Today was a busy day and I haven’t even had a chance to download my photos, let alone sort them out and upload them. I’ll try again tomorrow on the train.

10/10/15 – no it’s not. It’s 9/10/15.

Yes it is.

What is it?

I had an hour last night where I couldn’t sleep. I don’t know why?

I had set the alarm on my clock for 6.59am. I wanted plenty of time to get washed and wrestle my PJs and toiletries bag into my suitcase. I finally woke up at 7.19am.

I gave Michael and Rosemary their gifts at breakfast time. They both laughed over Michael’s Last of the Summer Wine/Ferrari bag.

I said goodbye to Rosemary at their home. “I hope you can see us again in five years,” she said. And then Michael took me to the station. “Don’t leave it five years next time.”

Because of the layout of the “new” and “improved” Leeds Station, Michael was only able to pull onto double yellow lines, basically kick me out, and then had to drive off again.

But at least I had plenty of time to get my bearings. Even though I’m heading to Coventry and I needed the Plymouth train to take me to Birmingham New Street.

My train was due to leave platform 9B at 10.11am. It was “On time” and the doors were due to shut on minute before departure. How come it arrived at 10.10am then? It was closer to 10:15am when it finally did leave.

One thing that it doesn’t do as well (this is the CrossCounty Company), is that on the Arriva trains they have a little slot in the top of the seats stating that this seat is reserved. On this train you make a guess that the seat isn’t reserved and hope for the best.

The announcer has just said that the electronic display above the seats says if one’s booked or not. I didn’t realise that and I’m wedged in now, so I’ll just have to hope I’m in a non-reserved one.

And the lady next to me has just finished her sandwich and has started on her fingernails.

It’s really foggy this morning. I’m glad I’m not flying out.

I discovered that one of my seats was reserved from Derby and the other (mine) was reserved from Sheffield. So I moved to a non-reserved seat at Sheffield when my nail-chewing companion got out. I then discovered that when the nail-chewer (who can’t ever be hungry) left her seat it was relabelled as vacant and I could have simply moved over one. Oh, well.

Announcement: “Please take note of the electronic information above your seat to avoid convenience with other passengers and convenience to yourself.”

I’m getting out at Birmingham New Street. Everyone warned me to get out at Birmingham New Street and none of the other Birmingham stops. They needn’t have worried. The only Birmingham stop is Birmingham New Street. Which is the stop after Burton-on-Trent. Now that’s easy to remember!

11:53pm

Photos are going funny again, so you’ve only got a few.

Yes, it is that late, but we’ve had a good afternoon and evening, and I’m not going to put EOS away until I’ve copied over all my photos from the last two days.

I got out of the train at Birmingham New Street as instructed and took the lift to the concourse floor. Pen was going to tell me where she was going to meet me, but because the newly revamped Birmingham New Street was only finished about a month ago, she didn’t know the layout of the place. It was good to have the lift doors rise up and see her through the glass panels.

We caught the train to Coventry and met fellow Thunderbirds fan Elizabeth there. Our first stop was to find some lunch and we went to a place on the quieter side of town away from all the students. Coventry has two universities and as today’s Saturday…

(I think.)

Over a couple of nights in 1940 and especially on one night (although there were other times) the Germans blitzed Coventry with incendiary bombs. It was a highly industrial area and they had a pretty good go at wiping it off the map. Other cities suffered in a similar fashion, but Coventry was used as propaganda by Winston Churchill’s PR team, as the mediaeval Coventry Cathedral – The Cathedral Church of St Michael – was almost totally raised to the ground. Its destruction was used to show how “Jerry didn’t play with a straight bat.”

There are conspiracy theories that Churchill did know about the impending raid, but didn’t let Coventry know because he didn’t want the Germans to know that Bletchley Park had cracked their Enigma code. Apparently a book has been released today that purports to have evidence of this, but our guide in the Cathedral Blitz Museum – Barry Gittens the Blitz Guide – claimed that he’d had two people come in to view the museum and they’d both stated otherwise. The first claimed that Churchill couldn’t have known because he didn’t tell him.

This guy had been on the signal receiving defences and they’d received information that the Germans were mounting a raid that night. The belief was that the raid was on London. It was only about four hours before the raid before it was realised that Coventry was the target.

The other person was a woman whose sister had been Churchill’s secretary. She’d come home from school (in London) one work day to find her sister at home. Churchill, believing that London was going to be hit, had sent everyone home to be with their families.

Believe it ~ or not.

We continued on through the museum, which showed the extent of rationing, what was recovered after the cathedral was bombed, and what it was like in an air raid shelter.

The Cathedral itself, as you can see, is a vast open shell. (They are at present excavating the under croft, which is why all the scaffoldings’ about.) The original roof was thin lead, which the bombs punched straight through. Beneath the lead was a crawl space above 600-year-old oak beams. They had no chance against the incendiaries. Especially when the fire fighters were trying to save the rest of the city and the water supplies were disrupted – As were all other amenities.

The roof, when it collapsed, collapsed one side first, meaning that the windows on one side had to endure sustained heat and lost all window detail, while enabling the other side to retain some traces of stained glass.

After the bombing they found two burnt roofing beams and made them into a cross at the altar. The present cross is a replica of that.

They also found some mediaeval nails and made them into a cross.

The new Coventry Cathedral has strong connections with the original.

The nearby Holy Trinity Church survived because the pitch of the roof caused the bombs to slide off.

We moved on through the city to the Coventry Transport Museum. Because its industries were such an important part of the city, telling their story means that the story of Coventry is also told.

They started out making sewing machines. Using those skills they moved onto making velocipedes, hobby horses and then bicycles.

Of all shapes and sizes.

Making bicycles led naturally on to making motorbikes.

And cars.

As did many places around the world, Coventry lost a lot of its car manufacturing in the 1980s. But it still manufactures the London Cab. We had a ride in one home to Elizabeth’s, simply because I’ve never ridden in on. So now I can say that I’ve ridden in a London cab… In Coventry!

The second to last section of the museum deal with the future – both of Coventry’s universities have engineering departments. And Jaguar have their research department in the city.

And the final section dealt with the land speed record. One of the vehicles that the museum houses is the ThrustSSC which broke the land speed record in 1997.

But the one I really liked is the Bloodhound SSC. I’ve known about this attempt since an episode of “Bang Goes the Theory”, at which point they were going to attempt the record in 2014. Now they’re hoping to do it in 2016. But what was really amazing was that the model on display was made entirely out of K’nex building “blocks”.

After that, and a quick trip to Sainbury’s, we went to Elizabeth’s. During the evening we ordered in Chinese takeaways, watched an episode of “Sherlock”, and had a game of “The Settlers of Catan” – which was quite good once you worked out how to play it.

Today’s a lazy day, so I doubt there’ll be much to blog about, except the light “show” Rosemary and I will be going to this evening. It’s going to be low light and packed with people, so I don’t think I’ll be taking my camera. No doubt I will kick myself, but when the time comes that I finally upload photos to past posts (maybe even tomorrow on the train!), don’t expect any flashes of colour on this page.

Talk to you soon!

9 September 2015

I was finishing off my blog this morning when there was a knock on my door. It was Michael with a cup of tea for me. He’s a Formula One fanatic and was going to watch his recordings of this morning’s practise sessions on the TV. Rosemary had instructed him that he was to bring herself and me a cup of tea before he started.

So I sat in bed, finished yesterday’s blog (apart from taking some notes about the North Yorkshire Moors Railway from the 1987 AA & Ordnance Survey Leisure Guide of the North York Moors, which I’ve just done), and edited what I’ve written of a chapter (#35) of my latest Thunderbirds story which I haven’t touched in about three weeks.

Michael go out to do his gardening job, so I was able to have breakfast at my leisure, help Rosemary with the dishes and then attempt to pack my/Pen’s bag. A hopeless exercise as you think you’re getting somewhere and then discover that you’ve still got to put you PJs in, along with your slippers, toiletry bag, etc…

I’ve just uploaded yesterday’s blog and it’s 11:54 (I was going to write PM, because that’s what EOS says – she’s still causing trouble.) AM.

It’s now 10:15 pm, and it is PM.

We had a lovely lunch. Pork schnitzel, carrots, beans, roast potatoes, roast parsnips, and homemade cheesecake for dessert.

You know how I said I wasn’t going to take my camera this evening?

I took my camera.

And I’m glad I did. Rosemary and I left early enough to catch the bus, that it was still daylight. Our first plan was to get some money, but that plan was thwarted when our bus arrived. It was a mad dash to catch it. I had to pay for a £4 ticket with a £20 note. I apologised.

Once in Leeds our first stop was the Leeds City Markets. Rosemary had managed to break the straps on both her watches and found a shop to repair them. I had a look around outside. She came dashing out. “Quick we’ve got to find an ATM! I need $11 to pay him!”

I said I could lend her the $11, so she was back in the shop quicker than the keeper had expected.

After a wander through the markets, which were fascinating because of their architecture and layout (one aisle was for butchers, another for fish – except that they’re working on the fish section at the moment and the fish was in with the meat), we hunted out that ATM machine. I also withdrew some money.

We walked past a Curry’s PC World and I went in there to ask them if they could get my cell phone working (only two weeks too late). We spoke to one guy and he said that he’d just got back from holiday and that he wasn’t too clued up on cell phones, but that that didn’t matter because he was the manager and Andre was the whizz kid. Soo Andre finished with his customer, had a drink of coke to rehydrate (supplied by the boss, but he said he would have preferred something non-fizzy), and then looked at my phone. I don’t know what he did, but he’s got it talking to the rest of England.

Then we went to the Corn Exchange. Once again this is an old building that’s been brought back to life by a range of shops.

I love structures with graceful, awe-inspiring, arched ceilings. Places like the British Museum, St Pancras Station, Kings Cross Station, Leeds Corn Exchange…

After a look around we tried to get some photos of Leeds fine old buildings – having to deal with buses, cars and people walking in front of the camera lens.

We also saw Victoria Arcade…

County Arcade…

And Thompsons (or was it Thorntons?) Arcade.

Victoria Arcade also had a white with pictures painted on it grand piano in the centre of the aisle. A young man came up to it, slung his pack off his shoulder, took a seat and started playing it the way it should be played. The acoustics were so good we could still hear him as we left the County Arcade which is joined to the Victoria Arcade in such a way that it forms a “H”. St Pancras Station was a little like that, except that it had three beaten up old upright pianos. And each of them was being played by a member of the public who had more than a little talent and was playing something close to the classical genre.

Rosemary sat outside Thorntons Arcade (if I had access to the Internet I’d find out) while I went in. They’ve got a clock with Robin Hood style figures. As it was just on 5.00pm I watched and videoed as the figure chimed out the hour.

The Light Night Leeds festival covers a large area and many genres. One of the options was a free walk up to the top of the Town Hall’s tower. (As opposed to paying £4 for that and a tour through the building – we got that for nothing last time.) Rosemary thought the queues for this would be horrendous, especially as she’d rung earlier in the day to book some tickets and had been told that the afternoon trips were booked out and they weren’t taking bookings for the evening.

We got to the front door of the Town Hall and hardly anyone was there.

So we went to the side door. Nope, we had to be at the front door.

By this point, about 5.30-5.45 the queue was about fifteen people. We chatted with a couple of ladies – one was Canadian and studying in Leeds and the other was a tourist. And then when they finally opened the doors and we got into the foyer we were given tickets nine and ten.

We were then asked to go to a neighbouring room, take a seat, and wait.

I was quite pleased about this, because the room we were waiting in, was the old courtroom. Last time I was here I hadn’t got photos of the doors that brides would emerge from for the wedding – aka the passage from the cells where the prisoners were kept before trial. This time I made sure I got those photos.

There are 209 steps to the top of the Town Hall tower, and they are very narrow, and very curvy. It was quite good when we got to the two thirds mark and could not only have a breather, but also unwind ourselves by ascending in the opposite direction.

This first stop was above the foyer and we were shown where the chandelier that hangs from the foyer’s ceiling was raised up to be cleaned. There was also a huge pipe jutting from the wall. This was the gas exhaust system from when the place was gas lit. Apparently throughout the building there were rams’ heads with tubes sticking out there mouths. That was where gas chandeliers had been.

Then it was the final ascent to the clock room. Here was saw the workings of the Leeds’ Town Hall’s four clocks. They all operated off the same central mechanism, so if one was wrong, all four were wrong… And the council would be told by the public if they were wrong.

We were then allowed to step outside and get some photos. There were a group of Asians who seemed more interested in getting selfies of themselves with their backs to the wall of the tower and not the view, but I tried to get plenty of photos. Rosemary pointed out the landmarks, but I think I’ve forgotten most of them.

Our next stop was the Cathedral, which was supposed to have something about the sun. It did, with a NASA projection of images of the sun slowly rotating on a screen behind the altar. There was also some kind of white noise with occasional strains of “music”. We couldn’t work out if the noise was supposed to be a spaceship, or the sounds of the sun. We didn’t wait for the full thirty minute loop.

We came upon one shop window that had a film projected onto it. The first film was of some – what’s the name of that activity where people (usually young men) throw themselves from one building to another and spin and tumble across gaps? Something French like Parket – anyway, they were doing it around Leeds. I decided to get a photo (could be a good idea for Thames’ sesquicentenary) and of course people chose that moment to either stand close to the window or walk in front of it.

Moving on to the museum square (I think it was outside the Leeds City Museum) there was a light display of five illuminated strings swirling. There was also a Flamin’ Rugby World Cup fan zone stuck right in the middle of the square blocking everyone and everything else. The best part of this were a couple of flamingos – stilt walkers wearing flamingo outfits. The kids loved them. They were covered in EL Wire so I was able to see it in action.

After this, and following a series of text messages, we met up with Rosemary’s daughter, Jenny. “Under the big owl.”

“Which big owl? There are several.”

“The one out front.”

“We’re by the big owl next to gate D.” Which seemed to be a more than adequate explanation.

Moving further on we found a building that had various lights, pictures, and patterns projected on it.

A booklet had been produced detailing the various events that were on, and one that I thought sounded interesting was one based on animal bioluminescence. It sounded more interesting in written form than in real life.

It was in Queen’s Square, which neither Rosemary nor Jenny had heard of, but we came across by accident. Once there we had to deal with another lot of unexplainable and too loud noise. There was a video screen showing a reef – in daylight – and a tree with a lot more EL wires dangling down. At a guess that was the tentacles of a jellyfish. The lighting of a nearby building was more aesthetically pleasing. As were the “candles” scattered about.

The next lot of noise, which was altogether more pleasing, was a group of Australian drummers. We heard them before we saw them and it was easy to follow our ears to where they were performing. They were very good – all in perfect rhythm, both with their playing and their swaying. They appeared to be enjoying themselves as much as their audience.

Rosemary wanted to show me Nelson Mandela Square, which she had shown me last time, but not at night. So of course I had to get more photos. (Thank heavens I took my camera. I left my camera bag at home.)

Another thing that we’d wanted to see, but thought we’d missed because we were in the wrong part of town, was the Owl parade. The three of us were heading up the street to catch the bus when we saw an owl “flying” down the street.

The Owl Parade.

It wasn’t long, but the headline act was especially good. I think the other participants were just “ordinary” people who had made their own lanterns for the parade.

Another thing we saw that was unexpected was a flock of… something (remember this was after dark) that suddenly flew out of a tree, did a circuit of the street and then returned. We did wonder if they were bats, but we think we saw feathers and they were tweeting.

And if you’re wondering about the (trying to remember the collective noun – it’s something to do with education, I think) campus(?) of owls mentioned and photographed in this blog entry, Leeds’ symbol is the owl.

I like owls.

Jenny joined us on the bus trip home. She’d planned on doing some grocery shopping and decided that it was easier to cadge off her mother (as you do). She has promised to replenish the stocks.

We arrived home to a message from Michael that “Pin” (I think he’s teasing me) had rung and could I ring back. The “ring back” consisted of three phone calls and, since I’d got it working, a number of texts to check that service was working.

Then I showed the Blakes a selection of my photos from the last few days. They got the good ones, not the less than good ones. I haven’t backed up today’s lot, so I’ll have to do that before I delete them off the card.

I was going to upload this using the train’s WiFi as I travelled from Leeds to Birmingham New Street. But it doesn’t want to connect.

Happy Birthday, John Tracy.

Okay, ignore the fact that I’ve just wished a character in a children’s television show a happy birthday.

(Happy birthday for yesterday, Steve. Now that’s a real person!)

Report to be loaded tomorrow. I hope.

Loaded report:

8 October 2015

Michael and Rosemary had been keeping today a surprise for me, but did tell me yesterday afternoon. We were off to a heritage steam railway track!

Brilliant!

And so was the weather. After the grey, drizzly showers of yesterday, today was bright and blue. A perfect autumn day. (In fact I measured the temperature using my phone at one point when we were out enjoying the sun and it said it was 23°C.)

Getting there meant another long car trip, this time skirting York and heading for the town of Pickering. As the 11:00am run was scheduled to be pulled by a diesel locomotive, we were aiming to catch the steam “guaranteed” 12-midday run.

We had considered riding the train all the way to Whitby (where Captain Cook was born), but didn’t think that would give us time to look around.

We pulled into the North Yorkshire Moors Railway’s Pickering Station carpark and was told by a fellow attendee that the carpark was already full. After a quick spin around the carpark to get out of it, we were directed into another spot by a member of the station’s staff. It was in such a tight squeeze that I got out of the passenger side before Michael parked the car.

Following the signs we wandered along and reached the platform just in time to see the 11:00am run leave… Pulled by a steamer.

????

Next week they’re having some kind of WWII re-enactment/commemoration, and they were decorating all the stations along the track the same way that it would have during the war. Some alcoves were “bricked up” using “wallpaper” giving the impression that it was imitation John Palmer. (See Bath.) Other windows had crosses taped on them, and there were period posters all around the place.

Anyway, we had a look around and bought some souvenirs. The souvenir shop had Dad’s Army merchandise, probably because of the WWII thing, but even so it seemed a little odd when Dad’s Army was set in Walmington-on-Sea on the southeast coast of England and we were in Heartbeat/James Herriot/Last of the Summer Wine country.

Our train arrived and we chose our carriage, selecting four seats with a table so that Michael and I had window seats. That changed when Michael discovered that the windows in the corridor opened and he could stick his head out and admire the view. (Despite the signs saying not to stick your head out.) He got me and soon I was sticking my own head out to get photos of the train in motion. The guards weren’t worried.

I’m amazed at the English attitude to dogs. One the first leg of our trip a couple got on with (at a guess) a Labrador and a Whippet. They then sat in the seats opposite us with their dogs under the table and overflowing into the aisle… And smelling. And they weren’t the only ones of board. If I had a dog that size I wouldn’t dream of taking him on public transport unless there was an insurmountable reason for doing so.

We had several stops at stations on the way out, but didn’t get out ourselves until Grosmont. (If you want to speak proper Yorkshire, drop the “S”. “Gromont”.) First stop was lunch in the tearooms, served by a less than enthusiastic young man.

Then we had a look around the station and environs as various locos came and went. One of the engine drivers gave his loco’s valves a real burst as he trundled through the station. It looked fantastic, but was rather painful to hear. I had to give up on having my trigger finger glued to my shutter button, and shove it and its opposite number into my ears.

We had a look around the engine sheds and bought some souvenirs.

The 18 mile track from Whitby to Pickering was proposed in 1831, and the Whitby to Grosmont line opened on 8^th  June 1835 – being extended from Grosmont to Pickering in 1836. Trees and Heather Moore, bound in sheepskins, were used to create a firm base for the track in boggy areas. This reminded me of the Manuka that was used as a base for New Zealand’s Main Trunk Line across the Waimarino (and I’ve probably got that wrong – check Wellington’s blog) wetlands.

For the first eleven years carriages were dragged along by horses… All except for the climb to the highest point. This is 500’ high and has a 1-in-15 incline and was originally negotiated by a hauling the carriages up by rope using a self-balancing system of water-filled tanks. Later they replaced this with a steam-winding system. Nowadays you can really hear the loco pulling up this incline, and some even have diesel engines at the rear for that little extra grunt.

The line was closed in 1965. In 1967 the North Yorkshire Moors Railway Preservation Society was formed and it is this group that keeps the track open as a going concern. And judging by the number of people there today – a working Thursday not in the school holidays – they are doing very well.

The clock at Grosmont dates from 1870 and belonged to the Northallerton Station. It was derelict when it was giving to Grosmont but was restored into a working timepiece.

The tunnel that offers a foot traffic link to the engine sheds had been designed by Frederick Swanwick, engineer George Stephenson’s assistant. It is 130 yards long (sorry it’s imperial – I’m going off a photo of a sign), 14 feet high, and 10 feet wide. Wide and high enough for a horse drawn carriage on rails. It is believed to be the world’s earliest passenger railway tunnel.

I assume that the bigger tunnel next to it was added later for the rail fleet.

When we had finished looking around Grosmont we planned to catch the train on the return journey and get out at Goathland for another look around. But the train was held up by another train closer to Whitby being delayed and we wound up with about half an hour less to explore.

Once we got moving we could really hear the engine pulling up the incline.

The town of Goathland seems to be principally a pub, the Goathland Hotel, a souvenir shop, a souvenir shop, tearooms with a souvenir shop attached, a garden art shop with a souvenir shop attached, and a souvenir shop. There wasn’t much more to the town aside from a few houses looking out over the Yorkshire Moors.

The reason why the town was so commercialised? It’s where they filmed the TV series based on Constable Nick Berry’s books – “Heartbeat”. The Goathland Hotel is also known as the “Aidensfield Arms”. The first souvenir shop is also the “Aidensfield Garage” and had the Ford Anglia used in the series as a police car outside.

We were just heading back to the station when the train arrived. As we sat in the six-seater compartment of a corridor car, we realised that we didn’t need to rush.

The train started moving again, and then stopped at Levisham. This was basically to give the train heading to Whitby a chance to get passed, and to swap over what I think are called (in New Zealand at least) the warrant. It basically works that the only train that can travel over a section of track with the one carrying the warrant. If you don’t have it, you can’t go. It’s like having the key to allow you access to the rails.

As the stop went on for a time, I asked if I could get out and take photos. I was told that there was no problem with this, so long as I made sure I was back on the train before it left. The best indicator of when that might be was when I heard a whistle.

So I got more photos. And then got back on in a hurry when I heard the sounds of the last train to Whitby.

We arrived back at Pickering very thirsty, but after 5.00pm, so the refreshments room was shut.

Walking back to where we had left the car, I got even more photographs. Especially when the train reversed back past us.

By the time we had pulled out of the carpark, we were all very thirsty, so we turned into the first service station we came across and Rosemary got us all a bottle of drink. Then we headed back to Leeds.

As you know, we’re in autumn and the sun was low in the sky. So low that it was shining below my sun visor (I was in the front passenger seat) and the best I could do was shut my eyes against it or look away from the road. Thank heavens I wasn’t driving!

But Michael didn’t have any problems and we made it safely to the Fox and Goose pub. I’d told the Blakes that I was going to pay for tonight’s dinner, and was lucky to discover that on Thursdays all food was 50% off. I thought today was Thursday, but I wasn’t 100% sure. (I haven’t been 100% sure since the plane left Auckland.) The Blakes hadn’t know about the 50% Thursdays, either, and now they’re planning on coming out here for the occasional meal.

The service there was not up to scratch. All the cutlery was placed on the table for us to share about and the wait staff had no problems about leaning over the table to serve the person on the other side. And my Hunters chicken with peas and mash looked a little lonely on the plate, but it tasted all right. The apple crumble came in a bowl that must have been about 25cm in diameter and was enough for decent sized helpings for four people! It was nice though.

All in all it was a great day, with great sights, sounds, and smells.

Foggy Dewhurst from “Last of the Summer Wine” (Full Steam Behind):”Warm oil and steam. It they could bottle that smell they’d make a fortune. Hundreds of placid, middle-aged men would be dabbling it behind their ears before they went out on a Saturday night.”

I don’t know that I’d go quite that far.

But it was fun and Yorkshire’s proven to me that it can have wonderful weather to go with its outstanding scenery. I can see why people like James Herriot loved it and so many TV series have been based here.

I’ve added in the missing Thursday 1st, Friday 2nd, Monday 5th, Tuesday 6th blogs. And I’ve typed up most of today’s Wednesday 7th.

But no photos until I get to WiFi.

7 October 2015

Unfortunately for Michael and Rosemary, they had dentist appointments this afternoon. Also unfortunately it was raining, so Michael couldn’t do his morning’s gardening. Fortunately for me, it meant I had a few hours to get up-to-date – and I mean up-to-date! with my blogs.

But I can’t load pictures yet.

It was a lazy start to the day and I washed the mud (and I hate to think what else) out of my right anti-travel-sickness Seaband and scrubbed it off my rain-cape and waterproof over-trousers.

We left after lunch, and Michael and Rosemary dropped me off at the gateway to the Saltaire United Reformed Church, which was over the road from the information centre. I decided that as it had stopped drizzling and that I would be collected in about an hour & a half, it would be prudent to find out where the most interesting place to see in that time.

The first problem was finding the information centre. Rosemary had pointed out where it was from the car, but finding it on foot took a bit of hunting to find the easiest way – down some steps – to find it. What made it more difficult is that the only signage was a big “i” on the door at the top of some stone, slippery steps. Even once inside the signage wasn’t great. Straight ahead was a sign with the information sign on it. I went inside that door and set up my phone so that the alarm would go off at 2:55 as roughly 3:00 was when I’d be picked up.

I then looked around, but couldn’t see anything to tell me which way to find information. So I retraced my steps and saw another sign on another door. I went through that door.

Success!

I told the lady on the counter that I wanted something I could do until 3.00pm. She looked outside, saw that it had stopped raining, and pulled out a brochure. She explained that there was a trail that I could follow. This sounded good, so I took the brochure and started walking.

It started drizzling.

I decided to check out the tiny railway station, but couldn’t find a good place to get a photo, so didn’t want to get my camera out and risk it getting wet.

It continued drizzling.

I decided to follow the map.

Doing so allowed me to see the station from the other side of the tracks, so I went down into the waiting area on this side and got my camera rain cover out.

I’ve never had to use this before, so it was a struggle to get the camera into it in such a way that both the cover and the camera worked. What I discovered when I tried to use it was that it stopped the camera’s ability to zoom out. Photos were only able to be taken of a small area. If I pulled the sleeve that covered the lens clear, then all you could see was a small clear area surrounded by a vignette of plastic. I persevered for a while and then decided to give up, especially as the drizzle was becoming heavier.

A friendly postie warned me that the Yorkshire stone pavers that lined the footpaths got very slippery when wet. I didn’t tell him I had experience of that yesterday, but I did thank him for his concern.

The front door to the Victorian Hall was open, so I nipped inside and stood in the entrance as I put the camera away. There must have been something going on in the hall as lady after lady kept on entering. One commented on what a good idea the cover was. I responded that it would be a better one if it worked.

It was still drizzling when I left, so I headed back to the information centre where another woman was on duty. I asked her what there was to do that could have been done inside out of the weather.

She directed me to “The Mill”. Or should that be “T’ Mill”?

This had been the original woollen mill built by Titus Salt, and inside were shops and a historical timeline of the history of the mill and Saltaire.

The baron Titus Salt was a nonconformist and a Congregationalist. He believed that the workers had rights. He therefore resolved to create his own town, which he was eventually convinced to call Saltaire. He would build homes for his workers and until the town was complete 14 years later, he would transport his workers from their homes out of town.

He also had expectations of this workers. They weren’t to drink and had to go to church. In order to keep their minds off the demon booze, he built libraries, gyms, leisure centres (of the type expected at the time). He built hospitals for the town and medical centres for his workers to be treated on site for injuries.

What he didn’t know he was building was an UNESCO World Heritage site.

A damp one.

Having perused the timeline of the Salt dynasty I checked out the shops in The Mill. The bookshop looked interesting, but I didn’t want to drip on their product. The next room was a series of paintings depicting how wool was spun into cloth. The next a timeline of the history of the Salt family, the mill, and Saltaire. Then there was an antiques shop where I looked for 1900s, 1914, 1920s, jewellery and hats. I found a 1965 £160 plastic Thunderbird Two. It definitely wasn’t a Dinky toy.

Then I looked at a more modern jewellery shop. Would you want to wear a gilded carrot around your neck? How about a gilded potato with a fork jammed into it hanging from a necklace?

No, I thought not.

By this point it looked as if it had stopped raining. My phone told me I still had about twenty minutes, so I went back outside and managed to get proper copies of the photos I’d attempted to get before. Then I headed back to where I was supposed to meet the Blakes.

A red car was already there!

I sped up.

The car was a Toyota!

I walked even faster.

There was a Ferrari symbol dangling from the rear-view mirror. It had to be Michael’s car!

But I don’t remember anything dangling from the rear-view mirror. And the car wasn’t quite the same colour red, nor as shiny… And wasn’t it a different shape?

And the car I was going to be getting in wouldn’t have a young lady wearing a cap in the driver’s seat.

I got more photos.

Then the local grammar school came out and all the kids filed past to the railway station. I decided that it would be easier to meet the Blakes further up the hill. Which I did.~

My opinion of Saltaire? Damp. I wish I had the chance to see it in better weather.

The drive home to Leeds was a different way to each of the last two ways we’ve entered Leeds. This is great. I’m getting to see the countryside. Including the place name: “Eccup”. Doesn’t that sound like a Yorkshire hiccough?

This evening Rosemary was going to the Barber of Seville opera. She tried to get me a ticket, but the only ones available were either horrendously expensive or else miles away from here with a pole in the way. So she went to the opera and Michael and I went to the pub for a meal after seeing her safely to the bus stop. I even tried a tiny bit of black pudding – which I decided tasted like something else, but I couldn’t decide what. I eventually realised that it tasted like the apricot, pistachio and… something stuffing that my pork belly had been stuff with – before it was stuffed into my belly.

We had a convivial talk and then walked back home again. Michael watched one of his shows while I made a start on this blog. Rosemary got home about 10.30.

Yet another behind the times blog. But at least I’m up-to-date now. Except for the photos which will have to be slipped in later.

2 October 2015

This is something I thought of the other day, but have only just remembered to jot it down, principally because we’re sitting in a train heading out to Maidenhead with our cases packed around us.

England has a great rail network. Fast, efficient, and the underground is fun (so long as you’re well clear of rush hour), but their luggage storage options are rubbish. The train from Portsmouth to London – which is a tourist train as well as a commuter train (think commuting from Thames or Ngatea to Auckland), and it carries a lot of people – especially as it goes through Gatwick – but there is nowhere to store large bags. Even New Zealand’s meagre rail system offers a baggage car on the tourist routes and plenty of room between seats on the (Auckland at least) commuter trains. I know this because I managed to squeeze the case that’s cramping my legs between the seats from Papakura to Britomart.

Anyway. Back to the day.

Breakfast was the same options as yesterday and I’m all baconed out, so I had baked beans on toast.

The Belmont allowed us to store our cases in their reception, so we were unencumbered for the day.

We wandered through Kensington Gardens again and saw a couple of parakeets having a discussion with a couple of magpies. I don’t know what over, but they seemed evenly matched.

We saw the exterior of Kensington Palace (which I think is the present residence of the Prince William and the Duchess of Cambridge, and where Queen Victoria had lived in her younger years.)

We tried to get to see the Derry and Thoms’ roof garden (I’d seen it in Agatha Christie TV mysteries and I wanted to see it for myself), but they had a function on and wouldn’t even let a visitor from halfway around the world have a sneak peak.

I was still hunting for cloth patches for my bag so we went to St Martin in the Fields (love the café in the crypt. I had a very good lunch there last time.) And then we headed towards the Embankment.

On the way we saw a “Gordon’s” shop next to “Watergate Walk”, which seemed very appropriate for Thunderbirds Gordon, so I got some photos. The shop next door was an interesting shape too.

In 2010 I’d tried to get a decent photo of the Isambard Kingdom Brunel on the Embankment, but it was too dark. This time he was too overgrown. But I managed to peer under the trees.

Last time I was in London I’d walked past the Millennium (former wobbly) Bridge many times. I’d walked past on the South Bank. I’d walked past on the north bank. But I’d never walked on the bridge. So this time I did.

Our options for the day were to see the Cutty Sark at Greenwich, or the Globe Theatre on the South Bank. I can’t say that Shakespeare does anything for me (we studied Macbeth and King Lear at school. Neither of which are a barrel of laughs), but I thought seeing a modern reconstruction of the Globe would be interesting… And it would spare you more photos of pulley blocks for Alan C.

We joined a tour of the Globe (after I’d nearly lost the tickets when I’d put them down to sort myself out as Pen went to do what no one else could do for her). We have yet to work out why our guide looked like a pierced 1940s housewife, but she was good value.

She didn’t tell us about the making of the Globe, nor the plays that go on, nor the story behind the reconstruction, but she did tell us what it would have been like to have seen one of Shakespeare’s plays in the original theatre.

If you had a little bit of money you could sit in the covered seats for 2p. The hard wooden seats. You could hire a cushion for an extra penny, but they were never washed (as were you – just about) and were filled with fleas. So you had a choice between sitting on a hard seat for a three hour production, or itching and scratching your way through a three hour production.

Toilets were provided by a wooden bucket that was handed down the row for you to use.

If you were poor, but could afford 1p, you STOOD in front of the stage and endured the weather. (There’s no roof and no protection.) If it was stifling hot you got sunburn and fainted. If it rained you got soaked. If you needed to “spend a penny” you did it where you were standing. That coupled with the fact that people ate raw garlic, drank beer, and only bathed about once a year, must have made it very smelly.

The extremely rich people (who paid 4p?) sat behind the stage. They didn’t go so that they could enjoy looking down on the back of the actors’ heads, but so that the lesser mortals could see them in their finery.

The original Globe Theatre was destroyed in a fire. The actors, who were creating their own special effects, filled a cannon with gunpowder and let it off inside the room above the stage.

The original Globe Theatre had a roof made of flammable thatch.

The original Globe Theatre had 3000 people crammed within its walls for the show. Guess how many died.

None.

There was one casualty however, and that was a man whose trousers caught fire with some sparks. He could have jumped into the Thames, but that was the city’s sewer and not good for anything much, except spreading disease, He only had one pair of trousers and didn’t want to lose them, so they put his fire with ale.

After the loss of that Globe, they built another. After the loss of that one, they didn’t build another until American actor, Sam Wannemaker (Zoe Wannemaker’s father) started pushing to have a venue suitable for the works of Shakespeare.

After the Great Fire of London an ordinance was passed decreeing that no thatched roofs were to be built within the city limits. It took a lot of advanced technology and persuasion of the powers that be to allow the Globe number three to be thatched. The rest of the building was made as close to traditionally as possible. The walls were lined with slaked lime and fine goat hair. The building’s held aloft with oak beams and where possible they avoided modern machinery.

The theatre was also offering people the chance to dress in theatrical clothes. Earlier I’d watched a school group as one of their pupils (a boy) was transformed into the leading lady of one of the plays. In the afternoon we were given the option to try ourselves and although an Austrian man was very keen to give it a go, it was one of his female colleagues who found herself corseted. And they showed off their corsets. They cost money and weren’t to be hidden under layers of other clothing. They also weren’t as shape changing as those of the Victorian era.

I made a point the embroideries provided by the Association of New Zealand Embroiders’ Guild.

We were about to leave when we found the museum, so we had a look at that until I checked my steampunk watch, which said 4:10pm.

We were going to get caught up in the commuter crush!

So we took off with a detour to another building that had a roof garden. It was a very popular restaurant – probably because it was the only place in the country where you could legally smoke yourself and your neighbours to death as you enjoyed an expensive meal.

It wasn’t Derry and Thoms, but it was a nice detour.

We got to the Underground and caught the train. It was then that I noticed that their clocks were all saying 16:10. My steampunk was saying 6:30pm and we hadn’t been out that long.

I shoved my steampunk watch out of sight.

We were going to change trains, but by now the commuter crush was starting. Deciding to catch the next one ten minutes later, we sat and watched as people tried to jam themselves into the metal tubes, and wondered how much would be remaining outside when the doors closed, when there was announcement that there was a breakdown further down the track and there would be a delay.

We decided it would probably be quicker to walk.

After an over-ground train trip to Maidenhead, we arrived at the Holiday Inn, meeting Dawn Cummings in the foyer. Once we’d got ourselves sorted we had to walk through the lounge to the lifts to our rooms I saw that Matt Zimmerman – Alan Tracy – was sitting there. Walking back to register for the convention and I saw that 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 even Jeremy Wilkin – Virgil Tracy season two – turned up!

It was all tremendously exciting. At last the reason why I’d travelled halfway around the world was here!

This is last Thursday’s blog… Or is it Friday’s?

Photos to be added later.

1 October 2015

I’m getting way behind typing these up.

Today we had decided to go to Hampton Court.

Breakfast was supplied as part of our accommodation, so we went out our door, down the corridor, 180° turn, up the stairs, cautious 180° turn, down the corridor negotiating the dogleg, out the front door, past the White House Hotel and into the Belmont Hotel. Then it was literally follow your nose downstairs (the equivalent of our downstairs – including the 180° turn and promised fall down the steps) and right turn into the dining room.

The options were English breakfast – Fried eggs, bacon, sausages and beans, with orange juice, and you could make your own tea or coffee. Or continental – help yourself to a packet of Rice Krispies (aka Rice Bubbles), Cornflakes, or Cocoa Pops. Toast provided for both options.

This morning I went for the full English, even though I didn’t particularly want more bacon, or sausages, or, as much as I like them, fried eggs. But I did want something more substantial than a cardboard packet of nutritionally dubious cereal.

We made our way to Paddington Station, and from there on the train to Hampton Court.

Hampton Court has a long history. In fact a 500 year history this year. It was built by Cardinal Worsley when he was in favour with Henry VIII, and when his lack of progress in other areas got him out of favour in later years, he was “encouraged” to gift the house and lands to the king.

We arrived just after 11.00am, so we missed the first talk. This was a slight disappointment as Pen had said that the talks and tours were given by people in character and period dress. The next was at 12.45, so we decided to have a look around while we waited for that next tour.

You could, if you were so inclined, dress in the appropriate cloak of the king or prince (nothing for the ladies) and waft around the property, but with my daypack I would have looked like the Hunchback of Notre Dame, and my camera would have got tied up in knots. So we settled on collecting our audio tour guides. We’ve had these at other places and are great because you key in a number and the helpful voice tells you about whichever room you’re in.

Our first stop was the royal kitchens. It showed how big a royal household was. It also explained why royalty tended to up sticks and move on to another royal house. They stripped the surrounding countryside bare of suitable food and had to leave to give the locals a chance to stock up again.

Great carriages of food were coming and going almost continuously and it took a lot of rooms and people to process it all.

The first room we entered was the butchery, replete with large pieces of meat and the sounds of the butcher hacking into them. Then it was the kitchens with the authentic sight and smell of smoke filling the 40 foot high space. This was because there was a real fire burning in the grate. Nothing cooking on it though.

Having been through the meat preparation area we found ourselves in a high-walled outside passage. Our helpful audio guide (picked up at t

One thing that was noticeable was the large number of pies (fake) about the place. These were (the real ones) made out of flour and water and weren’t for eating. In effect the pie crust was the cooking pot. You received your pie, cut the top off, and munched on the interior.

It was getting close to 12.45, so we headed back out to base court to await our tour guide. She was easy to spot, being the only one striding across the courtyard in Tudor clothing.

She introduced herself and proved to be bright, engaging, (if a little shrill), and knowledgeable. That was until the point where she shamefully had to admit that one of the problems of being in period costume was that you had to dress yourself and that these old outfits weren’t as simple as chucking on a pair of slacks and a t-shirt. She had, she said, had a “wardrobe malfunction”, so she apologised and withdrew behind the central fountain to sort herself out.

A recorded voice began to speak. It instructed us to look up at the window over the archway and see a young lady sitting there. She has received a letter. How she responds to that letter will dictate as to whether she lives or dies.

Then we were directed to windows off to the side. There we saw a young man looking out and then running between the rooms, pulling on his clothes.

Our guide returned, apologising for leaving us in the lurch with nothing of interest to see or listen to. Then she led us into a brick lined room where she offered us the one interesting fact there is about bricks. You can tell if a building is Tudor because the row of bricks is laid lengthwise – long, long, long – and the row below is laid end on – short, short, short. Victorians when doing restorations didn’t realise this and they laid the bricks long, short, long, short.

She then realised that we were in an alarmed area and that she’d better let control know we were there so we didn’t set the alarm off. Please excuse her…

A pouch was thrown over the wall with instructions to take it. One of our party did.

Then the door at the other end of the courtyard opened and another man stepped out. This was Thomas Cranmer the priest. He had heard a rumour that King Henry’s present queen – Catherine Howard – had “known” a young man before she’d married the King. Should he tell the King? He didn’t want to risk incurring the wrath if it was incorrect, but knew the King would be furious if this information was true and he hadn’t been informed. He decided, with no help from us, to leave a note on the King’s pew at church on Sunday and then catch up with him later. He thanked us and withdrew.

Our guide returned, full of apologies and offering us a choice as to which way to go. Through the door through which a young Tudor man poked his head, saw us, and backed out, or through another door which she opened to reveal Thomas Cranmer writing his letter. She closed the door again, we took a vote about which door we wanted to go through, and then went through Thomas Cranmer’s. He wasn’t there.

I can’t remember what our guide told us next but we ended up in another room with Thomas Cranmer and the Queen’s supposed lover – Culpepper. (As I said to Pen later, if she had a choice between a fat, old – Catherine was only about 19 and Henry in his 50s – lame man and the man who was standing before us… I don’t blame her for taking a chance with Culpepper.

Cranmer, with the assistance of some of our group who read out distinct questions, interviewed a clearly nervous and trying to think on his feet Culpepper. The Queen’s Lady in Waiting came in and was implicated in the plot. In a later tableaux Cranmer accused the Lady of knowing of her mistress’ infidelity. She was equally as nervous, especially when a chest was opened to reveal a letter from her mistress to Culpepper – who was summarily summonsed.

Our guide took over again in a room that was supposed to be haunted – by a ghost that had only been seen since Victorian times. There was also supposed to be a cold spot under one of the lights. I was fully expecting a bit of visual effects trickery and thought the temperature was dropping.

In the end we were told that Catherine was found guilty and sentenced to death. Culpepper was also sentenced to death – as was another of Catherine’s lovers – and both their severed heads were impaled on London Bridge and Catherine had to sail under them to her doom. The Lady in waiting went mad with all the stress. At that time it was illegal to execute someone who was insane, but Henry had the law changed so she could be executed.

Sounds like our present Prime Minister.

The Lady in Waiting managed to regain her composure for her execution, but had to deal with laying her head on the chopping block that was still wet with the blood of her mistress.

We then had lunch.

After lunch we had another little look around before joining a tour around the William and Mary part of the court. When William became king Hampton Court was dilapidated and he would have pulled it down, except that England was in the middle of a war with France and that was using up the nation’s money. So Hampton Court is half Tudor, half Stewart, and has Victorian influences.

This time the man who had played Thomas Cranmer was our guide. He was dressed in Stewart style clothing and his excuse for leaving us was (I think) because he’d forgotten something. We were then accosted by a masked lady (the former Lady in Waiting) who said she was a Jacobite – someone who was waiting for King William to die so that the rightful king, in her eyes, James – a fourteen-year-old boy living in France and brought up Catholic – to take up the throne. We then met another lady of the court (our last guide) who was hoping that Lady Anne would become queen – even though she was going to obese and ill to live for long and had never produced live heirs, and whose nearest relative was 52 time removed from the present throne.

We also met Lord Pembrooke(?) (the handsome Culpepper) who had been one of King William’s closest confidants until another moved in and started exerting an undue influence over the King.

This tableaux continued in the same way as the Tudor one. King William eventually did die. He’d always suffered from asthma and one day was out riding when his mount stumbled on a molehill (they are quite big) and he fell to the ground, breaking his collar bone.

Cue the handsome Lord Pembrooke running through our corridor crying out for the doctor to see to the King.

Instead of staying put, or taking the less stressful water route on the Thames, King William for some reason decided to travel to Kensington Palace by coach. He died soon after he arrived. When they did the autopsy there was little blood in his arterial system. When they opened up his lungs, they were filled with blood and pus. (I hope you’re not eating as you read this.)

The two ladies – the Jacobite and the one loyal to Anne – asked us to show our loyalty to whichever side we thought had the greater claim to the throne. I went with the Jacobites and Pen the Royalists. It turned out that the Jacobite lady’s husband had been the previous owner of the horse that had thrown King William. As her husband had been executed for his Jacobite leanings, she was quite pleased that he’d had some influence on the royal downfall.

She had a bowl and a goblet to toast the ascension of King James and told us off for not bringing the wine. She then explained how, whenever they toasted the king, they always passed their glass over the bowl in a symbolic gesture that they were toast the king across the water – James – and not the present one. They also toasted the (if I remember the wording of the toast correctly) “little man in the black fur coat”. The mole.

(As opposed to the “Mole”. The drilling machine used by International Rescue to dig down to those trapped beneath the ground.)

The Jacobites failed to put James onto the throne and the royal line took a sharp detour – about 52 steps away.

Outside the Yew trees were in full fruit and Pen told me several times that they were poisonous and not to eat them. I had already realised that. Fruit that is brightly coloured usually is as a warning that it’s not good eating. Fruits like raspberries and tomatoes are probably cultivars that have been bread (not bread. Bred!) to be attractively-coloured as well as good to eat.

Of course being at Hampton Court we had to have a go at the Hampton Court maze. This wasn’t as extensive as I’d expected and with the “right hand stays against the right wall/hedge and don’t touch the Yew berries” method in action, we got to the centre in about five minutes.

I’d bought a Gorillapod tripod in New Zealand. This is a small tripod with flexible legs that can cling to things as you take the photo. As there was no one there to record our triumph, I finally had the opportunity to set it up.

I’d no sooner done so when someone turned up and took our photos. One group were even New Zealanders.

So much for the Gorillapod. So I had to unscrew its base from the camera again, reattach the camera strap which uses the same attachment to hold onto the camera (thank you, Barrie, for your work on my handy slot-turning penny), and then head out.

We continued looking around until it was nearly time for the staff to shut up shop. Being a royal palace several times over, each room had a “yeoman” to keep watch on you and answer any questions. They looked very bored… And in many cases, very young… And with ill-fitting coats.

For dinner we considered going back to where we’d been last night, but Pen had another suggestion. She’d used to go to a pancake place and thought (if it was still there), that would be a good place for a meal. So we decided to do that.

It took a bit of finding as it was growing dark and we were approaching it from the other direction to what she was used to, but eventually we found “The Old Dutch Pancake House”.

We each had a bacon, apple and maple syrup pancake that was as big as a rather large platter. (I think I’ve had more bacon this trip than I’ve had in the last decade).

It was very delicious, but not very nutritionally balanced, so I had a fruit salad – and ice cream – for dessert.

Pen had a hot chocolate for dessert.

We came home and packed our cases and worked on our blogs.

We had just turned out the lights when we heard some interesting sounds from upstairs. All we could do was lie there and laugh. I suggested that we should have got a can of CRC and put it outside their door with a note saying it was for their bedsprings.

If I put this note here, maybe \I can @edit it later and today’s ramble will appear on the right date\? (Grrr. \keyboard.)

Proper blog entry:

6 October 2015

I think yesterday was the 6^th.  EOS is still reading New Zealand time and it’s saying that it’s 8:00 PM 7/10/2015. It must be 8:00 am on the… 7^th.

And I’ll go back and change the date.

No I won’t. Yesterday was the 6th and this is yesterday’s blog.

We had to get up relatively early because Tuesday is the date of the Blake’s regular rambles. This one was 1.5 hours away and we had to get there by 10.30.

Unfortunately it was raining: highly reminiscent of last time I did one of their walks. But the weather forecast promised that the rain would ease off until the evening when they would become showery, so we decided to chance it.

The drive there was very pleasant. This is real James Herriot style country (he lived further west) and the Yorkshire Dales were spread out before me. The trees weren’t quite as autumnal as they’d been last time, but still it was very pretty seeing the various shades ranging from deep green, through paler shades, to yellows and oranges.

But was still had a light misty rain in the air.

It had lifted slightly when we got to the carpark where we were meeting everyone.

A lot of the people had remembered me from last time and were very friendly. (I didn’t do such a good job remembering them. They were all rain hoods and I had my head down to keep the rain out of my eyes and an eye on my feet.)

The original plan was to climb to a higher point, but with the bad weather that plan was flagged for a less taxing route. Hopefully my GPS has mapped it.

The misty rain re-joined us when we started walking and I put my rain cape on over myself and my bag. The rain grew heavier and I put my waterproof over-trousers on. The cape was quite handy as it meant I was able to withdraw into it, (it must have looked funny) and dive into Michael’s pack (which I’d borrowed) to get my over-trousers out without anything inside (like Kally and my camera) getting wet.

About my cape. I haven’t used it for years and now I keep it in my Civil Defence kit in case we ever have to evacuate the house due to flooding, earthquakes, or asteroid collisions. But as it’s lightweight, waterproof, and folded up small, I thought it would be ideal to bring with me as extra rain cover. My three-in-one ski jacket very convenient as it can be a warm jacket (which I’ve only needed in the evenings so far), a rain jacket (which I’ve only needed in the last couple of days), or a warm rain jacket (which I haven’t needed at all. It’s 10:05am on the 7th October in Leeds, Yorkshire, it’s raining, and the temperature outside is 14°C. And that’s the coldest it’s been).

Anyway the cape is a large, bright orange, waterproof thing that’s a bit more like a poncho, and can be used as a groundsheet, shelter, or you can have it over you and your bag to keep everything dry. D.C. and I both wore ours to a Ranger (14-19-year-old Girl Guides) camp once and because of those capes ever since those Ranger have known us at the “Jellybeans”.

The rain didn’t last for long. It eased off and eventually dried off. Unfortunately the ground didn’t. Much of the area we were walking along was limestone – if we’d been up a few metres or on the other side of the valley there wouldn’t have been any – and it gets very slippery when wet. That coupled with the fact that my walking shoes, although comfortable, waterproof, and designed for walking, seems to have a less than idea grip on slippery surfaces.

I’d managed to avoid most of the sheep droppings and cowpats, but couldn’t avoid stepping onto a slippery bit of limestone.

I slipped over…

I regained my balance…

No, I didn’t…

Yes, I did…

No, I didn’t…

Yes, I did…

No, I didn’t…

After about two seconds of trying not to go splat onto the ground, and (as Rosemary noted) trying to save the most important thing – my camera), I skidded right arm first through the mud. (Thank heavens it was an animal free zone.) That arm’s fine, as is the rest of me, but I have to report that limestone, although a soft stone, is very hard. I have a bruise of about 10cm in diameter on my right knee.

I got up straight away and said “I’m fine!”

One of the four Davids present said that I’d stood on my cape and that that hadn’t helped me regain my balance. So I took it off. It wasn’t raining by then anyway.

It made a nice change to walk with people and to be able to tell them things rather than listen as others explained (very interesting) things me. Even if my main topics of conversation seemed to be about what were the biggest influences on New Zealand weather (Australia and Antarctica), and what New Zealand’s geographical influences were. And that both islands had very different, but beautiful scenery. One lady did get the dirty look when she suggested that New Zealand was made up of two islands and… Tasmania…?

There was another dirty look when someone told me that “David” was carrying an umbrella with the New Zealand flag on. When I got to see it the first thing I saw was a white, multi-pointed star…

Maybe we do need a new one?

Anyway, as they say – a picture speaks a thousand words – and there’s nothing that I can say about the scenery that can match what I caught on flash memory card – except that I wish I had bought a wide angle lens to capture the full panoramic vista.

Our lunch stop was beautiful. It was warm, there was no wind nor rain, the hills were around us and before us was a valley with a road that looked like a river sneaking through.

And the lunch was very good too. Thank you, Rosemary.

The second half of the walk was down in the valley and people were laughing because a New Zealander was photographing sheep. As I explained, most of our sheep don’t have black heads, I live in diary country – in the town, and in the main our paddocks don’t have stone ruins in the middle of them.

Near the end of the walk we called in to have a look at St Michael & All Angels, Hubberholme’s (isn’t that a great name) Parish Church. I saw some graves dated 17## and one for someone who was born in Jamaica, but died in Hubberholme.

Tall David pointed out some tress and said they were Yew trees. Planted in graveyards because they were slow growing and leant themselves to the eternity of death.

We were extremely lucky for the rest of the walk and ended up back at the carpark where we’d started. One of the David’s was celebrating a milestone birthday, so he shouted everyone afternoon tea. I was quite prepared to pay for my coffee and walnut cake with ice cream, and apple juice, but he was happy to include me in the festivities.

Being one of the groups who had the furthest to travel, we were one of the first to leave. Once again the drive was very scenic, until we turned off one road onto another and were waved down by an oncoming car. “There’s been an accident up ahead and the police have closed the road.”

Hopeful that the accident was after our turnoff, we continued on.

It wasn’t after the turnoff.

We sat there for a moment, visualising a long drive back until we came to a point where we met up a road that headed in our direction, when the Police Road Incident van came past. Michael asked them how long it would be and was told five to ten minutes.

Nothing happened in the next five to ten minutes, apart from Rosemary perusing a map and discovering that if we went back a short way, there was a turnoff that would send us roughly in the right direction. So we did a U-ey, and followed her instructions.

Does anyone know what a “Blubberhouse” is?

It was one of those irritating words that both Michael and Rosemary had heard the meaning of but couldn’t remember. It wasn’t until the following morning that Rosemary discovered that it’s a corruption of “bluber”, which is old English for “bubble”. So they were houses by the bubbling springs.

We also saw a sign saying: “Caution: Pheasant crossing”, which was a little unusual.

It must have been a dry summer because the reservoirs were almost empty.

We made it home safely and Rosemary kindly put my muddy, sweaty clothes in the wash.

After tea of sausages and mash – and corn on the cob – we watched a “Doc Martin” and a “Downton Abbey”. And then talked.

I’m at Michael and Rosemary’s and they don’t have WiFi, so I’m working on their computer. (And their English keyboard, which has a different layout to that I’m used to.) Fortunately I’ve remembered my WordPress password, so I can load this.

But \i’ll (see!) add in the photos later, or you can check out what I’ve uploaded on my Flickr account.

19th June 2016 – Yes, I know, it’s eight months after the convention, but I’m going to take what I’ve written about Fanderson out of this posting and put it into the 4th October posting.

At least I’m going to try.

Original posting

Nothing exciting

Except that I’m actually travelling on a train and typing into my blog. Now I’ll disconnect the WiFi and work on my blog proper.

🙂

5 October 2015

I’ll try and get roughly back up to date and will try to add in last Thursday and Friday later.

With the convention over Pen and I stayed an extra night at the Maidenhead Holiday Inn. We also swapped bags so I wasn’t lugging my “Thunderbird Two” suitcase around England. I thought I’d done quite well whittling my big bag down to Pen’s case size.

Erm… No.

Anyway, I jammed everything in and we took our bags down to reception to be stored. Then Pen and I went out to walk to Maidenhead Rail Bridge.

Those of you who followed my last 2010 blog, will realise that I did a bit of hunting out things that had been created by the great engineer Isambard Kingdom Brunel. Pen’s a real fan and hadn’t seen the bridge before so we decided we’d walk there this morning.

Why, when we’d been indoors all weekend, did it decide to rain today? Not heavy rain, just a persistent, wet, drizzle. I put my waterproof over-trousers on, which was good as the rain got heavier a couple of times when we were out. Pen only had a showerproof jacket and the rest of her was non-waterproof.

I could have stayed behind and typed up my blog, but it was good to get out and stretch our legs after two days of sitting around inside.

Soon after we left I realised that I couldn’t remember putting my sunglasses into any of my bags. I’d left the glasses in a prominent place so I wouldn’t forget them, but didn’t know if I still had them. As I’ve already lost the case, I didn’t fancy losing my sunnies as well.

We managed to find the bridge (I wish I’d put my GPS on, but it probably couldn’t have found a satellite through all the protective gear I had on) and the rain eased off enough that I was able to get photos.

The Maidenhead Rail Bridge is unique in that its largest, central arch is asymmetrical. Brunel was determined that the Great Western Railway, “Brunel’s billiard table”, was going to be totally flat. To ensure this the curve over the Thames is slightly steeper on one side than the other.

Everyone said it couldn’t be built.

Brunel said it could.

Everyone said it would fall down.

Brunel said it wouldn’t.

Everyone insisted that it was a hazard and that scaffolding had to be erected to ensure that the bridge didn’t collapse.

Brunel said: “Fine. We’ll leave the scaffolding there if you want.”

A short time later the Thames flooded, washing the scaffolding away, and over one hundred and fifty years later the bridge is still standing and carrying a large number of fast moving trains.

On the way back to the Holiday Inn (with an unwanted and unexpected detour down a dead end) we stopped off at a Sainsburys and got some lunch.)

We saw a sign. “Bridge Clinic”. Pen asked if that’s where bridges went when they were ill. I said that was probably when they had fallen arches. Pen reckoned that was a terrible joke. I also thought it could have been a nose clinic.

We got back to the Holiday Inn and I asked at reception if room 207 had been cleaned yet. The receptionist didn’t know, but “cut” me a key (they’re electronic), so I could go up and find out. I had hoped that it hadn’t been cleaned so I could use the loo too, but when I got there everything was pristine.

I found a cleaner and asked her about my sunglasses and she was very helpful, checking the staff member who would have my room’s trolley and then running up and down stairs to find her.

No sign of the sunglasses.

I came back down and went to the reception toilets, drying my hair under the air dryer. Pen did the same with her trousers.

Then we got our bags from reception and I found my sunglasses in my “Keep calm and call International Rescue” bag.

We then caught a taxi to the station. Why was it £5 for the station to the Holiday Inn, but £6 for the reverse trip?

We waved goodbye to the Fanderson team and to Stephen Le Reverie, who’s making the three 1965 audio recordings with the original voice cast into TV episodes using the original techniques.

The trip to Paddington was uneventful and I managed to get some convention blog writing done. Once at Paddington we had to negotiate our way to the underground that would take us to King’s Cross.

Last time I was at King’s Cross everything was under scaffolding. Now they’ve been spurred on by how great St Pancras next door looks. We had to walk through St Pancras and once again I was amazed by how awesome the roof over the platforms is. It’s a huge arch of glass and steel… But you’ll have to look at my 2010 photos to see it. I didn’t take any this time.

But I did enjoy the fact that they’ve got three old upright pianos on the concourse and every one of them was being played by passers-by with a degree of skill.

As I said in 2010, St Pancras and King’s Cross were built cheek by jowl because different railways built them. At that time there wasn’t one unified network train system. (Apparently there isn’t now either. The Great Western Railway was proudly advertising the fact that it’s GWR again.)

It was only a short walk, or push with Thunderbird Two, from St Pancras to King’s Cross and I have to say that it’s a hang of a lot brighter and more open than it was. The front of the station had been blocked off with the ticketing office, but now they’ve removed that and revealed the two arched windows that had been hidden for about a century. The shops/ticketing area now greets you under a huge, arching glass and, for want of a better, less utilitarian, more artistic word, tubular structure.

Pen minded the bags and sent me off to explore and take photos.

Well, it’s not a Purupuss blog without photos of railway stations.

I came back and we got a hot chocolate and ate our (Sainsbury) lunches in Pret a Mange – or whatever it’s called.

Then Pen went to use the National Library’s toilet. She said it was nearby, less heavily used, and you didn’t have to pay for it. I was going to follow in her footsteps once she returned, but she was gone so long I thought it was safer to hang on.

While I was waiting I saw some other photos I wanted to take. One was the plaque commemorating the opening of the newly revamped King’s Cross station in 2012. The plaque had been one of the steps to the railway offices and was slightly concave from the decades of feet walking up it.

The other was platform 9 ¾. Well, if they can have a platform 0, why not? (They had space for a new platform after the development, so rather than renumbering the others, they just called it “0”.)

Last time I was in King’s Cross, platform 9 ¾ was a wire trolley bolted to the wall about platform 11 or something. Now it’s on the main concourse, is fenced off, and people are employed to wrap a Hogwarts scarf around your neck, tell you to hold the plastic and metal trolley complete with trunk and owl in cage, and jump in time to get your photo taken for a price. There’s also a Platform 9 ¾ shop. I can’t work out if King’s Cross must love or hate JK Rowling.

My train to Leeds was scheduled to leave at 14:35. (Thank heavens it wasn’t the cancelled 5:05 one.) At 14:15 it was allowing boarding from platform… “To be announced.”

The time at that point was 14:20pm.

Pen and I decided to head towards the most logical platform and see if that had more information. All the electronic signs said was “King’s Cross Station.” We had just decided that we’d better head back and see if more info was available in the main concourse, when it flashed up that the Virgin train on platform one was heading my way.

And it seemed that I had to walk halfway to Leeds to board the train. The First Class passengers have the shortest walk and were about carriage K. I was carriage C.

I got myself into the carriage and attempted to put Pen’s suitcase on the luggage rack overhead. As you know I’m not that tall and I nearly dropped the case onto the head of the lady sitting in the seat next to me. Pen was waiting outside to wave me goodbye and looked nearly as horrified as I felt. The lady was most gracious about it.

One thing I will say about Virgin Trains, they may make you hurry to board, but they are prompt when they leave. I looked away, maybe to get EOS out of my bag, and when I looked back the train had started moving so smoothly that Pen was already out of sight and I couldn’t wave to here.

I was able to get a lot of typing done on the trip, apart from when I was talking to the lady next to me. Having an ailse seat meant I couldn’t see out the window, so there wasn’t much else to keep me occupied.

The lady was telling me how she was visiting her daughter and they were going to be picking out the daughter’s wedding dress. Knowing her daughter, she was of the opinion that it wasn’t going to be a cheap one. She also told me about the time that her husband sleep walked. She’d been on the night shift and he’d been home alone when she’d got a call to come home. He’d been found outside the house, talking to a larger ceramic pig. This pig, and other items of their neighbours’ gardens, he’d, with great care, moved to different locations. The only thing he’d damaged was a plant that he’d pulled out of the pot and put on a neighbour’s car. The neighbours, worried about him and the fact that his house was wide open and all the lights were on, had called the police. When the police arrived, they found him having an earnest conversation with the afformentioned pig, (having moved it behind a car – despite its weight) and he refused to acknowledge them. That was until they touched him on the shoulder and he woke up with a great fright.

I said he was lucky he had clothes on and apparently the only thing he was wearing was his robe.

(Why has the speeling check stopped?)

He used to sleep walk as a child, but that’s the first time they’ve known him to do it as an adult, and he was concerned that he’d do it again while she was away.

She got out at Doncaster, so I was able to slide across to the window. Despite this I was happily typing away when I managed to here the in-train announcement (which was very indistinct) say that the next stop was Leeds.

What!?

Frantic packing away of everything and getting myself ready. I managed to get my case down without clobbering anyone once the train had stopped.

Last time I’d visited Michael and Rosemary I’d waited close by the ticket swallow-uppers. (you put the ticket into a machine, it almost sucks your fingers off as it takes the ticket, and then the doors open to let you onto the concourse.) So, not seeing Michael or Rosemary this time, and with hundreds of people (communtors) rushing past, I thought I’d wait in the same spot until the crowd thinned and I knew I hadn’t missed them.

The crowd thinned.

I wandered around the corner, looking at all the faces and trying to spot one that I knew when I saw Rosemary come striding towards me. “I saw this person and thought she looked familiar.”

“The pink jacket would have cliniched it.”

We caught the bus (Rosemary kindly paying the £2.80) to where Michael was waiting with the car and then we drove to their place.

Whoever made their subdivision wasn’t very inventive with the street names. The naming structure goes something like Kingswood Grove, Kingswood Court, Kingswood Lane… And yes, the Postie does sometimes get confused.

That evening we watched a TV programme that they’d kindly recorded for me. “Filmed in Supermarionation”, which was great as haven’t had the chance to see it yet. The Blakes had to put up with me saying: “I saw her this weekend.” “I spoke to him.” “He was very funny.” And adding to the information on screen. We all thought the show was very interesting, but I think it had the potential to confuse some people. It had a (I presume) production date of Thunderbirds as being 1964. It was first broadcast in 1965 – Fifty years ago last week. Also the footage of Gerry Anderson showed him to be bright and fit. When I saw him five years ago he was relatively emaciated and he died three years ago. There was no “filmed in 200#” on screen.

But it was still entertaining and I learnt something.