Wanderlust

Spent another few days doing what I enjoy best . . . wandering around the English countryside and villages.  There is nothing better than a walk in the sunshine, followed by a pint in the pub, where I can read a little, write a little, and then do it all over again.  The weather continues to be fantastic!  Here are a few of my favorite pubs in Tunbridge Wells.

The Rose & Crown

Cask-pulled beer is the best

The Guinea Butt

Cassidy's . . . a Western saloon feel

Nothing special planned this weekend, but on Monday, the next adventure will begin as I head to Sweden.  Why Sweden, you might ask?  Well, for one thing, I've never been to Scandinavia and it's always had its draws . . .

Looking for a Dancing Queen

 . . . and I've recently read & watched Stieg Larsson's The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo trilogy and found a Millennium Walk website, which guides you to all the significant places in the books. 

Lisbeth Salander, one of literature's great characters

I recommend the Swedish-language films

Domesticity

Finally, a few days to slow down and just enjoy being in England.  No traveling and no spending; just doing laundry and helping out around the house as my cousins are beginning some major renovations.  Walls & ceilings came down today as the living room, the utility room, and the kitchen are all being remodeled.  They say it's going to take five weeks, but I'll take the over on that one.  Either way, it should be all done by Christmas, including a new entry way in the front and two sets of French doors in the back.

The original solar dryer

My cousin has turned me onto an old television comedy series about a man who finds a way to go back in time 50 years to the London Blitz.  He falls in love with a barmaid whose husband is off to war.  Of course, he  just happens to be married in the 1990's as well, so the series is based around his efforts to keep both women happy at the same/different time.  We have the entire series on DVD, so I'm never at a loss for something to watch.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=st72Xd0xRaU

Who said it always rains in England?  It's been sunny and in the upper 70's or lower 80's all week, so I've been outside more than in.  Today, I thought nothing of a three mile walk to Sainsbury's to buy some broccoli and carrots for tonight's meal.  (Of course, Sainsbury's is also the only place where I can find my Caffrey's.)  Along the way, I shared the path with people of every age and size.  The parks are full of folks just out enjoying the weather and after school, you can't find a park bench or sunny patch of grass without some uniformed children kicking back with their friends.  In America, no one walks home from school anymore and I think they've lost a wonderful opportunity to come into themselves.

The High Rocks

To a little kid, this was a new world . . .

Every time we drove from my grandparents' house to my aunt & uncle's, we would stop halfway and I would play on the "High Rocks"

One time I met a boy from Miami whose name was Mork.  His grandmother lived nearby and he played here often and we actually ran into each other 3-4 times.  My parents said his name was Mark and I just didn't understand his accent, but then Mork & Mindy came out and so I still think I was right.

 . . . kind of like the Planet of the Apes

Great Uncle Stanley

All Quiet on the Western Front

The Static Western Front of 1915

My father's Uncle Stanley was killed in the Battle of Loos during the first year of the Great War, or WWI.  I distinctly remember a conversation with my grandmother about her older brother, and how she still thought of him as her older brother, even though he'd been killed at the age of 19.  (Incidentally, another casualty on the exact same day was the only son of Rudyard Kipling.)  Here are transcriptions of two letters sent back to my family, the first to Stanley's father, my great-grandfather, and the second to his sister, my great aunt.

Sunday, Oct. 3^rd, 1915

Battalion Head Quarters

4^th Grenadier Guards

B.E.F.

France

Dear Mr. Fullman,

     It is with regret that I inform you that your son, Pte. Stan Fullman, met his end in an attack on Hill 70 last Monday evening.  He lay in the open beside me when a piece of shrapnel struck him in the back.  He did not cry out & went asleep & then must have passed away.

     I have been a chum of his since we met at Marlow and his going is a loss to all who knew him.  A parcel or two has arrived since, but I doubt there is anything you would want.

     Things are awful out here & thousands of good boys have gone down.  I hope you will find comfort despite the grief you will naturally experience in this hour of trial.  Sending my condolences to his parents and sisters, I will close & remain

Yours very sincerely

Harry Carr

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

-- John McCrae

Somewhere

2.11.15

Dear Miss Fullman,

     I received your very nice letter a few days ago & I take this opportunity of writing a few words in reply.  Your letter reached me after coming out of the trenches for a 14 days rest.  We have been at it nearly continuously since Sept. 26^th & so you can imagine that we are ready for it.

     Yes, I have heard Stanley speak of his sister a time or two & I believe he once showed me a photo.

You thank me for sending you early news of what happened to your brother & pending confirmation naturally cling to hope that he is still alive.  I will try & tell you what happened.  About 16 of us were cut off & in a dip on Hill 70.  I was there for 30 hours laying on my stomach.  Your brother was there laying beside me.  He was hit in the back on his left side with shrapnel.  A piece went through his pack.  I don’t know what his injuries were—I dare hardly lift my head.  But he was not mutilated & did not bleed at all.  He went off in a deep sleep & I left him about 24 hours after he was hit.  I rolled away.  When I left him he was warm though stiff this at dusk on the Tuesday evening.  And this was between the lines.  I managed to get in though fired on by our own men.

     Being his sister I tell you these details.  I would show them to your father.  It is not my wish to give you any false hopes & so I am giving you these details so that they may help you in your hopes & fears.

I was very pleased to receive your letter & I hope you will excuse the writing of my reply.  Seeing that you don’t know who you are writing to & to give you an idea I just tell you that I am a boy fro’ Lancashire.

     If you would like to know anything else of your brother, I will do my best to tell you.  Hoping you will find comfort despite the dark cloud, I will close & remain

Sincerely Yours

H. Carr 

Tebow

Alright, it's not rocket science.  It's pretty simple really.  Use your strengths!

He gets the ball in the end zone!

Let Orton do what he does best:  drive the Broncos down the field.  Once they get into the red zone, bring in Tebow and let him do what he does best:  put the ball in the end zone!  It's the best of both worlds!  Tebow won't have to be the field general everyone wants him to be and he won't have to take hits for an entire game.  Orton cannot finish a drive.  Tebow is a finisher.  Is this too difficult?

I've been saying this for quite awhile now, so why won't anyone listen to me?  :-)

By the way, I'm glad the Broncos are playing the early game this week.  I can't watch it, but at least I don't have to be up all night following it online.

Forever Blowing Bubbles

I'm forever blowing bubbles,
pretty bubbles in the air,
they fly so high, nearly reach the sky
then like my dreams they fade and die.
Fortunes always hiding,
I've looked everywhere,
I'm forever blowing bubbles,
pretty bubbles in the air!

 

Penalty shot provides only goal in 1-0 victory!

Update

Just to let you all know, I am adding facts & pictures to some of the past blogs instead of always writing a new one.  I've discovered some wonderful new beers and eaten some amazing meals.

I really thought I'd have more time to work on my writing, but it seems like I actually had more time when I actually had a job.  Ha-ha!  Tomorrow is Saturday and I am again off to London, this time to watch a professional soccer match with my second-cousin Lesley, whose family are die hard West Ham United supporters.

Upton Park, home of the Hammers                                          

Me and Bobby Moore

My morning adventure

The context of this tale is as follows:

1.  I am currently 412 pages into the autobiography of Howard Marks, the Oxford-educated drug smuggler, who in the 1980's was Britain's Most Wanted Man.  His exploits had him traveling back-and-forth across the globe on a weekly basis.

2.  My cousin's job allows him to make deliveries all over the Southeast of England.  Today, he asked me to ride along on a trip into the City.

3.  I'm practicing both my writing and my story-telling.  It's not overly exciting, just an exaggerated explanation of my day.  So, here we go . . . (and most of it is true!)


John stopped by the Tunbridge Wells flat late this morning.  I was still half asleep, but rolled out of bed, threw on last night's clothes and brushed my teeth.  We had to make the delivery to Harrod's before 3 p.m. and the radio said there was traffic congestion on the M-25.  I climbed into the van and was immediately handed a map of London and about half a dozen pages of Google Maps printouts.  "You're navigating," said John, and away we went.
Taking the long way around, we entered London from the west and made good time along the M-4, even as it became the A-4 near Hammersmith.  We were upon Harrod's before we knew it and after a few twists and turns, we found ourselves turning into a little alley and facing a lowered gate and a tough-looking security guard.  John had all the right paperwork and the gate soon went up and we were allowed to enter the underground fortress.  One blue jumpsuit guided us into bay number six while another appeared behind us with a forklift that he made dance as he removed the three pallets of product.  Within minutes, we were on our way to the next drop.
As John drove from Harrod's to Saville Row, I tried to look at both the map and the sights.  We passed Hyde Park Corner and the Hard Rock Cafe before turning off the main road an onto a side street.  The traffic was heavy and as we couldn't get too close, John was forced to park right behind a police car and set off on foot while I waited in the van.  Just as I was getting antsy and thought I saw the same well-dressed pedestrian pass by a second time, John returned and opened up the back.  I jumped out and helped him load six large boxes onto a cart, which he pushed down the road right out in the open.  I hopped back into the van and studied the map for the quickest way out.
Just in case we were being followed, we took an indirect route out of London, crossing Westminster Bridge and then ducking back across the Tower Bridge.  A quick turn eastward and we were soon under the Thames and safely on our way home with all product delivered.  The English sun shone down upon us as we pulled into a Tesco's near home for a well-deserved lunch.

The product, by the way, was printed shopping bags.  Ha-ha!  The truth, I promise!  John works for a printing company.

Hastings

At the Battle of Hastings, in 1066, William the Conquerer successfully invaded England and set the foundation for what eventually became the country of today.  I learned of this at a young age and was always enamored by its story, especially the part where the English King Harold was killed by an arrow through the eye, since my grandfather's name was Harold.  The date of 1066 is also as familiar to the English as 1776 is to an American.  On this visit, I walked the sea front, hiked the cliffs, and ate pub lunch in Olde Town.  There will be a re-enactment of the battle in a few weeks, but unfortunately, I will be in Manchester that weekend.

Hastings recedes from the seafront into a valley.

Olde Town

The figure is actually jumping off the cliff,
maybe in honor of Jonathan Edwards?

                                                                                 

Not a part of an ancient sea wall.

Fire recently gutted the Hastings Pier
  

Traveling Man

The West Country has much to offer . . .

Land's End - I visited England's most western point a few years ago and was not disappointed.  It was kind of cool to be at the edge of the world.

Penzance - As in Gilbert & Sullivan's Pirates of Penzance.  I still find it hard to believe that palm trees grow here.

Torquay - Home of Fawlty Towers.  Watch an episode of possibly the funniest sitcom ever by clicking the link.

Bridgwater - Birthplace of my mother and burial site of my maternal grandparents.

Stonehenge - On the Salisbury Plain and usually my desktop screen saver.  I visited here when I was little and was still able to climb on the structure itself.  Now it's all fenced off.

Leaving the West Country and heading to Hastings.  History buffs will recognize the significance of this city and the mystical date of 1066.  The rest of you will just have to wait for my next report . . . 

Stinger Ale

For those of you familiar with the dreaded Stinging Nettle, I thought you might appreciate this new discovery.  This beer is made from the plant that was the scourge of my youth.  If you touch it, you break out in a rash . . . kind of like multiple mosquito bites all in the same area.  Every time the ball or frisbee went into the rough, you risked the wrath.

Over the past few visits to England, I'd heard that some people would make wine from the stinging nettle, but I'd never heard of a beer until my recent visit to the West Country.  I have to admit that it might all be mental, but I swear there is a little sting to the tongue when you first taste it.  Darn tasty, however!

The dreaded stinging nettle

Brewed with organically grown hand-picked Dorset nettles

Mulberry Harbor

Just beyond Weymouth Bay sits the Isle of Portland and the venue of the 2012 Olympic Sailing Competition.  Within this bay you can also see two sections of a Mulberry Harbor.  These were built during World War II to ease the invasion of Normandy and you can still see many of them in the sea and on the beaches all along both coasts.

Overlooking Weymouth Bay

Mulberry Harbor

No football

Okay, this might have been the first weekend since I was about seven years old that I was completely cut off from football.  No high school, no college, no NFL.  No highlights, no scores, no knowledge at all.  On the one hand, that's probably a good thing because it reminds me that life goes on and that I can survive without such knowledge of whether Drew Brees has gone deep or if Notre Dame is still winless.  (He did and they aren't.)  But it is also a bit frustrating that in this age of information and technology, I had to wait until my return to digital civilization to find out that my fantasy football teams went 2-1 this week. (Damn you, Bill Belichick!  If the Patriots shut out Vincent Jackson instead of Antonio Gates, that's a 32 point swing.)  Anyway, I did survive and my weekend was most enjoyable.  That I had to wait until Tuesday to learn that CU again beat CSU and that my Broncos are not dead while the Chiefs are was not the end of all and my slow scroll through Yahoo Sports built an anticipation that was not entirely unpleasant.  I do, however, have a new found appreciation for those lazy fall weekends when I can do little else.

West Country

Spending a few days down West Country, where me mum was born.  Not much access to the Internet, but lots of pix to post and stories to tell, so stay tuned.

  Mine is the window on the top left of this Dorset cottage

Your humble narrator atop Pilsdon Pen

This hill is where Celtic tribes built a fort to defend 

against the Roman invaders in the 1st century.

Durotrigian hill fort

Bulgarian novelist assassinated by the KGB

The "Based Upon a True Event" that might just be the beginning of a captivating story.  

Dunorlan Park

I've been coming to Dunorlan Park for as long as I can remember.  We'd sit under the tree for a picnic lunch and my dad & grandad would play cricket with me.  After feeding the swans, we'd race the ducks around the lake in the kayaks & paddle boats while grandma & grandad watched from a park bench.  Then all up the hill for an ice cream in the pavilion.

Downhill at Dunorlan Park

Today, I sat on that same park bench and watched a young couple help their daughter feed ducks of their own while other children played on the fallen tree in the background.  The play goes on and the characters are the same; they're just played by new actors.

Feasts & Libations

Drinking is one of the most enjoyable activities in England, and that's not just because I've finally broken down and accepted coffee and tea into my repertoire.

Best beer unavailable in the USA

Tally Sheet

Greene King IPA         Stinger Ale
Guinness                      Hürlimann Lager
Caffrey's                      Chimay - Péres Trappistes
Bass Shandy                Carlsberg
Stella Artois                 Harvey's - Sussex Best Bitter
Irish Coffee                  Kronenbourg 1664
Whitbread
Stella Artois (including the 4%)

And no pleasures are complete without the wonderful meals of my cousin Sue, including . . .

beef curry, and later multiple curries
roasted salmon fillets with leeks and pesto linguine
blackberry & apple streusel
Dorset clotted cream
Cornish Pasty - lamb & mint
spaghetti with prawns

Waterloo Sunset

Dirty old river, must you keep rolling

Flowing into the night

People so busy, makes me feel dizzy

Taxi light shines so bright

But I don't need no friends

As long as I gaze on waterloo sunset

I am in paradise

-- Ray Davies, the Kinks

London

Countdown Clock to London Olympics

Pint of Guinness in Leicester Square

Upon arrival, I enjoyed a day in London before making my way south to Tunbridge Wells.    Beautiful skies and warm sun accompanied my walk around Trafalgar Square, Leicester Square, and down to the Embankment.  The City has much more of a feeling of cleanliness since they've limited the traffic and it's also easier to wander without the fear of being run over.  I'm still reminded to "Look Left" at each intersection, but it's definitely a more peaceful journey.

First Flight

The flight from Kansas City to Chicago was my first chance to sit back and let things just happen.  After all the last-minute preparation, it felt good to look forward to what the future might hold.  My seatmate was a friendly guy who listened to his iPod at high volume, but as his taste in music matched my own, it was not unpleasant.  He turned out to be Canadian and had flown down to meet some friends for the Kansas City Chiefs' game.  As we talked, I told him of my plans and he seemed quite interested in what I was going to do at the conclusion of my adventure.  "Do you like to work hard?" he asked, and while I was trying to decide if he was going to hit on me or offer me a job, he went on to explain that he had recently purchased a garden center and that it was a cash cow.  He offered to send me all of the necessary research and information and even knew that there was currently a garden center for sale in Colorado.  You never know what the future holds, but it's got to be a good sign when the first person you meet provides a golden opportunity.