did the same thing today.

So, flanner, as I see the cultural difference: the same things happen in both countries, like the nice lady in Eyam unsolicited telling me she has a cousin in America. But we think it's sweet, while you go home and tell horror stories about it.

"while you go home and tell horror stories about it."

Not quite. A routine conversation with a volunteer on a quiet afternoon at the Norman Rockwell Museum in deep Massachusetts turns into her telling me her husband was stationed near my house during WW2 and I conclude she's a nice lady.

I get buttonholed on the New York subway (or at a Target in a Chicago suburb) and I conclude the buttonholer is deranged.

I get told buttonholing strangers on a metro or in a department store is "sweet" and I conclude the whole population's deranged.

Okay, Poochie. You win.

People in Eyam are famously reserved.....

Bringing back memories of 1969. 3 of us, after our first year of teaching stayed, at a B&B in Scotland. The wallpaper had huge red roses. There was a loud parrot. And, the innkeeper told us when we could bathe and at what time we should be in.

Our rental car kept going on the fritz and we pushed it to the closest rise so we could pop the clutch going down hill.

We were so polite that everyone asked if we were from Canada.

Fun, TDud. Those clutch popping years, but surrounded by Scottish accents, and cunningly confusing people as to your origin by behaving well.

Yes, C_W. So true. The amazing Eyamites.

I always forgive flanner for disapproving of all I stand for because, among his other good qualities, he was helpful when I first looked at Bakewell as a walkable Peak area base. And he suggested St. Etheldreda.

BAKEWELL AND THEREABOUTS

Market is on Mondays in the center of town, and has been for of centuries. China cups, underwear, fruits and vegetables. MC bought a small set of acrylic paints, and a jar of lemon curd. English strawberries, other treats. We could have crossed to the agricultural area and bid on a flock of sheep, but didn’t.

One fine evening we got to watch men playing cricket in the park across from our B&B. It’s my new favorite sport, the local non-televised version anyway, and my total incomprehension of what was going on didn’t detract from its beauty.

Chatsworth: It’s a few miles’ walk, but we couldn’t find the beginning of the footpath as directed by the nice TIC man -- who seemed to think it was an unlikely request – so came back to town square and got the bus to Baslow (~ £1.20 each way) then walked the easy mile from there. Taxis such as Gary’s would be another option for non-walkers.

One end of Chatsworth is wrapped in plastic and scaffolding now, with renovation under way. Still plenty to see: grand rooms with gods and emperor painted on the ceiling, porcelain, art. A large sculpture gallery. One room is devoted to Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, and includes a letter written in her blood to her son, and costumes as worn in a recent film. Contemporary art in the occupied areas. Glimpses of beautiful libraries, now used by the family. Portraits from different eras. (Do people really pay Lucien Freud to make them look like that?) The place seems like an echo of Versailles, but lived in.

The gardens are very beautiful, and worth many trips just for themselves. (Here, annhig, my fantasy pleb job would be under-gardener, or, what the heck, shepherdess.)

Our hostess Trisha has books of Peak District walks with specific directions like: “Cross the stile and keep the hedge to your left.” We borrowed one for the 3 km walk from our B&B to Haddon Hall another day, and it made all the difference: the paths are well-worn, but unmarked, and it would be easy to get confused. This path led through beautiful fields, along streams, and through dense woods.

The normally intrepid MC let me lead through a long low-lying area where the path narrowed and became overhung with wildflowers; it was beautiful, but such a path at home would be prime snake habitat, and she dislikes snakes very much. We were both wearing skirts, and couldn’t avoid brushing against stinging nettles for a long stretch. (At home, nettles grow alongside jewelweed, the immediate antidote: you crush the juicy stems and rub it on, and the stinging stops. If there’s a Derbyshire version, we didn’t see it.) This path requires sturdy leg covering in the summer, would be worth packing jeans for.

We loved Haddon Hall. Go visit. The Great Hall with the minstrel’s gallery. The Elizabethan era bombé windows. The chapel, complete with frescoes and the tomb of an heir who died young, touchingly sculpted by his mother. Views of the valley from the formal garden. The Roman altar. Here you get to visit the kitchens, and see the immense fireplaces along with the 1920’s dumbwaiter.

I’d like to spend a month or so in Eyam and take in the atmosphere. Their history of courage for the greater good during the plague is inspiring, and it’s a lovely little town. Also, two buses and a train and you could be sitting in Trafalgar Square not feeding the pigeons.

We had cream tea sitting outside at the Castle Inn, lovely and a bargain. My only disappointing dish of the trip was homity pie at The Peacock Pub: billed as potato, cheese, and leek pie, and recommended by the barman, it lacked interest somehow and seemed to be potatoes with little else to liven it up. The side dish: boiled potatoes. (You can say what you like about the insane US, flanner, but I’ve never been served potatoes as a side dish with potato main course here.) I have a Texan cousin who carries a 15 ml bottle of hot sauce in her purse Just In Case, and I’d have borrowed some if she’d been there. His ale recommendation, though, was very nice: one of the Peak Ales, Swift Nick. MC liked her Pimm’s and lemonade.

There are a couple of very popular chippies and a couple of Indian and at least one Chinese restaurants, a few tea shops, a Co-op supermarket. We only got a small Bakewell Pudding just before getting on the bus to leave town, and later ate it on the train from its greasy bag. They don’t look so attractive in the bakery windows, but they’re delicious. Strawberry jam, custard, flaky pastry. Next time we’ll buy them early and often.

The sun stays up so much later in the summer there than at home that we kept thinking it was earlier than it was. One evening we hiked the Monsal Trail until dusk, and thought to stop in for refreshment afterwards. The pubs were so quiet at 10 PM that we decided not to bother, and felt unreasonably disappointed with the locals for being quietly in their homes at that hour instead of out drinking.

Bakewell is a great town to visit if you don’t want to drive. Buses are frequent and cheap, and take you all around Derbyshire. Parking is at a premium in town, as we could see on market day, and no doubt especially on weekends. Everton B&B has parking if you’d need it, but some of the more atmospheric places closer in probably don’t.

Tourists: under-run with them, if anything. There was one couple with a North American accent that we kept running into everywhere and eventually decided were Canadian, but otherwise we were the only foreigners I saw or heard. I understand it gets crowded on weekends, but when we were there it was just right.

In the UK, the antidote to nettles is the dock leaf.
They can usually be found in areas where nettles grow.

DOGS AND HEIRS

Bakewell is a great dog-walking town. People were out with all sorts of handsome breeds; I'd consider getting one if I lived there. We were never bothered by barking at night.

I did worry a little about lines of inheritance. The brochures at some of these halls tell you that the X family has lived here since 1067 or whatever, and then there's a photo of Lord and Lady X with Pookie and Snuggles. The last two clearly identifiable as dogs. The Devonshires have grandchildren, though, I believe.

Thanks, Miss P! I know dock.

Confession time- I get nervous in the country. I am honestly impressed by this part of your trip because I wouldn't be brave enough to walk along unmarked paths through the woods. I also get nervous in little places that are deserted at night. It's this weird phobia, I don't know what my problem is.

However, I am making lots notes because all of this sounds exactly like something my mom and sister would love to do. They are Austen fans and love the country and have talked in the past about taking a trip like this, so I'm going to pass all your info on to them.

I remember before your trip you had asked about art supply shops in London, and I was so surprised to learn that in the UK there are strict rules about markers and glue (well not all that surprised if I think about it since this is the United "don't even think about it we're watching your every move" Kingdom we're talking about) - did you ever make it to an art shop? I remember someone suggested a very old and interesting looking place, can't remember the name...

Apres_L! I totally understand.

Bailey White has a nice little essay about a friend of hers living in Paris who's afraid to visit Bailey in her country home, and Bailey's afraid to visit her friend in wild Paris. I'm afraid of vicious dogs and certain kinds of heights, but tend not to worry about bad guys or forest creatures.

We were strolling along the London South Bank one evening when a man approached us, reached into a basket, asked MC if she liked snakes, and started to pull one out, the creep. MC was horrified. Later we saw him showing it off to some more appreciative people.

Bakewell would be perfect for your mom and sister. I think there are various Austen connections to Bakewell: Chatsworth Might have have been Austen's inspiration for Pemberly. Maybe.

Confession

My confession: I never made it to L. Cornelissen & Son. One afternoon when MC was shopping I walked from our hotel though Fitzrovia and then down Gower St., went east on Great Russell looking for the art store before I went to British Museum. It must be west of Gower St. I thought I'd go back later, then never did.

You have a good memory, Apres_L.

Hi stokebailey,

It was when you mentioned drawing instead of taking photographs that I remembered- if I recall correctly, I think we got reamed out for making fun of the age restrictions. No doubt you'll make it to the shop next time.

And snakes? That's horrible! I don't know what I'd do if some crazy person approached me on the street with a basket full of snakes. That man deserves a kick in the shins if you ask me.

Actually that just reminded of this crazy guy here in Toronto who sits downtown on the sidewalk with his pet white rats crawling all over him. I haven't seen him in a while, thank god. I would always cross the street rather than risk having one of his rodents come running after me.

Ugh. I think I need to go and lie down now. I'm feeling a little faint.

>>Market is on Mondays in the center of town, and has been for of centuries. China cups, underwear, fruits and vegetables. MC bought a small set of acrylic paints, and a jar of lemon curd. English strawberries, other treats. We could have crossed to the agricultural area and bid on a flock of sheep, but didn’t.<<

:::ighing fondly:::: We bought some plum cake and a pork pie - ambrosia.

I really, really want to go back and spend more than two days in the Peak District.

Lee Ann

>>They are Austen fans and love the country <<

They will probably remember, then, that it was her aunt's travel advice (clearly a Fodorite before her time) that took Lizzie Bennet on a trip to Derbyshire where she saw Pemberly - and began to revise her opinion of Mr Darcy (she had the sense to size up his properties first, smart girl).

Lizzie had already revised her opinion of Mr. Darcy by the time she got to Pemberly, and the sight of his properties just made her more regretful, thinking she had blown her chances. She clearly hadn't read enough romance novels.

Just putting in a word for the purity of Lizzie's motives.

Second your opinion of Haddon Hall. We stayed in the Peak District for a week last trip and Haddon Hall was our favourite expedition. I was delighted to see it appear as Thornfield in the latest Jane Eyre from the BBC.
Loving your trip report.

Rosemary

Finally catching up w/ your fabulous report . . . picking up since crooked spire . . .

I've noticed a HUGE change in reactions to colonial visitors in the years since I first moved to England then and then re-visited many times. Not that awfully long ago, not a day would pass whereupon hearing my accent, more than one person would say "Yank?" or "Are you from America?" and then follow on w/ questions whether I know their friend who lives in Chicago or Seattle or wherever. As though Chicago/Seattle are villages down the road from where I live in northern Calif. And then tell me about their holidays in Florida or wherever.

That doesn't seem to happen much anymore - -

Isn't Haddon Hall WONDERFUL?!

Did you get to Hardwick Hall?

Renishaw Hall, which stood in for Pemberly in the Colin Firth BBC miniseries, is near Chesterfield.

Currently, it's having a special exhibition about Dame Edna (wtf?) You can't make this stuff up.

http://www.sitwell.co.uk/index.shtml

Thanks, Rosemary. MC and I watched the Jane Eyre DVD again last week, and kept saying things like, "There's the minstrel's gallery! The bombé window!"

Speaking of BBC, Apres_L, thanks so much for the In the Thick YouTube link. I didn't know you could watch entire shows there. Episode 3 and covering up the second home problem was ahead of its time, and they're all really funny. I'd previously had a kind of a vague idea that BBC has a mandatory period costume rule.

Hi, janisj. No, we didn't make it to Hardwick Hall, didn't spend much time in and around Chesterfield at all.

Maybe someone's got the word out the the English not to buttonhole Yank strangers.

They are Austen fans and love the country>>>

Muppets.

My favourite new thing is watching Malcolm and Jamie go ballistic.

And you won't get any arguments from me, C_W. I think Jane Austen is boring and I've already explained how being in the country makes me nervous. I wouldn't mind having a pony for a pet, though.

I keep thinking I'm going to remember and use some of those Malcolm or Jamie lines, but then I forget them. (That, and they are possibly too unladylike for everyday use.)

If I worked with anyone like that it wouldn't be so amusing, probably.

BLOOMING ENGLAND

Along with the near-perfect weather, we lucked into a great time for flowers abloom. From the rose-covered cottages on Portobello Road and the beauty of Queen Mary’s Garden, to the tiny daisy-like flowers in the lawns and buttercups everywhere in the country, England was a massive garden.

On our walk to Haddon Hall, we walked through fields of waist-high wildflowers similar to what we’d call Queen Anne’s lace, and the Hall had vases of them around. I asked an older man there what they were called, assuming it’s a flower that every local person would know, and before I could stop him he darted off to inquire for me. The verdict: “Baby’s Breath, we think.” It was fun to see it blooming in one of the last scenes of the Jane Eyre film.

We flushed a cock pheasant on that walk, too, a brilliant bird with his tawny body and his white neck ring; I’d never seen a live one so close before. Maybe he was protecting the nesting wife and children by drawing our attention.

The Wye at Bakewell has a variety of waterfowl paddling around near the bridge, and huge trout darting around. Anglers flyfish alongside people enjoying their fish and chips on the benches. The trout, I imagine, must get caught and released, unlike their unfortunate cousins from the chippies.

If I lived in all the rush of London, it would be soothing sometimes to think of sheep grazing near drystone walls.

>>If I lived in all the rush of London, it would be soothing sometimes to think of sheep grazing near drystone walls.<<

Oh it is, it is. Especially when you can watch them on TV and not actually have to make the effort to go and see them for real (time was, people would actually watch sheepdog trials on TV: perfect for a Sunday teatime snooze).

I don't know, Patrick. Too pallid an echo. You might as well watch one of those crackling fire videos in the wintertime.

I say venture out minimum once a year and soak up the total experience, nettles and smells and all. Save TV for Have I Got News For You and Mr. Bean reruns and such.

And sheepdog trials, of course.

THERE AND BACK AGAIN

Our last morning in Bakewell we decided to see if we could get to London a couple of hours earlier than planned, since there wouldn’t be time for a local expedition anyway. The bus terminal at Chesterfield was about a 10 minute walk from the train station, past the church where you can see the spire corkscrewing to the sky.

So, it turns out that the UK passenger rail system is privatized, and run by many different companies. We had 1st class tickets on Eastern Midlands, through Virgin, or possibly the other way around, and I presented them to the ticket counter man at the Chesterfield station with our earlier train request. He peered at them closely, said they should work, and advised a train soon for Nottingham and change there for King’s Cross.

We duly hopped on the train, took our seats and were under way when the conductor came, looked at our tickets, and told us we were on the wrong train. (There’s something about those words that makes the heart skip a beat or two.) We explained the situation and that we’d be changing for London, she mentioned an accident with fatalities on the London bound track, and gave us another piece of paper to use on the next train.

In Nottingham we got on the London bound train, and sat in the 1st class compartment as ticketed. The way to go. Elbow room, quiet, coffee, tea, biscuits. All seemed right with the world until the new conductor looked at our tickets and told us again we were on the wrong train. More substernal flutterings. We had bought our tickets from a different company than the one running that train, which I had never considered. I explained again about the Chesterfield agent, and mentioned the accident with fatalities by way of corroborative detail, and she relented, smiled, stamped our tickets and let us drink our tea in comfort. We’d have bought more tickets, but were glad not to. Thank you, kind conductors.

We had only the one night in town before flying out, so that was our night for 5 star hotel splurge at Grosvenor House. We took the bus from the station to Oxford St. and then trundled our suitcases down through Mayfair, hoping the hotel would have a room ready for us. We passed the US embassy, hung with flags and bristling with security, in Grosvenor Square, and figured out that the state flags are hung in order statehood, reading south to north.

The staff at Grosvenor House was as pleasant as those at our other hotels, and we were able to get into our room right away. It was a comfortable room, and we inspected it for all the things that might make it five-starry. The bath was all marble, with chrome shower fixtures involving many knobs and a waterfall-like shower head, and shaving mirrors that tell you more than you want to know about your face.

You must ask at the desk for someone to bring the complimentary tea things to your room. A spiffily uniformed man arrived in due time carrying a linen-covered tray containing a wooden box of tea bags, a kettle and French press coffee maker, and china cups and saucers.

Of our three London hotels, I liked the airy room and the breakfast at Fraser Place Queen’s Gate, the neighborhood in Fitzrovia, and luxuries like the tea tray, towels and shower best at Grosvenor House. MC liked GH’s workout room. I’d stay again in any of them, but more preferably the first two where I never felt like an imposter.

Refreshed, declining offers to call cabs, we headed down Park Lane and to Tate Britain until closing time. Later another bus took us up Whitehall and past Houses of Parliament, where what surely must have been various MP’s stood in the afternoon sunshine having their feet held to the TV fire by Fleet Street, with stately buildings as backdrop.

After The 39 Steps, we walked down Piccadilly St towards our hotel. As we passed the Royal Academy courtyard we could see bright lights and photographers, and a group of beautifully scented and dressed young women walked ahead of us out onto the sidewalk, loudly laughing and calling attention to themselves. Their voices reminded me of Patsy and Eddie in Absolutely Fabulous. The next day’s Times revealed that it had been a fashion event of some kind. Is there a fashionista accent?

Breakfast at the Wolseley was fun as a one-time event. It’s a black and white affair: black shiny columns, people in charcoal grey suits looking like someone you’d trust to build you an empire. Attractive humanity from wall to wall. The room is noisy, with all those shiny noise-bouncy surfaces. Did all those people reserve months in advance as we did? Do some come every morning to the same banquette, the way a small town retiree has his usual stool at the diner?

The things about sheeps is they are only viually appealing from a distance. When you get close to them you realise they look like dirty cotton wool.

Unless you're welsh, in which case you have a "trouser incident".

CW - a country boy. Has seen lots of sheeps. Is not welsh.

Grosvenor House sounds lovely. I probably would have spent the entire time soaking in the tub. Were the toiletries nice?

In my mind, the sheep are always off in middle distance. Sometimes you can hear a faint baa.

Apres, the soaps and things were very nice at Grosvenor House, but probably so high class I didn't recognize the brand. We were too busy running around to wallow in the luxury too much. For £21 we could have had room service continental breakfast. A person could get used to places like that.

>>Sometimes you can hear a faint baa.<<

That'll be the Welshman at work.

Oh, now you've done it. Wolves forcing their attentions upon my mind's eye sheep.

hi stoke,

just want to let you know that catching up with your thread is stopping me getting on with work which I need to do urgently for return to work tomorrow.

so when i get into trouble IT WILL BE YOUR FAULT.

regards, ann

Sheeps are actually fairly ugly critters. Rams are ornery.

On another website (an offshoot of this) I mentioned that I was amazed that yanks are so suprised by the fact that Britain is full of sheeps. Apparently you don't have 'em.

Lambs are cute. Especially when the gambol.

In fact there is probably no finer sight than a field full of gambolling lambs.

CW - has "given birth" to a lamb (in a James Herriot way). Is still quite proud of it.

Ann and CW: I smile in delight. (Hoping in Ann's case, that I haven't been way too longwinded, and trusting that the pile of briefs or whatever has disappeared by now.)

CW's mentioning an offshoot website reminds me of the tennis group party we went to yesterday where there were two main gathering areas. Sometimes people would drift across, thinking the other group had to be having more fun.

A group up to around four people can have an interesting conversation. More than that, and yesterday anyway it tended to turn to

TV shows/movies/celebrities
Cats
Health concerns
Cats' health concerns
Celebrities' health concerns
Every once in awhile a guy would pull out his iphone and show it to another guy

After a few hours of that, I wanted to go home and alphabetize my spice cabinet.

Every once in awhile a guy would pull out his iphone and show it to another guy>>>>

This is the only time that men will boast to each other about who has the smallest.

Given birth to a lamb? Thought CW said he wasn't Welsh.

There aren't a whole lot of sheep anywhere I have ever lived, so when I go anywhere they are, I amuse the natives by taking pictures of the sheep. The tour guide in Greece was shaking her head and laughing about me with the shepherd when I turned my back on the scenic view we had stopped to photograph in order to catch the really beautifully backlit sheep.

Thanks for the report. Headed to London Tuesday, this is nice for inspiration.

I'm getting this commune idea. Ann takes care of the chickens and keeping us out of trouble. Patrick maintains our website in exchange for organic produce. CW does the Herriotty kinds of things and gives us something to gossip about. I'll be responsible for goat cheese. Anyone else? Spouses etc. can be worked in here and there, but no one too mean or bossy or slacker-y. Don't say no yet. I'll have to continue to telework so I can afford fancy London things sometimes, and trips to France for research.

Nikki, have a great time.

To be fair, though, the gossip generator chore should be rotated.

Anyway I'm only stalling now hoping MC will post her photos.

Don't really have anything to add, except we really enjoyed the Museum of London. Fire, plague, Roman wall, and all. Fun to think of elephants having wandered there.

Thanks to all for having read, or even skimmed, this far.

The pleasure has been all ours Stokebailey.

hi, stoke - love the idea, apart from keeping you all out of trouble. Am I THAT boring?

you all get into trouble, THEN I try to extract you from the consequenses of your iniquity - much more fun.

Thanks, Candidus, Very kind of you.

Ann, Candidus, a tough negotiator, has arranged for Wales to become part of the US in exchange for Florida, so I'll look for acreage there.

I think the chore of getting into trouble should be rotated also.

Had that same toasted cheese sandwich at Borough Market this morning. I totally understand the profound sense of well being.

Do they still have the model that sort of catches fire at the Museum of London - I loved that when I was a kid.

The only other thing I can remember was a big gaudy coach.....

Yes - sheep seem to hold all sorts of fascination for colonial visitors. Most folks I've taken on trips (not SCQ btw) have taken lots of photos of the sheep. And if it was lamb season -- scores of photos. Maybe some Welsh blood in there somewhere

My very first morning on my own when I moved to England (a wet/cold January day) a ram broke through the fence and led his entire harem into my (rented) back garden. Me a city girl from CA had not met up w/ roaming sheeps before and had no idea rams are mean. Well I can testify!

I did get them out of the garden but not before getting drenched, angering that ram and scaring the living daylights myself. Oh but the babies ARE cute . . . .

Nikki, hooray for Borough Mkt on a Thursday! Looking forward to hearing about your trip.

RM, yes, the model and the whole Fire exhibit is fascinating. The exhibits of the modern era (after the 1666 fire that is) are due to reopen next year.

We visited Ireland once with my Massachusetts-bred adult cousin along, and she kept exclaiming about the CUTE cows as we drove along. One day we visited an ancestral farm, and after an hour there the rest of us realized she was missing. When she rejoined us she admitted that she had gone into a pasture to get close to the dear cows, and the herd had backed her into a corner, she too frightened to push past them. They, no longer cute, eventually lost interest.

They're not valled "Rams" for nothing. It's what they do. BTW Where I come from they're called "Tups". That's the other thing they do.

Yes, RM67, the Museum of London has a dark cubbyhole sort of a space you squeeze into to hear a recording of Michael Hordern reading Pepys's diary description of the fire while the panorama lights up and flickers. And the Lord Mayor's coach is there most of the year, but is taken out for the Lord Mayor's Show in November.

Back in the safety of the Europe board, and having consulted further with the FO, who have forgiven me for in extremis foreign policy in the heat of battle, I am tasked, Stoke, to clarify the terms of the truce. Anglesea for Florida. Take it or leave it (in 199 years wen the lease runs out).

You think I want my username to become the trendy new word for appeasement? I'd be up for treason if I even considered those terms: a perfectly lovely state with beaches all around and Art Deco architecture, in return for a place I had to look up in wickipedia (roughly the method our State Dept. routinely uses), though it sounded vaguely familiar?

Ha. We laugh.

Hmm, don't want to repeat the mistakes of Versailles, look at the bother that caused, and certainly wouldn't want the name of Stoke to go up next to Quisling on the dart board of history - dash it, you've put up a fair fight, and when this bally nonsense is over I hope we can sit down and enjoy a proper drink. I am permitted to increase Her Majesty's offer to Anglesey, Bermuda, and Sir Antony Hopkins.

please, Candidus, can't we throw in Tom Jones too, AND Dylan Thomas?

I told you Candidus was one tough negotiator, Ann. Bermuda, you say? And I've never actually been to Florida, so it's not as if I'll miss it.

What say we jump ahead to the proper drink part, and I'll mull it over?

Steady on Ann. If we hang back, twirl the end of our waxed moustaches, er, those of us that have waxed moustaches I mean, we'll be rid of Charlotte Church to boot and still have an elongated pale toe in the Gulf by teatime. Zounds who left that mike on?

Stoke, what a good idea! Mine's a double.

Wavering.... wavering.... If CW's fabled Welsh Rarebit recipe was slapped on the table I don't know that I could resist. But that might be the half pint of ale talking.

Half a pint? Tsk - lightweight. To think, if we'd only made it a pint of Old Peculier we could have got you to take Katie Price. And Slough.

she's on tellie tonight being interviewed by Piers Morgan. I kid you not. Oh ye gods and little fishes - to this we are brought.

I'll try to link to some of MC's photos, this not being my strong suit:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/40299682@N06/

Gorgeous photos, stokebailey and MC- everything looks so lovely and summery. The churchyard in Bakewell looks creepy though!

stokebailey, I really think you and I had parallel trips (at least the London parts!). Love the photos, especially the one on the river around dusk.

Thanks, Apres_Londee. We so much lucked out on the weather. Bakewell church and yard are pretty much unswept stone, besmeared with sluttish time. We liked the quiet eeriness of it in the evening.

Jent, yes. It must be one of those GMTA kind of deals.

I've just read A Parcel of Patterns, by Jill Paton Walsh, about Eyam during its plague time. It would be good to read before a visit there, and is beautifully written.

After our walk along the south bank, where the woman played the harp to the river, we cut back up London Bridge where MC got that photo just as it was getting dark. We wanted to walk up Gracechurch Street and Cheapside to see the area Caroline Bingley sneered at Lizzy's uncle for living in, and also to walk past the Monument.

We passed beautiful Leadenhall Market and peered in, and a shop that had an outfit of Morning Dress in the window, with a price list. I was delighted to note the purple and white striped waistcoat: most spiffy. Nicely dressed bright young things queued outside a nightclub, someplace MC had heard of, cheerfully waiting to be admitted. Londoners seem young and out partying late all week.

Someday I'd love to see Leadenhall Market when it's busy and everything is open- I only walked through it on a Sunday which was nice in a way although very quiet- only tourists marching through. I bet it was neat to see at night.

So did you fit in some hard partying on your last night in London?

(listen to me, I sound like Andrew W.K.)

HI, Apres,

By our last night we were back on our best behavior, unless you count walking the streets late at night unescorted. Mayfair had the same kind of scene around its pubs on that fine night, with the people spilling out onto the sidewalks maybe a little more dressed up than in FItzrovia.

MC displayed an unexpected interest in fancy sports cars; when she called my attention to something in London it sometimes turned out to be a Lamborghini or some such, art forms admittedly in short supply where we live.

We had dinner at Brown's on St. Martin's Lane the last night, and enjoyed it very much.

I'm still quite nonplussed, given it's history, that Eyam welcomes vistors.

Normally this kind of thing takes a 1000 years to wear off.

We're not that dynamic here.

Eyam's virtues must include forgiveness.

Great pics. Especially like the London Bridge panorama with St Paul's between the towers of Cannon St.

Thank you, Candidus. That photo came out nicely, didn't it? We have it up as wallpaper on our IMac now.

My daughter appreciates the kind words.

Your response on my TR reminded me that I hadn't yet read yours. So glad I found this wonderful report!

Have to say that in 25 plus years of living in the Chicago 'burbs, I've never heard the Blue Line of the EL referred to as the light rail. Hope that doesn't come across as snarky as it's certainly not meant that way. Just caught my attention as I'd never heard it before. Glad you enjoyed your time in Chicago.

Oh, thanks CAPH. You are kind to look it over.

I am a rube! Please forgive my Chicago misinformation and pretend everything I said about England was accurate.

I have no doubt that everything you said about England was accurate! I feel really bad about even mentioning the light rail thing. As I said, I just hadn't ever heard it called that. But, after all, it is technically a light rail! My apologies for being a jerk!

No, you weren't! I've been known to throw terms around loosely and even fabricate a bit to add to an otherwise bald and unconvincing narrative.