Purupuss's Purrings

This is where I’m going to get majorly behind. I’m up to about 3.00pm yesterday, have only done a couple of sentences of today, and tomorrow the convention kicks off and I’ll be too busy to do anything except enjoy it.

To make matters worse, the most expensive accommodation on our stay only has free WiFi in the lounge downstairs from our room. It makes typing up in my PJs in bed a bit tricky. (Shh. Don’t tell anyone. But I’m sitting here with only my shoes and Thunderbirds’ jumper to hide the fact that I’m wearing my pyjamas… Well it is 12:05am.)

🙂 Once we’d arrived and registered with the Holiday Inn we had to walk through the lounge to the lifts to our rooms and I saw Matt Zimmerman – Alan Tracy – sitting there. Walking back to register for the convention and Shane (and Shelia) Rimmer – Scott Tracy – was sitting with him. Next time I walked past I realised that the other man with the two of them was David Graham – Gordon Tracy/Brains/Parker/Kyrano. They were all here!

And I’ve just read that Jeremy Wilkin – season two Virgil Tracy – will be here too!! (A pity he wasn’t as good as David Holliday – season one.)

So if you don’t hear from me over the next couple of days, don’t Panic, Captain Mainwaring! (wrong show). I’ll be having too good a time.

It’s either that or stay up in my room and type until I need to come down to the lounge.

Talk to you sometime soon.

30 September 2015

Once again I woke up before Pen, so after a traipse across the building to the loo, I did some blog typing.

Breakfast was Weetabix and fruit, with peppermint tea. Sitting on the end of Pen’s bed.

We went over the road and bought some sandwiches for lunch, and then dragged my case down the stairs (it’s easier going down than up), and walked to the railway station. (With a sight miscalculation detour.)

As we had a couple of minutes spare before the train left (or even arrived at the station) I went and got some more photos of the harbour. It looks a lot like Auckland about Westhaven Marina.

When the train arrived at the station we had the fun of trying to work out where to put my suitcase. I have to say that this is one way in which our trains are superior to English ones. They may have a better, more comprehensive system, but at least there’s room between the seats for big bags on ours. And of course our tourist trains have a full baggage car.

We stopped in Portsmouth & Southsea Station. We had both Kally and Scott sitting on my belt bag on the table looking out the window. One of the guards stopped and gave them a good long look as if he was checking if they had tickets.  And then they got a chuckle from the conductor as he checked our tickets.

Intercom announcement. It takes four minutes to attach more carriages to a commuter carriage.

Okay, I’m up-to-date. Next lot of typing will be tonight when I’m in bed. It’s a little noisy here. Not badly so, but we can hear every time an Underground train goes past or someone walks around upstairs.

Bother, it’s now almost 8.00am and I haven’t finished yesterday’s blog.

We arrived at Victoria Station, and while I disapprove of knocking about old buildings to modernise them, it does need some changes… Like lifts! I wound up carrying my suitcase down several flights of stairs and up a few more just to get from the train to the Underground stations. What was really irritating was that only one person offered to help me, and he was a nice man in a suit as I was lugging the case off one of the Tube Trains.

We finally made it to street level in Kensington and had to find our way to our lodgings – the Astoria Hotel. I read Pen’s map that we had to go left. She read it as we had to go right. We went right and went a longer distance around some road works (they’re creating a new underground train track) as we doubled back on ourselves. Pen reckoned we met less people that way.

The Astoria Hotel is one of several that have been created out of terraced town houses. So you have the Olympic Hotel right next to the (making it up) Cambridge Hotel, right next to the Belmont Hotel, right next to the Pacific Hote (sic), right next to the Astoria Hotel which is sandwiched between that and the Thunderbird Hotel (really made that one up). So you have hotel, hotel, hotel… All about a room wide.

We had to go into the Belmont Hotel to get our key and WiFi ticket to the Astoria Hotel.

Once we’d let ourselves in I stayed on the ground floor while Pen did a recce for our room.

Remember how the Bay Tree was upstairs? We are now downstairs – in the servants’ quarters. We go down the corridor from the front door, slight dogleg to another corridor, hard right to a door which you push open over the stairs that go down into the pit. Another hard right turn (you need your wits about you here) and you’re descending. Straight ahead is the fire exit (complete with a mattress blocking it), then it’s a 180° turn to the right and our room, 23 (makes a change from 4 which we were at Bay Tree and Duke of Buckingham), is straight ahead.

After getting ourselves sorted, we were out again.

Our first stop, as we tried to find somewhere nice to have our lunch, was Kensington Park. It was a lovely, cloud-free day (like all the days I’ve had so far), and we were able to sit – away from the spray of the fountains – enjoy the sun, and watch the birds watch us.

One of the first feathered hopefuls that approached us was clearly a rail. My first thought was “it’s a Weka.” Of course it wasn’t. It was a juvenile moorhen.

Its parents were swimming about in one of the two ponds along with some coots – juvenile and adult.

After lunch we wandered through the park, greeting some parakeets that aren’t native to England, but have made themselves quite at home here.

We carried on, stopping off at the Peter Pan statue for the obligatory photographs.

We also saw some cormorants, some gulls,

And a dog, “Red”, that likes to people to play fetch with his rings.

There was also a Henry Moore statute that we decided was either a clavicle or a fused together pelvis and leg bones.

We also came across this interesting contraption that was an ice cream parlour selling expensive Fortnum and Mason’s ice creams.

We didn’t have one.

Next stop was the very Victorian Prince Albert Memorial. Which, with a lot of imagination (which I have in spades), could be called Thunderbird Three.

I was pleased to see over the road the Royal Albert Hall. On a whim we decided to pop over and see if we could have a sneaky peek inside.

It was possible to do more than that.

We were lucky in that a tour was about to leave. It was only £8 and there were only two others – a Chinese couple – along for the ride.

We were unlucky in that we weren’t allowed to take photos.

Our guide was Rob and he gave us a wonderful tour. We only went into the “public” areas, the corridors, one of the boxes, the circle where you can only stand, the private staircase that only the royal family uses, the private waiting room that the royal family uses…

We were able to sit in one of the boxes and look down on the stage or what could be the Proms mosh pit, a tennis court, an ice skating rink, or regular seating. My initial reaction was “Wow!” It all looks so regal with the red colours.

The boxes are all bought by families or corporations and the owners let the Royal Albert Hall know when they’re not using them and then the RAH can sell them and the owner makes a small profit.

There’s only one box belonging to a family that can’t be sold.

The royal box and it’s the largest in the theatre, and, when the Queen’s attending a performance has special more comfortable seats put into it. Rob asked us to find it.

It was the one right next to me, so I was able to put my hand over, and Kally over, and touch the area where the Queen’s been.

Apparently if the royal family isn’t using that box, then the usual seats are put in there
The Queen, when attending public performances, used to make a grand entrance. Now she sneaks in a more private way and retires to her private room for a meal. Rob tried the door to this room, saying “this is always kept locked so we won’t be able to go in…”

The door opened.

Rob insisted that he hadn’t expected that to happen, but he let us enter. The escutcheons are decorated with Wedgewood plaques. A couple of the seats had arms and these were reserved for the Queen. The arms are quite low to accommodate long dresses, but there were two in the private room.

I sat in one of them.

Then we continued upstairs to the cheap “seats”. These aren’t seats at all, but are where you can stand, or lean on a balcony rail, and watch. The price for these possis (about 500) vary. They range from £5 upwards. The modern outfit that was playing tonight were charging £37!!!!

I wish there was a £5 concert on.

But it was here that Rob said that if we didn’t use a flash and stopped if anyone on stage started rehearsing, then we could take photos.

My camera was out of my bag quicker than you could say “watch the birdie…”

I’d like to see the roof garden of Derry and Toms, but by the time we got there it was closed. We’ll have to try again tomorrow.

So it was back to the Royal Albert Hall for a hot chocolate.

My photos aren’t uploading tonight, so you’ll hopefully get them tomorrow when I upload today’s blog – which I haven’t written yet.

Ye olde fire extinguisher

Duck! Ducks? They’re seagulls. Gulls actually.

29 September 2015

Breakfast was a pottle of cereal and yoghurt bought from the Co-op.

We had planned on going to the historic docks first thing, but side-tracked ourselves by finding a Nelson trail to do later, and checking out a monument to Isambard Kingdom Brunel. From what I know of the man it represents the Clifton Suspension Bridge and the Great Eastern and SS Great Britain ships.

Brunel was born close to the St George Park where the monument was situated so we went on a hunt for that site. Judging by the architecture of the houses around about it appears that the area was bombed in WWII and any trace of him, apart from another plaque, has gone.

It’s the 30th September and I’m disappointed. Today it’s 50 years since Thunderbirds was first screened and Google hasn’t done a special Doodle for it. Doctor Who got one!

And I just wrote 30 years. I got an email from a DVD place yesterday advertising 50 years since Back to the Future. I sent them an email saying they were 20 years out and it must have stuck in my mind.

Another note. Every time someone in the room next to us opens and closes their door, it sounds like it’s ours. When Pen was downstairs checking the Internet I kept thinking she was coming back in.

Another note. The bathroom down the other end of the hall is only for rooms three and four. All the others seem to have their own en suites. So it’s only us and noisy door who have to share the bathroom.

After our side track it was back to our original plan and down to the docks.

We didn’t go into the HMS Warrior, but instead went to the Victory – the ship where Lord Nelson died during the Battle of Trafalgar.

They have a sign warning anyone over five foot to watch their heads. Even little, at 5’1” had to be careful – starting with the entrance hatch.

Some cannons were rescued from having been bollards. the bit from the right of Scott was what was out of the ground (with a cannonball in the spout) and the rest buried. When they recreated the Victory they had to go around town and dig out her cannons.

Just pull the string and stand well back. The bit that’s inside the ship is roughly how much was buried when these cannons became bollards. Must have been a job and a half digging them out again.

Some photos. Be prepared for more pulley blocks for Alan C.

The spot where Nelson fell.

No wonder, when it’s so shiny and slippery. Actually he should have learnt from earlier that day. A crew member was standing on this exact spot and cannon fire cut him clean in two. They just dumped him overboard.

Mary Rose’s bell

While I was waiting for “Pin” Pen at one point, we met up with the couple from Portland who we were talking to yesterday. Fortunately I had one of my patches in my bag, so I was able to give it to them.

The Victory is right next to the building that houses the Mary Rose. When the Victory was put into port for posterity they rammed her middle mast into ground so she’s pinned there, in Pen’s words, “like a butterfly”. The masts she has now are from an 18th century sailing ship and have been removed for the restoration that is currently being done to it. When the masts are replaced they will be lightweight replicas so that they won’t have to be removed again for future restorations. Remember that her entire weight is resting on her keel, so they want to take off as much weight as possible.

The Mary Rose was carefully lifted into her final resting place and a purpose built building assembled around her. The differing methods of preservation over the centuries. Also the differing levels of expertise and technology.

I’m appeased now. Wikipedia has today’s featured article on Thunderbirds.

The Mary Rose was a warship from the days of King Henry VIII and was lost in the battle of the Solent in 1545. She’d been powering towards the French fleet, had turned suddenly, been hit by a gust of wind and had keeled over, watering pouring in through her open canon ports. Of course in those days very few sailors could swim and only 35 out of a crew of about 415 survived.

She sank on her side in the mud. Her topmost timbers were exposed to the water and had disintegrated over the centuries, but the side that was in the mud was protected to a startling degree by the anaerobic silt. Most of the ironwork has disintegrated, but when it was rediscovered it contained the largest collection of Tudor artefacts in the world.
I have more photos, but the uploading’s slow. I’ll try to do it tomorrow.

The actual ship

The museum is set out so that the various items recovered are on the same deck level as the actual ship. In time, when the preservation is completed, the dividing wall between the two will be removed and what is left will be an approximation of what was on the ship.

Crows nest

The Mary Rose was rediscovered in 1982, excavated, brought to the surface, and taken to her final home. Then she was continuously sprayed with clean water to ensure that her timbers didn’t shrink (which could have been as much as 20-50%). Once the next stage was readied she was sprayed with polyethylene glycol to replace the water and keep the timbers’ cells intact. At the stage where we saw her, she had huge black tubes around her, drying out the PEG. Once that’s finished she should be stable enough for the final stage of her display.

Of course all the artefacts recovered had to undergo similar preservation work. Over 26,000 items, including the remains of crew, some of whom were forensically reconstructed. The ship’s carpenter’s dog sits there as a skeleton.

Written in the train to London.

After the Mary Rose and a cup of lemon and ginger tea we decided to do the Nelson walk that we found that morning. Except that we couldn’t find any documentation telling us where to go. Asking locals ended up with a suggestion that we try the information centre at the City Museum.

As it was getting close to 5:00 and we thought the museum would be shut, we retraced our steps to the only sign we’d found and discovered that it was the first point on the route – Landport Gate. Pen took a photo of the map and we started off… And couldn’t find any other points of interest. So we decided to head down to the waterfront. Pen wanted to show me where the Mary Rose sank.

Our hotel – The Duke of Buckingham. He was assassinated just down the road.

Hovercraft and Martello Tower

Duke of Buckingham hotel

The green house in the background is where the Duke of Buckingham was assassinated

It was a lovely evening and it so happened that on our travels we not only came across the other points of interest on the Nelson walk, we also found the Millennium walk along the waterfront.

Spur Redoubt

We found the remains of Spur Redoubt, which Nelson would have, as the signage so emotively puts is: taken “his last steps on dry land.”

But what really excited me was the remains of the Royal Garrison Church. Exciting because I remembered an episode of Time Team where they dug the fields behind it to try to find the remains of a pilgrim monks’ hospital.

Out in the bay we could see (and hear – it was very noisy) the Isle of Wight hovercraft coming and going. We were even there when it was on the hard and watched, protected by rather sand and water-blasted windows, as it lifted up on its inflated skirts and slid sideways into the water.

We also walked past Clarence Pier West. This isn’t a traditional pier that sticks out into the tide, but a “landward pier”. But it had the bumper cars, the roller arcades, and the arcades. As I hadn’t seen one before we checked out the arcades. One of the machines, which cost £3.00 was a have your caricature drawn. I decided to give it a go as at least you get something for your money.

Hmmmn. Rembrandt it wasn’t.

Bollard made from a cannon

Juvenile starling

On the walk back we saw the hovercraft (ten minutes to the Isle of Wight) return past a Martello Tower. These were installed as harbour defences during the Napoleonic War.

We also saw the monument to all the Australians who left England – sailing out from Portsmouth.

It was at about this point that I “ran out of film” and had to change SD cards.

Back to the hotel to offload the things we didn’t need (not including my camera) and then we went food hunting.

We had a couple of options. The Tin Tin Chinese Takeaway, some other place that offered two for the price of one meals, or the Chinese over the road from the hotel.

As we made our way through the Gunwharf Quay we had to fight our way past a horde of students lining up back on themselves in a queue that went for miles. We pushed through explaining that we weren’t queue jumping. Somehow I don’t think they would have thought we were as we asked a security guard what was going on. He sounded very disgruntled (and didn’t look much older than the students) when he explained that it was a “student lock-in”. I asked if he’d like to throw away the key. He said that of all the security jobs he did, corralling students was the worst as they got violent as they got drunk.

We decided to get well away from Gunwharf Quay, so it was back to the hotel and over the road to the “Good Fortune” Chinese Takeaway. We had a set menu for one, (sweet and sour port, mushrooms, fried rice, prawn cracker, dried seaweed (which had an unusual texture, and which I enjoyed), and chicken satay skewers. All too much for the two of us.

Another cannon bollard. And a post box

Then it was to bed, sort out the photos, Skype chat with D.C., and started to type up the blog, but I ran out of battery power as I started, so I plugged it in. (Overnight. I don’t like that) After that there was nothing to do but go to sleep.

Do you realise that you can (should be able to) click on a photo for an enlargement? That’s if Word Press behaves itself. It doesn’t seem to like pictures at the moment.

I’m going to spend all my time in Portsmouth thinking of Gilbert and Sullivan songs.

28th September 2015

I’m actually writing this on the day that it’s happening before it’s all happened! (We’re still on the train from Bath.)

There was a lunar eclipse overnight, so Pen got up at 1.00am and went and sat in the bathroom and watched it through the skylight window until 3.00am. I was really tired and the blog was refusing to behave itself, which is why I didn’t upload last night, so I carried on sleep. Although Pen did get an “I’m awake” when she came back to bed.

I got up at 7.40 this morning, having spent an hour uploading the blog. I was therefore washed and dressed and heading downstairs to breakfast when Pen finally got moving. I hadn’t got very far into my fruit when she arrived.

After breakfast we had a good final look around for my sunglasses case and lens cap, and then lugged my suitcase back downstairs. I paid the final £90 owing and then we headed back out into Bath.

We did consider going to the Fudge shop again, but I decided to be strong. It would have taken me too long to make a decision. Pen did go to a convenience store and I went to a camera shop and asked for a “lens cap for that.” £7.99 later and I’ve got one with a longer cord that I shouldn’t have to remove from the camera when I put the lens hood on, and will hang far enough away from the lens that it won’t cause any problems… If I can get it to do its job and stay on the lens.

We caught the 10.35am train to Portsmouth Harbour. It was quite foggy in Bath as we left. I got some photos of Isambard Kingdom Brunel’s handiwork before we left. I spent most of the time on the trip typing up yesterday’s blog and typing up to this point on today’s.

A couple of days ago we’d bought some raspberries for our lunches and we finished them off while on the train. We were 1.5 hours into the journey and everything had been progressing smoothly when we hooked the raspberries out and opened the container. That was the moment that Pen’s white sweatshirt decided to take a dive of the overhead rack. Yes. Raspberry juice on the sweatshirt. Fortunately only on the hem and the train had a toilet on board so she was able to sponge it.

Then my jacket fell into them. This wasn’t such a major as it’s made of more waterproof material and is raspberry coloured anyway.

Now being typed in the bedroom the following morning.

Portsmouth (I just typed Portsmith – Kiwi accent?) has two stations. One more central in the city and one servicing the port. Go any further on the line and you wind up IN the port.

Because the port was the area we wanted to see, we’d taken a twin room in a former pub, the “Duke of Buckingham”. The room is comfortable enough, big enough for two single beds, a table, a bedside table and a wardrobe. The bathroom is a single room with toilet, shower, and enough room to turn around in at the end of the corridor and shared by all(?) five rooms on this floor. One toilet – in the shower room – for five different sets of guests. That must be interesting sometimes. (And was the reason why I got up at 6.45 and had my shower this morning.)

We couldn’t sign into the hotel when we arrived as reception was closed, but we were lucky enough that the receptionist happened to be there and was willing to store our cases for us. I didn’t fancy lugging mine around the port.

Firstly we went searching for lunch. We bought sandwiches at a “Co-op” and took them with us.

Portsmouth port is a lot like Auckland’s. (In fact as we came in on the train some of the buildings reminded me of those around the Seaman’s Mission on Quay Street). It was a working harbour that had been out of bounds to the public. Then the Gunwharf Quays was known as HMS Vernon, a “stone frigate” or navy land. When that was decommissioned it has been developed into shops, accommodation areas, and open spaces. Plus the “Spinnaker”, Portsmouth’s “icon”. I have to say that that’s more aesthetically pleasing than the SkyTower, but I still wouldn’t want it cluttering up my skyline.

There are a lot of figureheads around the area, so I took lots of photos for Alan C.

We then boarded a cruise that travelled around the harbour giving a commentary on the way. I sat next to an Australian man and we teased each other about our respective countries. (I think he picked my accent. What accent? It’s everyone else who has an accent!)

From the cruise we could see the HMS Warrior and HMS Victory and the building that’s housed the Mary Rose. We also saw a lot of the more recent warships of Great Britain. And an American oceanographic research vessel.

Much of Portsmouth’s port had been dredged by hand by Napoleonic prisoners of war. (They had thousands). One visible reminder of this was the watchtower that still stands. I’m assuming that the clock is a more recent addition, but I could be wrong.

From the boat across the bay/harbour/river/whatever we could see Portchester Castle a Roman “Saxon Shore” Fort built more than 1700 years ago.

We sailed past Burrow or “Rat” Island. According to the skipper prisoners of war’s bodies were just dumped on the island (no burial) to get rid of them. Getting to that island would mean nothing to rats, and with a ready supply of food it was soon overrun with the vermin. Naturally the locals were concerned that they would spread the plague so the island had to be cleaned up.

We saw several ferries come and go, most much bigger than the one to Rangitoto, including the channel ferry and the one that heads across to the Isle of Wight.

Having completed our cruise we decided to have a wander around the historic area of the port to get an idea of what’s there. We saw more figureheads…

And the nautical museum told stories of how the ships were built. Including how pulley blocks were made using Marc Brunel’s (Isambad’s dad) revolutionary machine that could make ten blocks at a time. (More photos for Alan C.)

It was getting too late to actually check out the “floating” exhibits, but we decided to head over to the HMS Victory and get some photos while the light was nice and there weren’t any crowds about. I was trying to decide if it would be acceptable for me to stand on the concrete plinth of a canon to get a better photo of the Victory when a passing couple said: “Yes. Do it.” Then they added “Are you from New Zealand?” I think they must have spotted my Pikorua bone necklace as they pulled out their own Maori carving necklaces. Pen followed suit with her own. Apparently they were English, but had spent months in New Zealand several times and were planning to go back. The loved the place and the Kiwi accent. What followed was a discussion about my accent. (I told you people I don’t HAVE an accent! You do!) They had been to Thames, but not the Thames Historical Museum.

We had a look around the souvenir shops so we don’t have to do it tomorrow, got photos and then went on a dinner hunt.

We found a place that had half price meals on Mondays. As today was Monday (I think I’ve finally got a handle on what day it is), we decided to go back to the Duke of Buckingham, check in, and then return to this establishment – The Lettuce and Slug.

We were most grateful when the (new) receptionist told us that she’d taken our bags upstairs. (Must have been why she put us on the first floor.) These steps weren’t as narrow as those at Bay Tree, but it still would have been hard going lugging my case up a flight.

We offloaded everything we thought we wouldn’t need, including my camera – Don’t do that again! – and headed back out again. There was a flock of starlings roosting on a crane, the Spinnaker was hit by the setting sun, and there was a lovely sunset. And I didn’t have my camera to record it.

Idiot.

We were a bit worried about the Lettuce and Slug at first. Not because of the name but because you entered through a Guinness Flamin’ Rugby World Cup archway. Before we took a table we checked there weren’t any matches on tonight.

*whew*

Upstairs we would have been waited on. Downstairs we had to go to the bar to be served.

We went upstairs.

There was a twenty minute waiting time..

We went downstairs.

I had a burger with goats cheese on it, which was very nice, accompanied by chips and coleslaw. Dessert we had an equally nice chocolate biscuit… thing The drink was a Virgin Apple Majito. That was lovely and refreshing. I tried to find the recipe online, but none of them exactly match our version. This seems closest.

• GLASS FULL Crushed ice
• HALF A GLASS OF Ginger Ale
• QUARTER OF A GLASS apple juice
• 1 TEASPOON brown sugar
• 8 SPRIGS OF mint
• ONE lime

• Mash the brown sugar with 4 sprigs of mint
• Add a little apple juice as you mash
• Add the apple juice, the ginger ale, 4 sprigs of mint and half the lime juice
• Add 2 lime wedges to serve

I thought ours had ginger beer, and Pen said the sugar was white, but it was very tasty.

Then it was back to the hotel, wishing I had my camera to record the Spinnaker all lit up, and then to write yesterday’s blog.

More photos

Scott with Scott

Erm… Watch out for Daleks?

A sign I hope we never see in New Zealand.

For Thunderbirds fans

Major Bathonian architect and creator of the permanent door…

26th September

I must have been tired last night, as I didn’t save this in drafts and have had to copy and paste it back into my blog. I know I was tired because I couldn’t keep my eyes open and the blog wasn’t behaving itself. So I’m posting this now at 6.34 in the morning.

And I don’t know why the photos are all over the show.

Pen after lugging my bag up 30 steps

I’m typing this in bed, looking out a window in the eaves.

This morning Seth was looking rather dejected as suitcases were being produced and he knew what that meant. He needn’t have worried. He’s going to have a dog sitter come and stay.

Pen’s neighbour Jan had kindly offered to take us to the railway station in Shrewsbury (pronounced ShrOwsbury according to some). The only railway station I know of that has a castle overlooking it. It was a lovely cloudless morning and Jan was a very good driver – with a little navigating from Pen in the back seat.

On the way we went past Stokesay Castle – check out last time for more information and pictures. I hadn’t even realised that there was a railway running by so close.

Our first trip was from Shrewsbury to Newport where we negotiated up the lift and over the platform to platform… I can’t remember if it was four or five.

Just had to plug my computer into the mains. Fortunately I can do that now.

Shrewsbury to Newport was “every (wo)man for him/herself” seating. Newport to Bath we had allocated seats, and we nearly missed ours when we followed someone into the carriage who was clearly eyeing them up. England trains show that a seat is reserved by having little tickets slotted into the back of the seats.

This trip went via Bristol, which is where the Fanderson Convention was held five years ago. You can see photos of that glorious Brunel station in my blog of that time.

Isambard Kingdom Brunel, who designed Bristol Temple Meads Station, also had a hand in the track leading up to Bath’s station, which he designed. But as we were dragging our suitcases we didn’t have time to check that out. We were on the hunt for our lodgings, the Argos (for my power adaptor), and a Post Office. Not necessarily in that order.

Bath is good in that it clearly regards itself as a tourist town and therefore has plenty of maps so that you can keep track of where you’re going. What’s not so good is the slight incline we had to climb as we hunted down Bay Tree House.

We got to an area called Kingsmead Square and heard the jangling of bells. There was an exhibition of Morris Dancing going on. The dance finished just as we got there and Pen asked one of the performers what was happening. I think he said there’s a festival of Morris Dancing on. About the only word I understood was “Rugby”.

But he did say that they were going to have another dance so we sat in Kingsmead Square in Bath, ate our buns, and watched Morris Dancers under the gaze of a building made in 1735.

Only in England.

There was also a market stall selling fresh fruit and vegetables (including kiwis – grr), so we bought some raspberries.

Onwards and upwards!

We were looking at a map to find out which way we needed to go to, to get to our accommodation, when someone asked me if I could direct him to…

“Sorry. I’m from the other side of the world!”

We had two other requests for directions during the day. We must have looked like we knew were we were going.

We reached the Bay Tree House and rang the bell. I haven’t seen the Bay Tree yet. Come to that, I haven’t seen any staff members. We’d been sent an email with a code so we could let ourselves in, but we tried the systems to alert someone before we dug that out.

First: ring the doorbell.

No response.

Second: press the intercom. Pen did this and the intercom didn’t go to the answer phone as it promised to do, but was answered by someone. The door was opened remotely and we lugged my case inside.

No one there.

But there was a table with various advertising material, a visitors’ book, and an envelope with Sereena Burton on it there. Inside the envelope was a letter of introduction and a key to our room.

I stayed with our bags and Pen went to suss it out. She came back downstairs. “The good news is that I’ve found our room.”

“The bad news is that it’s the top floor?”

I wasn’t disappointed. Even after dragging my suitcase up 30 steps. This is the room they used in the advertising and it’s an attic style with a sloping ceiling and skylight windows above each bed, so you could lie there and look out at the sky. The reality is that the lights from the carpark over the road obscure any view of the stars, but it’s still a nice room and the one I’d hoped to get.

The photos still aren’t working. That first photo of Pen should be before his paragraph and this one should have a caption: We’re sharing the bathroom with room five next door.

If I remember correctly, the water landed in the hills some 10,000 years ago. And I don’t know why this picture’s here. I inserted it several paragraphs later.

The Bath Abbey from inside the Roman Baths

The central heating system. The pillars supported the floor, allowing hot air and steam to circulate heating the rooms.

Bath Abbey

Angels climbing Jacob’s Ladder

Having a shower

St Paul

St Peter. He’s shorter than St Paul because one of Cromwell’s men knocked his head off. They remade his head out of his beard.

We got ourselves sorted and then went off on an Argos and Post Office hunt.

The Argos was only a couple of blocks away, so I went in, found the “Fast Track” area, put the code that they’d given me into the kiosk and then inserted my travel card.

“PIN unable to be accessed.”

Gordon Bennett.

So I had to go up to the counter, give them the code, and then the helpful assistant went and got my power adaptor for me. I had to sign the credit card slip for it and she even got an old style Zip-Zap machine so she could process the payment. She didn’t use it in the end. (Notes on Zip-Zap machines. When Campbell Tube Products first got one it was called an “Imprest machine”. By the time the second incarnation came along the bank had figured out that Zip-Zap machine was what everyone called it.)

But I paid for and got my power adaptor. Yay!

Now to find the Post Office.

Pen’s work is collecting statistics. I still can’t get over that they actually pay people to travel around the country to peoples’ homes and ask them questions. New Zealand, as far as I’m aware, they either ring up or do it on line. I had one survey earlier in the year that kept on asking questions like: “Would you like to live in a town with an historic shopping precinct and a modern mall?” And: “Would you live in a town within one hour major cities?” I was thinking “I do!”

And I did. The survey was to see if people would consider living in Thames.

Anyway. Pen had some information that she had to post to her bosses and she wanted to make sure that it was handed to someone at a Post Office and not just stick it in a box.

We found one. It had a museum attached dedicated to the English postal service as Bath was where the first Penny Black postage paid envelope was posted.

We had a look through the Guildhall Market. One of the stalls was a sweetshop called “Bath Humbug”, which I thought was clever.

I like Bath. They’ve made a real effort to remain true to their historic past. We found a Waitrose Supermarket that that appeared to be a new building, but done in a style that echoed those historic buildings around it. Why didn’t the Treasury do something similar instead of dumping a shipping container next to the grand Carnegie Library? Because they had an architect with no imagination and no skills, that’s why.

Don’t you love the Internet? It’s 7.30am, I’m sitting in bed in Bath waiting for the people in the room next to ours to finish using the joint bathroom so I can go and get washed, and D.C. and I are having a typed Skype conversation! J

Our first touristy thing was a visit to the Roman baths. After all, it’s what made Bath “Bath”.

The entrance is a Victorian reception hall decorated as the Victorians thought the Romans would have had it. Fail, but it’s very grand.

The Roman baths date from roughly 2000 years ago and are in quite good nick considering the intervening years. Some things, like the temple pediment are in amazingly good condition.

The baths are well below street level, which shows you how much activity has occurred over the centuries as well as flooding and silting up – much of which has helped preserve what’s there.

It must be Sunday morning. I can hear the church (Abbey?) bells.

Grr. Photos aren’t behaving themselves and staying where they should be. The above should have a caption saying that the guy in the toga was great because he was remaining in character. “1879, Citizen? But it is 85 AD. How can you speak of 1879?”

Celtic jewellery

Gorgon’s head from the temple’s pediment. They say he’s ferocious with his head of snakes, but I think his has quite a nice face.

Owl on the temple’s pediment

Angel climbing Jacob’s Ladder outside the Abbey

Where Stew took a dip. Don’t know why this photo’s here and not later on.

Almond tart

Chicken and garlic sauce on a trencher bread style Sally Lunn. They used to use trencher bread in place of plates.

Starter. Sally Lunn garlic bread

At one point it asked (for children) “can you smell that funny smell?” My answer was: “No.” I was expecting a strong sulphurous odour like Rotorua, but I couldn’t smell anything particularly pungent. However I did notice the taste when, right at the end, they have a drinking fountain so you can taste the waters. It’s not exactly Lemon and Paeroa. The cups were cone shaped paper ones and were surprisingly hard to hang on to.

We were practically kicked out as we left at closing time. (After a detour through the gift shop. I bought a new collapsible water bottle. I hope it doesn’t leak like the ones at home.)

We had planned on having dinner at a Gourmet Burger Bar that resides within the Brunel railway vaults on Brunel Square, but decided that as we were going on a walk at 8.00pm it would be prudent to have our meal at the pub where the walk started – the Huntsman Inn.

But tonight’s a flamin’ Rugby World Cup match night, isn’t it. The Huntsman was full of rugby fans watching the big screen, wasn’t it.

So we hunted out another eating establishment.

I’ll say here and now there was no fear of not finding anything. Bath’s probably as bad as Thames when you consider the population.

So where did we eat? At Sally Lunn’s. “The oldest house in Bath and home of the famous Sally Lunn bun.” Which isn’t necessarily covered in icing sugar and coconut and shoplifted from P ‘n S. (Family joke there. A distant relative used to visit us and bring a Sally Lunn. We read in the paper later that she got done for shoplifting.)

The walk was “Bizarre Bath”. A walk that not so much explains the history of bath as makes you laugh about it… Or about things totally unrelated.

For instance our guide, Noel Britten, pointed out a plaque to John Palmer, which has been mounted in a piece of wall that had either formerly been a door or was pretending to be a door to make the building symmetrical. Noel claimed that John had produced such doors. And windows, as we came to other similar artefacts. And a cat flap when we got to a smaller shape.

As I said, the walk was due to start at The Huntsman pub, but we went around the corner to

Noel had a good memory. He asked if anyone from overseas was present. Canada was offered to be made to feel at home by offering them a toy Harp seal pup and a club. I was next and he offered to speak slowly so I’d understand – and from then on I was called “New Zealand”. Australia was “welcome home”. But if he asked anyone their name, he remembered it.

We then started walking. We came to the Seventh Day Adventist building, which is next to the 20m wide Bath Abbey and alongside looks to be the size of two garden sheds. (Pen and I had commented on it earlier.) Noel said that if he was going to choose between the Seventh Day Adventists and the Church of England Abbey – well, he knew which seemed more likely to get him into heaven.

We came to one of the Abbey’s concave decorations, that could conceivably have held a statue, and that was one of John Palmer’s doors that had been vandalised when someone tried to push it in. The fence that ran along the side of Abbey and was only about two feet high wasn’t burglar-proof until they locked the equally low gate.

Noel had a soft toy rabbit called Stewart – known as Stew… Pen and I seemed to be the only ones to get the joke. Harry Houdini had taught him his escapologists’ tricks. So Stew was trussed up in chains, put in a “mailbag”, I handed Noel a purple rope with a carabiner on the end which was clipped to the bag, and then thrown into the River Avon. Ten seconds later another stuffed toy rabbit floated to the surface. We’re still trying to work out how he did it.

Noel did a trick whereby a woman lent him her wedding ring, which he tied to a balloon which flew away higher than the Abbey. Then “Stew” comes trundling in on a remote car, Noel took the ball of wool he was holding, unravelled it, the woman looked into the purse that was revealed and there was her ring. We still haven’t worked out how he did it.

The walk ended with the stocks with a gallows addition. We all had to show our authorised Bizarre Bath wrist bands. I think I was nearly selected for having mine too loose, but Australia went up to be put into the stocks. We were all supposed to boo and hiss, so I yelled out “Underarm!” Then the three carrots around “Australia’s” head were chopped in half using the guillotine, but her neck was fine.

It was a great, extremely funny evening and well worth the £8.

Rail bridge in the distance.

26 September 2015

Right, so now I’ve got to remember what I did yesterday, as I sit on a train and watch the scenery go by. Thank heavens I’m a touch typist (and if you find any mistakes, you’ll think not a very good one.)

As I said in yesterday’s aborted attempt – which I managed to upload at some daft hour this morning, we didn’t set out until 11am, which gave me time to type. When we eventually left, we headed for foreign soils…

Wales.

We took several detours along the way, mostly unintentional as we tried to find the… Excuse me while I find yesterday’s blog and do some cutting and pasting… Pontcysyllte Aqueduct. No. I don’t know how to pronounce it either. I just know that it’s very high.

We kept on passing signs leading to Oswestry, which won’t mean much to most of you, but was where Foggy Dewhurst of Last of the Summer Wine was stationed until he retired from the army and went to live, and get into trouble, in Holmfirth.

We managed to miss one turn-off because, although it was signposted clearly, the sign was facing away from the road we were on and we couldn’t see it.

Pen’s original plan had been that we walk one way along the path and the aqueduct (why isn’t it an aquAduct?) and then catch a canal boat back.

A good plan.

Except that when we found the carpark at Pontcysyllte (pass) and got out, gave Seth a bowl of water, and then went in search of information, we couldn’t find any. The map on the wall made it look as though you could only walk under the aqueduct as part of the 1.5 mile loop track. We didn’t mind the walk, but did want to walk over the aqueduct.

Rightio, we’ll ask someone if that’s right.

The visitor information centre, which was open until lunchtime was closed between 11.30 and 12.30.

It was 12.45. (I think. Without a watch I still haven’t got a handle on what time and date it is.)

I hung onto Seth’s lead while Pen hunted out someone who knew something.

She found people, but they knew enough to not be as helpful as they, or we, would have liked.

Anyway, it was back into the car and off on another aqueduct hunt.

Once again we took a right instead of a left turning, because of a lack of signposting and an excess of roadworks. (Wem’s practically cut off from the outside world because two of the three access roads into town are closed for roadworks.) Once we’d realised that we were heading the wrong way it because difficult to find a place to do a U-turn. We eventually managed to in an establishment that threatened legal action against: “Any person with a dog caught urinating or fouling the premises.” We’re not sure whether it’s the person or the dog who’s not allowed to do those foul deeds.

Having finally found the right road we stopped at the carpark and gave Seth another drink. Then we decided that it was time to refuel ourselves before we took in the sights. So we sat at a picnic table, on the banks of a canal, and watched the canal boats go by. One of our snacks was a “caramel cake bar”. It seemed very odd to be eating a cake wrapped up like a chocolate bar.

As Wikipedia tells us, the (copy and paste again) the Pontcysyllte Aqueduct was built in 1805 to accommodate the motorways of the time – canals. It is – time for more copy and paste when I get to an Internet connection – 336 yards/307m long, 4 yards/3.4m wide, and 126 feet/38m high. I’ve found a photo with the measurements detailed on it, but they’re in imperial, not metric and I understand metric.

Anyway, it’s not a place you want to be if you suffer from acrophobia. It’s not too bad on the towpath side, there is at least a good high fence to stop walkers falling off – especially when you’re standing to one side to allow others to walk past. But on the canal side there is the edge of the cast iron channel and then the drop to the river below. That would have been an interesting journey, but unfortunately we didn’t find any canal boats offering the journey to the public.

Pen was carrying two plastic bags, one with our lunch and one with Seth’s deposit and a passing captain commented that he’d been a busy dog. Pen replied that she hoped she didn’t get the two mixed up.

We later watched this same captain, who clearly knew what he was doing, do a 180° turn in the approximately 30’ / 9.1m long, 7’ / 2.13m wide (I’ll metricise later) boat. They aren’t easy to turn.

We observed the system they used for raising and lowering bridges to allow canal boats to pass through. Each canal boat carries a lock key which allows them to pass through locks. This same key winds the bridge (swing bridge on a canal, although it’s the “same” system as a drawbridge) up out of the way so the boat can pass through. Once you are safely on the other side common courtesy and logic states that you wind the bridge back down again.

Having crossed this (down) bridge we continued back on the other side of the canal so we were able to watch the boats from the water side. Of course we couldn’t cross the aqueduct on this side (we didn’t fancy tightrope walking) so we took the handily placed steps under the aqueduct and back up the other side.

As we drove out of the carpark, at least we knew which way we had to go this time.

Our next stop was to get some petrol. While Pen filled up I had a close up look at some wonky Tudor that was the side wall of the building next door. The wall had a definite bow to it, and one of the windows was about knee height off the ground. Things had risen over the centuries as things had been built up time and time again.

I paid for the petrol. How come the first time I used my travel card it insisted that I enter my PIN… When I had it wrong. And since then every time I’ve used it I’ve had to sign? It wasn’t a very good representation of my signature anyway. I was having to stand on tiptoe to write.

Our next canal adventure was at the Shropshire Union Canal. We parked next to the 80m long (thank you Canal and River Trust for putting metric on your sign) Ellesmere Tunnel.

After a wander along beside the canal…

…we turned back and headed for home. The reflections in Lake Ellesmere (it can’t be a lake if it’s a mere!) were beautiful.

We came home and I packed my bag ready for heading to Bath tomorrow. I also ordered a power adaptor online. There’s an outfit called Argos in England. They put out a telephone book sized catalogue and you can order online and pick it up in store. It’s been going since before the days of the Internet, but makes use of that facility now. Anyway, there’s a store in Bath and I ordered one for collection tomorrow. I’ll pay then too. Before I did that Pen and I had a discussion about what I could do about my lack of charging ability. Pen suggested we find a Canon shop for a phone battery charger, but that wouldn’t help EOS which is veeerrry slow charging from the USB.

Pen then suggested that she cut the plug off my cable and then rewire on an English plug onto it.

Ermmm….. No.

So just as well Argos was so accommodating.

This evening Pen put her telescope out and we shivered and attempted to see some of the stars. The moon was lovely and bright, which was a double-edged sword as while we could clearly see the craters, we couldn’t really see any stars. I did see Ursa Major – without the telescope. I was looking for it, but I’m used to constellations about the size of the Crux / Southern Cross and couldn’t find it. The size of the plough bit of Ursa Major is about twice the size of the Crux, and adding on the handle makes it about four times as long as the longest axis.

We gave up because of the light pollution from the moon. We’ll try again next time we’re in Wem

Today (Yesterday. I tried to upload this interim report last night, but the Internet wouldn’t let me. It’s now 4:56am on… Saturday and this is to keep you going until I can type up a proper entry) we had a slower start. We left home at 11.00am, which gave me time to type up yesterday’s blog. Now it’s getting the photos into the system that will take the time.

And now it’s late, my battery’s running low (the keyboard’s on 0%), and the internet’s playing up, I’ll give you a teaser about what we did today from Wikipedia.

The Pontcysyllte Aqueduct (Welsh pronunciation: [ˌpɔntkəˈsəɬtɛ], full name in Welsh: Traphont Ddŵr Pontcysyllte) is a navigable aqueduct that carries the Llangollen Canal over the valley of the River Dee in Wrexham County Borough in north east Wales. Completed in 1805, it is the longest and highest aqueduct in Britain, a Grade I Listed Building[1] and a World Heritage Site.
When the bridge was built it linked the villages of Froncysyllte, at the southern end of the bridge in the Cysyllte township of Llangollen parish (from where it takes its name[2]), and Trevor (Trefor in Welsh), at the northern end of the bridge in the Trefor Isaf township of Llangollen parish. Both townships were later transferred to Wrexham County Borough following local government reorganisation.
The name is in the Welsh language and means “Cysyllte Bridge”.[2] For most of its existence it was known as Pont y Cysyllte (“Bridge of Cysyllte”). Other translations such as “Bridge of the Junction” or “The Bridge that links” are modern, and incorrect, inventions, from the literal English translation of cysyllte being “junctions” or “links”, as the township of Cysyllte existed for centuries before the bridge was built.

I’ll have to type what I can on the train.

Note: I’ve tried to insert all the photos I’d planned to in this blog, but the Internet’s not behaving, so you’ve only got some. I’ll try and update them later.

I’ve had EOS on charging for most of last evening and all of last night (it’s now 7.00am) and the keyboard battery has only been charged to 42% and the main battery 81%. If it had been charged of the main power adapter it would have been charged about ten times over. I need to find a power adapter.

Now I’ve got to try and remember everything that happened yesterday.

My day started with me trying to have a shower. I would have had one earlier, but I didn’t want to risk waking Pen. When I did finally have it, it wasn’t that successful.

Firstly I don’t know what happened to the water, as when I first got in it was a lovely temperature. Then it went cold. Too cold to stand underneath. (I’m not a masochist.) I turned it off and considered asking Pen for advice, but thought I’d try again first.

Warm water. *Ah. Nice.*

The water went cold again. (A bit like the WiFi. It doesn’t seem to always want to talk to my computer and cuts out too.)

I decided to brave it.

I had bought some body wash in New Zealand and put it into a pump action squirty bottle. I couldn’t get the pump to charge, so I ended up by opening the bottle and pour some of the contents onto my hand.

My shampoo and conditioner had been kindly given to me by my hairdresser. They were samples of a line that had been discontinued. Great, because I didn’t have to pay money for them. Not so good because they were in sachets and have you ever tried to open a sachet with wet hands? I ended up by managing to squeeze a little bit of the shampoo out, enough to wash my hair, and didn’t even attempt to try to open the conditioner.

Breakfast was three Weetabix (they’re smaller than Weetbix) and two slices of toast and butter. First stop in Wem was to a shop that sold local produce for a bottle of whole strawberry jam. £4.50 I think it was. Pen bought some Tiffen for us to eat. Tiffen is roughly digestive biscuits with chocolate. I don’t worry about asking people what stuff is as they just hear my accent and assume that I am an h-ignorant Kiwi. (Or an ignorant Aussie! One sure way of getting a dirty look.)

Actually that was the second stop. First stop was to the Barclay’s bank ATM to get some money out. Yay! It worked! I managed to withdraw £50.

The internet’s slow. I wonder if that’s because I’m trying to upload 148 pictures from yesterday. They aren’t huge, I’ve made their resolution smaller. How many photos did I take over the last three days? 1110. Divide that by two because there are two copies of each and we’ve got 550. A lot of those are bracketed in lots of three for different exposures and that means I’ve taken roughly 200 odd.

Not bad going for over 24 hours in the aisle seat of an aeroplane and one day’s sightseeing. And I’ve got the time wrong in my camera, so I must change that this morning.

Back to yesterday’s Tiki, sorry, Turner touring.

We went to Clive. That’s not a “he” Clive but a “blink and you’ll miss it” Clive. A little village that’s notable for a not too steep climb that leads out to magnificent views over Shropshire. (I hope I can insert some photos there.) I’ll have to ask Pen for the name of the hill.

Nope, I found a photo. “Grinshill Hill”

Wales

It did have wonderful views and we were very lucky that the weather was so clear. We even saw a buzzard family of three flying and I was lucky enough that I was able to get some reasonable photos of them. I was less lucky with the photos of a kestrel being pestered by a mob of jackdaws.

On the way back down we passed a couple blackberrying and helped them eat what they’d found.

We checked out their little church. I’ve got to say that while I don’t have a lot of time for the religion, I do like old church architecture. I’m not sure how old All Saints Church was, but it was old school. No one was on duty, but you were trusted to turn on (and off) the church light yourself (once you found the switch), the things for a cup of tea were laid out in the expectation that you would be honest and give a reasonable donation for it (we didn’t have a cuppa), and I couldn’t get the door open to leave so they’d locked us in.

Not really. It was an old lock.

The graveyard completely surrounds the church and one grave was marked out because of the error in the inscription. Can you spot it?

For the older bikie.

Spot the mistake.

Our next stop was the Longden-Upon-Tern aquaduct. I’ll let Wikipedia explain about it. It’s quicker.
The village is particularly notable as the location of the world’s first large-scale cast iron navigable aqueduct (52°44′13″N 2°34′04″W, grid reference SJ617156). Designed by Thomas Telford, the aqueduct opened in 1797 as part of the Shrewsbury Canal.[9] Telford built the 57 m (187 ft)[9] cast iron aqueduct in replacement of a stone aqueduct that was originally built by Josiah Clowes, this was swept away by floods in 1795.[9] Although the canal was abandoned in 1944 due to the increase in rail networks,[9] the aqueduct remains and is Grade I listed and a scheduled ancient monument, situated in fields astride the River Tern. The monument is signposted and visible from the road. Clearly marked footpaths lead directly to the monument, from a small roadside car park. Telford went on to build the very much larger Pontcysyllte Aqueduct, now a World Heritage Site.

So now you know.

We had a wander around, having negotiated the gate and an electric fence. Seth had to endure the indignity of being lifted over the fence, but he was very good about it. There were a lot of stinging nettles about and between them and the cow pats it made stepping out a dangerous exercise.

It’s a little odd seeing this object that’s supposed to carry water in the middle of a field, but it will give a good idea of how tomorrow’s adventure was made… If not how to pronounce it.

After a stop off to see the archery field where Pen practises, it was on to Attingham. Pen volunteers here on Sundays as a visitor welcome volunteer, “Basically I tell people where the toilets are,” so she knew all the ins and outs. We started off with a hot chocolate which had a great dollop of whipped cream on top of plenty of little marshmallows.

Once we’d refuelled Pen took Seth for a walk and I went through Attingham house, which is a mansion – an 18th century Palladian mansion to be exact. Some of the rooms were huge! (It must have been murder to keep warm. And pity the poor servants at the back of the house.)

I had to ask why there was a lathe in the servants’ dining room. Apparently the third Lord or something was a bit of an inventor.

Servants’ dining room

I walked in and was met by one of the many, knowledgeable volunteers who suggested that I leave my bag in one of the lockers. “You follow this map, go down those stairs, put your bag in a locker and take the key, and then come back up the stairs to see the upstairs of the house.”

Not a problem.

I went down, offloaded my bag and started having a look around “downstairs”, having been given another map by another helpful volunteer. The rows of shiny copper was very impressive! Apparently the footmen had to polish them (or was it the tons of silver?) using ammonia and jewellers something-or-other that didn’t sound like a polish. This caused their hands to come out in blisters which broke and then hardened, which is why they always wore gloves upstairs, so that the gentry didn’t have to see their horrible skin.

There was a school party on site and they were learning about what it was like to be a servant, which would have been a shock to them. No dishwashers or microwaves in those days! The Attingham staff had put a mouse in each room for the kids to find and I found two of them… But no children/servants.

Once I’d had a look around downstairs I wanted to head upstairs, but the stairs that I’d descended had a sign at the bottom saying no exit. So I went through to the downstairs exit and was told by the man on duty that the way upstairs was the way I’d come. He was a very nice man and gave me a “I’ve found all the mice” stickers. Even though at that point I’d only found the two.

So I went back through the servant’s area, spoke to yet another volunteer, and she confirmed that I did have to take the stairs. “Ignore the no exit sign.”

So I did.

But I didn’t find any more mice.

Upstairs was a whole different world to downstairs. Huge, lavish rooms. The first of which had a Collard and Collard piano and big mirrors on every wall. The volunteer proudly told me that only one of the mirrors, which were all original from a couple of centuries ago (I can’t remember which one) were still complete. Only one was showing signs of desilvering.

See! I was there!

Over its life Attingham was the home of the various Lord and Lady Berwicks, (Forget the W when saying the name) and was also used as on adult education college. The last Lord Berwick gave it to the National Trust and it’s one of the most popular properties on their books. Largely because the locals actually come to see it.

Subtle way of ensuring no one sits on fragile furniture.

The top left corner is a different colour to show how dingy it was before restoration.

The main dining room was very dark and was only lit by LED “candles” which were very effective as they flickered. The reason why it was dark was twofold. Firstly the conservators had been very concerned that the carpet was fading in the sunlight through the windows. Secondly, when the Berwick family had their meals, it would have been dark anyway. Therefore the room had been decorated so that the details were highly contrasted and stood out.

Thanks to the volunteer who gave me that info.

Note the highly contrasted ceiling so it can be seen in the dark.

The most amazing room was the one that was in the process of restoration. The picture gallery has a glass ceiling. When it was installed in 1806 by John Nash (who went on to design Buckingham Palace) the cast iron and glass technique was in its infancy and it started leaking almost immediately. After over two hundred years it was decided to do something about it, so another glass roof was installed over the top of that one, so the old one retained its integrity and so did the room.

I was looking around for about two hours and then I had to find Pen and Seth. I asked a couple of people where the Oval Lawn was, including the man with the mice stickers. “Ah. Would you be the New Zealand woman with the big camera?” says his companion.

“I would have thought you were Australian,” says mouse man.

Time for a dirty look.

Looks more like a seat from the 1960s, doesn’t it? It’s an earlier century.

The last Lady Berwick…

… wearing this dress.

Lord of all you survey – at least that’s the illusion the landscaper left you.

But Pen and Seth were just outside and it was time for lunch. Which ended up as an early afternoon tea.

We went to “Lady Berwick’s” for lunch. Which made me feel very underdressed. We both had:
“The Orangery Cream Tea £7.25
Four dainty plain scones, St Clement’s curd, and clotted cream.
Served with any pot of loose leaf tea from our selection.”

I had Jasmine tea.

Kally found it delicious, but a little bit much for a small bear

Pen had hoped to take me for the full walk through the grounds, but had to go to a shop in town, so we were running out of time. (Seth was getting tired anyway), so we only had a quick look around outside.

Poser

Pen had designed herself a T-Shirt and she wanted to pick that up before the weekend so I sat  in the car with a stressed-out-because-mum-had-gone Seth and noticed a pear tree that was all pears and no tree.

We returned to Pen’s before heading out again in her Morris Minor Tourer “Philip”. This time it to the local branch of the Morris Minors Club. They were meeting for a meal at Ironbridge. Pen wasn’t 100% sure where the carpark was that we were supposed to meet was, but we spotted a row of “Moggies” as they’re called over here. I was warmly greeted as Pen’s New Zealand visitor and one of the guys said that his son actually lives in Whakatane. One of the others had been to Coromandel, so I had to check if it was the Peninsula or the town. Tourism Coromandel have a lot to answer for.

The original plan was to walk over Ironbridge’s iron bridge, but there wasn’t time. I did a quick dash onto it to get some photos but for real pictures you’ll have to check out my 2010 blog.

Dinner was Pea, Pie and Pud – the pie being broccoli, leek and cauliflower cheese. It was all very nice.

We then drove home in Philip in the dark to attempt to finish my blog and upload photos.