Back To London

After we had spent the day at the motor museum we made our way to see friends who live near Salisbury. We stayed with their parents at their lovely place in Chicklade which consists of a tiny group of houses that you could miss in a blink.
They always make us so welcome and I always hate having to leave. The place looked extra lovely with the layer of snow that decorated it. They run a little bed and breakfast from the place and, despite our protestations, always put us up for free and make a lovely breakfast for us.

We headed back to London two days earlier than initially organised.

The weather forecast was looking to be a bit grim across the Salisbury Plains and the last thing we wanted was to be stuck in the middle of nowhere due to heavy snow and slippery roads. Especially as we had a train to catch to Paris on the 14th of January.

The evening before we left we had dinner at our friend's house. Whilst we were there I went online to book a hotel in London. It took ages and was made more difficult by me not really knowing where the hotels were situated in relation to familiar landmarks.

Then I spied upon what seemed to be the bargain of the century. Two nights accommodation for the three of us, including breakfast, for only $180 (Aus). And, it was situated in busy Cromwell Road, just near all the good things we wanted to see. The rooms on the website link seemed okay so I booked it. My husband and friends were a bit surprised at the cheapness of it but I thought I was just lucky.

Well, you know that old saying "Too good to be true"? Yes, well, it certainly applied to the awful hotel that I booked.

It was called the The Cromwell Crown Hotel and if you are ever in London for a cheap stay, do yourself a favour and avoid this place no matter how poor you are. As the taxi made its way up Cromwell Road, passing a line of lovely hotels, we were a little bit excited at the standard of everything we saw.

Then the taxi pulled up in front of the hotel and I realised that I had possibly made a mistake in booking the two nights stay here. The paint was peeling from the facade, there was a pile of semi frozen full garbage bags stacked up near the steps to the entrance. It did not look very promising.

As we made our way into the dingy reception area the smell of stale smoke welcomed us. The staff were friendly which gave me a bit of hope. Perhaps the place was a bit tired. Tired is okay. Dirty is not.

We had to take the lift up the the third floor. Only two of us with two suitcases could fit in the tiny contraption which shook and rattled its way unhappily to the destined floor.

Initially it was not obvious, amongst the maze of doors and corridors, as to where our room was and had to ask a couple of unfriendly cleaners. They could not speak English and, along with that communication barrier, had not the faintest idea on how to smile.

In the advertisement it had said the room had an en suite. Well, that was a bit of a furphy. There was a toilet next to our hotel room door with a handwritten sign on it that said "Do not use, is for room 309 only". Oh, yeah, like someone wanting to have a pee is going to take notice of that.

The bathroom was then next to that toilet. And it was a dirty one at that with hair in the plug hole! Plus the door did not lock.

We opened the door to the hotel room and walked in. My stomach sunk and my anxiety rose. It was about a dire as a cheap and nasty hotel room could be.

I took some photos in a vain attempt to capture the dingy interior. But I cannot capture the stale odour that was in the room. The odour of old carpet, old bed linen, old smoke and general grubbiness.

My son turned to me and said "How could you do this to us?".

My husband turned to me and said "Boy, am I glad I did not book the room". Huh? What did he mean by that I wonder.................?

Below is a view of the paint finish in the room.

And the window coverings. Incidentally, I kept the curtains (if you could call them that) shut as the view from the window was pretty hideous.

The hotel room was like a movie set from film noir. One would expect a drug deal or a sleazy rendezvous of a sexual nature to take place here. Cheap, dirty and nasty.

As it was late in the afternoon we had to stay the night in the room. But we spent as much time as possible out at the Natural History Museum and then dinner just to prolong the inevitable return to the room.

The double bed felt like it had been filled with stacks of newspapers and the single bed actually had springs come through the mattress and then through the sheets. Fortunately the sheets and pillow cases were clean even if a bit threadbare.

During the night I was woken by people using the "en suite" toilet and bathroom. The three of us were bitten by what we figured were bed bugs. My head was itchy and I worried I had head lice. I woke up the next morning and the first thing I said was "I am not staying here one more night". None of us even had a shower. I would rather spend the day unwashed than used a filthy hotel shower.

So went made our way up the road and booked into a lovely hotel and spent our last night in clean and professional surroundings.

Oh, and the breakfast room consisted of pre set breakfast tables upon which was a bowl of cornflakes and a tea cup. The staff were the most surly faced women I have met. Who knows how many times the bowls of cornflakes had been emptied back into a container when not eaten. Needless to say, both S and I refused point blank to eat there and we headed out to a cafe.

The photo below shows a nice mark from the back of someones greasy head.

But, it is my belief that something good usually comes out of something bad.

As I sat on the edge of the sagging single bed, thoroughly depressed, in the room contemplating the surroundings I happened to pick up a book that was featuring what was on in London during the month of January. In it I noticed that the musical Oliver was playing at Theatre Royal in Drury Lane.

Now, in all the times we have been to London we have never actually gone to the theatre. People always ask if we have as London is well known for its theatre. Another thing is that Oliver is one of my favorite stories and I loved the musical that featured Oliver Reed in the 1960's. The songs are great and the adaptation of the story is well done.

So, I put that thought away in my mind as thing to do.

After we booked the second hotel I suggested we make our way to Covent Garden and perhaps see about going to see if it was possible to get tickets to Oliver.

When we arrived at the theatre and got to the ticket office we saw that there was a matinee session and decided to go to that one. As we bent over looking at what seats we could afford we struck up a conversation with the ticket seller. Being from London himself he was fascinated as to why an Australian would want to leave the warm weather to come to the UK in Winter.

The friendly chat continued and then he suddenly said "I have a special today for you if you like".

"Oh, okay, what is it," I asked.

"Well, for the cheaper price you can have three tickets to the Royal Box," he pointed to where that was situated.

"Really? That would be great," said my husband.

And so we got to see the musical in the best seats possible. Royal Box seats originally were for Royalty and important sorts.

We had a fantastic view of the stage and the live orchestra.

It was the first time that my son has gone to a live musical and it was a great introduction to it.

The production was great. The songs were wonderful and the actors, especially the children, were just so engaging.

So, had we not gone to that awful hotel I would never have picked up that booklet and seen that Oliver was playing.

Which means that we would have missed out on a fantastic afternoon out and the opportunity to sit in the best seats in the house.

Later that evening I danced down Cromwell Road towards our new hotel singing "Oliver".

My son stormed off in complete embarrassment and only agreed to return if I promised not to do such a thing again.

"Yes, okay, I promise to be a complete and utter bore," I replied before singing 'Consider Yourself" and skipping far enough away from him to be just a middle aged lady being silly on the snowy sidewalk of London.

It was a very happy moment for me.

Ciao

LC

Long Saturday Chit Chat

My internet is on strangle this weekend as we have used up our allocated broadband. This morning we upgraded to a bigger allocation as it has been years since we even bothered about it. However, it seems as though the last few days of every month are ending up on go slow on the internet so time for a change.

Initially my husband was loathe to change and suggested that we could manage it by using the internet less. But it is not just about usage. The websites now are so heavily laden with unwanted megabyte gobbling advertising that the broadband access gets eaten up with incidental browsing.

So we went from 12GB per month access (with no charge for uploading) to 90GB per month (with charge for uploading). And the price was less. Even if we upload 20GB per month we are still better off and I don't have to whinge at the end of each month about not being able to use the internet without waiting forever and a day to open a page.

With the internet on slow it is nigh impossible to upload a photo without falling asleep waiting for it, so I figure the written word takes up less space.

I went back to work this week. Wednesday morning I arrived back at my tidy desk. Whilst I was away my boss's wife did enough to get by. I had left her cohesive instructions on how to do the wages and other things. She is ex super corporate material and is the most organised person I know. When I came back to work it took no time at all to find things.

Sometimes when you go away from work for longer than a few days you wonder if they will think you are not needed when you get back. Thankfully it is not that situation at work as during my holiday I had an email from wife of boss saying that it took her 45 minutes to open the mail and sort it. She also asked how on earth I coped with all the paperwork. It made me feel better about the fact that I often wonder that too. She is coming into work four days a week now that her girls are in kindergarten so I will hand over my "easy" stuff for her to process which will allow me to be more productive.

It was great to get back to the routine of life. That is not to say that I did not enjoy my holiday, it just means that it is always nice to get back home to the things that make me feel at ease. Plus, the feeling of being back in my own bed and seeing all the things familiar to me was delightful.

Today the weather was warm with that blue sky that seems to go on forever and ever. Blue is not a descriptive enough word. Azure? Cerulean? It was just so deliciously blue I kept looking up at its never ending depth.

I was up early and had breakfast as I sat and waited for the laptop to cough up a web page. My husband had gone for a bike ride and my son was still asleep.

Later on my son and I went down the street for brunch. Well, brunch for him I guess. He really wanted a sausage roll for breakfast but I said that was not the way to start the day. My response was followed by a combination of whining and wheedling. The wheedling was accompanied by an attempt a puppy dog eyes and a down turned mouth.

We were in the cafe and I said that he had a choice. Toasted cheese sandwich and fresh orange juice and then a sausage roll from the bakery or toasted cheese sandwich and a chocolate milkshake. So he had to make a choice between the milkshake or the sausage roll. He pondered a while.

"I want them both really badly," he mused.

"You can't. They are both treat foods and your holiday has been one continuous eating of beige coloured treat food so you have to think about what you are eating now you are home," I told him.

After some thinking he opted for the milkshake. As it was he could not eat all of his toast and he admitted he was glad not to have had the sausage roll. It seems that whenever we go out to eat anything we always have a discussion about food choices. He wants the sausage roll and soft drink and I want him to have salad sandwich and water. Both of us at extreme ends. So we always make a compromise. Bit of a treat, bit of healthy and I think it has paid off as lately (holiday eating aside) he has been making a thoughtful choice about what food he is about to eat when we go out without me having to prompt him.

I think he had a bit of a reality check just before Christmas when my sister came down with her two boys. Before she came down she said to me "when you see them don't say how fat they are". I said to her there was no way I would ever say anything like that to anyone. I have not seen them for years so I suppose she was just unsure what I would think when I saw them.

Yes, they were pretty hefty boys. Both my sister and their father were porky when teenagers and lost weight as they got older so I think perhaps the boys are more inclined to put on weight. They live up in Queensland where it is hot and this makes going for bike rides and walks a bit less inviting.

Whatever the reasons, my sister is aware of it and is always on their case about healthy eating. She is a great cook and they eat all the vegetables and salads. In fact, they eat a greater variety of food than my son. But I think she has things like nuts, chocolate and crisps in the house and the kids randomly eat them. I just don't have stuff like that in the house for that reason. The pantry door would be opened 100 times each day if I had junk food on tap in there. If we want a treat we go down the street and grab something small.

Anyway, when we were on holiday my son mentioned about how easy it must be to put on weight. I think he is at the age where he is developing awareness of the consequences of what he does, what he eats and just the choices he makes in general.

His new high school, like many here, is tapping into the new thing about introducing food awareness to children at this age. I was looking at his new text books and one subject is about food. They learn about cooking, eating well and being healthy. He will even have to cook a three course meal for the family at home. It is good to see this being taught in school.

One thing about my son is that he never, ever makes nasty remarks about overweight people (or anyone really). Well, unless someone is deserving of a nasty comment - you know what I mean. He knows that eating is not just about hunger and that everyone is different when it comes to the motives behind food. This comes from me talking to him about emotional eating, about making a variety of choices and just being aware of how outside influences can make eating "mindfully" not as easy as it seems. Plus, I have always said to him that everyone has feelings that are as important as his own and to think carefully about what he says to or about people.

He must get so sick of my life lectures sometimes. It's just that I cannot stand blatant meanness. It is normal to think someone is lacking in something but it is just awful and short sighted to base an overall opinion on that person because of that. I am so sick of a society that seems to be hell bent on targeting people who don't fit the "perfect" ideal and yet say nothing about those who are really horrible.

As we drove home from lunch he suddenly said to me that everyone was unique. He said "Isn't it amazing how different everyone is and yet the same? And that we all do different things but we still need the same sort of things to be happy?". When I hear him say these things I think to myself that he will be okay as he grows up.

After we got back from lunch I went out on my own to pick up something from the hardware store.

I put some music on in the car and drove along listening to it fill my car. Windows were open and the hot air drifted in from outside and took the music out with it. I love that feeling. Driving, music, blue sky and warm air. That happy, happy feeling that just fills me up inside right to the brim. Like being squeezed with excitement and letting it rush through me. I did not want it to end too quickly so I took a long way home to enjoy it just that little bit longer.

My husband is playing music all this weekend. I know he has this mix of loving to play the music and hating to be away from the home on the weekend. Especially when he knows that S and I are off doing things without him. But this time of year is music playing time so he cannot refuse it. Besides, even when he is home on a Saturday he spends it doing a bike ride, seeing his sister and visiting his dad in the nursing home. Rarely is he back before 2.30 pm anyway.

Summer really is my favorite time of year. All the lovely sunshine, all the lazy warm weekends and the long daylight hours make for a wonderful time of year. I know I am always happiest during the warmer months.

This is not a particularly exciting, illuminating or even a creative post.

But I am relaxed today. Even hanging out the washing made me smile.

I am happy and at ease.

And I want to share it.

Ciao
LC

Paris Poo

I am so sorry but I just have to tell you a bad taste story.

As you may know, I find poo stories amusing.

I also find fart stories funny.

Okay, I find the act of farting worthy of laughing at as well.

So it is natural that I am going to want to share a totally puerile and childish poo story isn't it?

During our trip we were in Paris for two nights.

When we arrived it was in the late afternoon. We made our way to the lovely hotel situated around the corner from The Louvre.

The room was very French with it's lovely maroon colouring and sumptuous fabrics. The bathroom was so stylish I am sure I would have been happy to have copied it for my own home.

After settling in my husband suggested that we go for a walk before it got dark just so that we could get an idea of the surroundings.

My son, at that point, announced he had to go to the toilet.

So off he goes.

After about ten minutes of him being indisposed I asked him just how long he thought he might be.

"Ages, this is a big one," came the strained reply.

Another ten minutes passed. We told him to hurry up.

"I can't," he answered.

This dialogue went back and forth for a while with our telling him to hurry up and his defending how long he was taken.

In the end I told my husband to go for a walk on his own as it seemed that my son was going to be a while. So off he went to explore.

About fifty minutes after making his way into the bathroom my son came out looking relieved.

"I can't flush it down," he told me.

"What do you mean? How much toilet paper did you use?" I asked him (knowing his excessive use of it at home).

"Hardly any. It just won't flush down. It is too big," he said.

"What? Too big. Surely not."

"Have a look," he said.

"I am not going to look at your poo. Come on, no way. Too gross," I told him.

"No, seriously. Have a look at it. It is huge and it won't go down," he lifted the lid of the toilet.

Reluctantly I looked down into the pan.

What the? It was HUGE. How could something that size come out of anybody. Not only that, I think I could only see half.

I started laughing.

We flushed the toilet about five times and it stayed there, wedged in for the long term.

The both of us were having a bit of a giggle about it when my husband came back from the walk.

"Tell me he is not in the toilet still," he said when he heard the flush of the toilet.

"No, but his poo is," I said.

My son and I ushered my husband into the bathroom to view the prize poo. He was as astonished as I. Then proceeded to flush the toilet repeatedly in an attempt to shift the offending turd. It stayed firmly in it's place, peering at us from beneath the water.

"You are going to have to push it down. You cannot just flush it away," I informed my husband.

"You must be joking. I am not doing that. Forget it. There is no way I am sticking my hand down there," he answered.

"No, really, you have to do it. While you were on your walk I found this to help you do it," I said, holding up a plastic teaspoon I found sitting with the coffee and tea cups supplied in the hotel room.

"Forget it," he replied but I could tell by the look in his eyes he had resigned himself to the odious task.

And so, my poor husband had to get his hand down the toilet and chop up the naughty poo to enable it to make the journey that all poopy doops make. Down the the land of sewerage.

As he was dealing with the whole thing he was heard to say things like "Oh my God, half of it is unseen" and also "How on earth did this come out of my son" and "No wonder he was so long in here".

My son and I were on the other side of the bathroom door rolling around with absolute laughter. I laughed so much that my cracked ribs hurt even more, enough that I had to take pain killers afterwards.

After my husband had finished the task and scrubbed his hands and arms he came out shaking his head in amazement at it all.

He saw my son and I still laughing at the whole episode.

"Tell me Linda, had it been your crap wedged down in that toilet would you have expected me to fix the problem?" he asked me.

Now, you know in a marriage when there are times that you just have to lie? Well, this was one of those times.

"No way. I can handle my own crap you know," I said defensively.

For some reason I don't think he believed me......

There is no way I would stick my hand down a toilet and chop up a mother load of poo. Even my own!

That there is a mans job!

Ciao
LC

Snowy England

We made our way to Portsmouth to visit the Portsmouth Historic Dockyards.

My husband and I had been to the dockyards in 1994 and knew that this was the place to take our son. It is full of great naval history including the Mary Rose, Nelson's ship The Victory and fantastic museums full of a plethora of naval history.

Sadly, due to the inclement weather, the best of the dockyard was closed to the public. The ground was icy and someone might have slipped and fallen and then sued the Navy or something. I would have been happy to sign a waiver just so that I could see The Victory and the museums. But no, there was no such option available and we were limited to the Mary Rose museum and an activity centre. Plus The Warrior which was open at least.

It was at Portsmouth that I had a most annoying accident. There was a ride there called a simulator or something. One of those pods you go in and it shows a movie in it about flying and then moves around at the same time.

Anyway, as I made my way into the dark interior of the ride I missed a step and fell down onto a metal bar and hit my ribs (right side). There was the most awful crunch and pop noise and I sat down on a seat in breathless pain.

Within a day or two, as the pain increased, I realised that I had cracked one or two ribs in the fall. For the remainder of the holiday I was unable to lie on my right side or my stomach. Deep breaths were painful as was laughing. Getting out of bed involved rolling out as it was too painful to pull myself up into sitting position.

Even now there is a level of pain still lingering and I would not like to bump it. But last night I did do an exercise class well enough.

After Portsmouth we headed back to a place we had been before.

Beaulieu Motor Museum situated in the town of Beaulieu in the New Forest.

The motor museum is owned by the Montagu family which owns the Beaulieu Estate and has so for generations. Years ago I suppose these established families were frowned upon. Perhaps some may see it as wrong that one entity can own so much. But it is the very ownership and duty bound obligations that go with it that has stopped hideous development happening.

The day was spent enjoying the uncrowded museum and admiring the lovely cars and interesting sets. My son found himself an unfinished snowman and finished him off.

We stayed at an interesting bed and breakfast which was part of the Beaulieu estate. In fact, the owners rented it from the estate directly and had done so for many years. The house was small and inviting. About 500 years old and full of a wide range of eclectic bits and pieces of furniture. The proprietors were a lovely couple whose children had long ago left the home. We sat and chatted to them for a while in front of the open fireplace.

The room was small and the bed was totally uncomfortable. A bit soft perhaps. Actually, it felt like someone had stuffed all their laundry under the sheet as it was a bit lumpy. The bathroom was en suite style but instead of a door separating the bathroom from the bedroom there was a curtain. It made going to the toilet a very self conscious activity. In fact, you could sit on the toilet and pull aside the curtain to have a conversation if you so wished.

Which, incidentally, I did not wish at all.

The view from the bedroom window made up for it all.

Breakfast was in a little, cosy kitchen. I had cooked porridge with brown sugar and cream. It was delicious. The best bit about travel is going down for breakfast. Lots of eating and no cooking or cleaning up.

The New Forest is a beautiful place. I have seen it in Spring and Winter and each season has it's own appeal. There were a lot of people all rugged up for doing trekking.

In the UK hiking seems to be a popular thing to do. I think the correct term is rambling. The countryside lends itself to this activity. There are public paths that run through private properties and the law protects these paths and rights of way.

I have a plan that one day I will walk across the top of England (Coast to Coast). Then one day the South East Coast walk.

I spend ages reading about these walks and thinking when I will get to do them. It is not something I would do with my son. Seriously, no way could I get him to embrace the concept of walking non stop for days and days carrying a pack with him. But who knows, he may change his mind by the time I get around to it. My husband would be more than happy to do it.

So, for now it is one of those little things I will aim to do when I am in my fifties.

Walking here in Australia has no appeal for me at all. Especially due to the hot weather. I have been on bush walks here and never again. For me, the countryside of the UK is more my style. Plus the option of staying in little pubs along the way. It is quite unique.

So, that is a bit more holiday talk.

Ciao

LC

Little Lies

You know parents tell little lies to there children?

The lies about Santa, The Tooth Fairy and The Easter Bunny are the three main ones. Are they lies or are they stories? I think they are just nice stories we tell to children.

I don't have a problem with that at all. I think that it is all sweet and good.

Until the truth of it comes out. Which is what happened when we were holiday.

Now, my son has been great with the whole Santa thing. For twelve years he sat on Santa's knee and had his photo taken. The last Christmas he said he was over it but still did not come out and question me as to whether it was actually true or not.

I even got around the whole issue about Santa giving kids everything they want by saying that he had a deal with the Tax Office about how much money we earned so that he would work within our budget. Otherwise every kid would wake up with a pony in the back yard and a sports car in the driveway.

He did ask me a couple of times if Santa was real and I kind of laughed and said "Oh, if you believe you receive". Or I was nicely vague about it. Just said things like "Santa is part of childhood". I just did not see the need to say it was all a furphy. I knew it would happen in it's own good time.

Finally, during the holiday he said he kind of knew it was not really true. I explained to him that it is a tradition that parents like to uphold for children as it gives great pleasure.

He did understand but also said he was a bit disappointed about it all. I told him that Santa would always visit him.

Then I made some comment about the Easter Bunny being another nice thing for kids and my son actually turned and looked at me in utter surprise.

"What do you mean? That the Easter Bunny is not real?" he asked.

"Are you serious?" I replied in slight shock. I mean, surely if he knew that Santa was a little lie surely he twigged that maybe the Easter Bunny was as well.

Especially with happened during Easter on our last overseas trip which I mentioned in this post here. I was so sure he guessed that it was me buying the chocolate. And, last year I actually said that the Easter Bunny left less eggs because it was too much chocolate for one boy to eat.

"Well, yeah I did believe in him until just now thanks to you," he answered.

He looked a bit put out and I felt bad for springing it on him like that.

"Listen, it is part of childhood. These things introduce you to lovely traditions that make childhood fun. And to tell you the truth, better you find out from me right now here in this hotel room than some girl in high school makes fun of you should you mention that you believe in the Easter Bunny. Now THAT would be bad," I told him.

He agreed and later on asked if the "Easter Bunny" would still visit him now that he knew it was us.

"I promise, as long as I can physically hide chocolate eggs in the garden and around the house the "Easter Bunny" will visit you," I reassured him.

Should I have told him sooner?

You could argue that we should always tell the truth to children but I argue back that children need fantasy and joy in their small lives. They are children for a very short time.

I know what truths are important and I have always thought that there is plenty of reality waiting for my son when he gets older.

So now my son knows.

With all these reality checks going on it is no wonder that growing up can seem a bit hard sometimes.

Ciao
LC

Travel Talk

Along the travelling way we stopped at a place called Bovey Tracey. Situated right on the edge of the Dartmoor National Park in the county of Devon, Bovey Tracey is one of those lovely and bustling villages you find throughout England.

This was not the first time my husband and I had been here. In 1994 we stumbled across it and stayed for three days in a small bed and breakfast. That bed and breakfast is now a private home so we stayed at the local pub, a very friendly place called The Cromwell Arms.

One thing I love about travelling throughout England is the way the townships are laid out. The narrow streets that are flanked by interesting and beautiful buildings. For the size of the country and the huge population within it, England has managed to still hang onto the idea of some level of village lifestyle.

The food shops are laid out so enticingly. The butcher shop below just beckons a passerby to come in. There is a strong movement of support for using local produce as much as they can in nearly every town we came across. If I were to compare them to the butcher shops here I would have to say that the ones in the UK wins hands down. Although, things are changing and it takes a while for change to drift over to here.

Even the grocery shop was a visual delight. My son was intrigued by the way brussel sprouts grew in on the stem of the plant. Inside the shop it was colourful and appealing. We used to have shops like that here, not so much now. But with our wide footpaths and warmer weather the displayed produce does spill out into the public arena. Either way, it is so much more appetising than the supermarket fruit and vegetable section.

Anyway, it is not an "either or" thing. I personally think that shopping in a strip shop situation will always be more pleasant than shopping in a huge supermarket and if these smaller townships can support this concept then they are keeping a tradition alive.

We stayed overnight there and then headed down towards a gorgeous place called Lyme Regis.

This place is well known for the fossils that are found along the coastline here.

The author John Fowles wrote the novel The French Lieutenant's Woman which is set in the town of Lyme Regis. The film was later made into a movie featuring Meryl Streep and the famous photo of her waiting for her paramour is taken on The Cobb which is the artificial harbour situated in the town.

Jane Austen spent a lot of time in the area and there were references to her quite often. Her novel, Persuasion, is based in and around the area.

We spent some time in one of the local museums and bought a few fossils.

I took a few photos while we were there. The nice buildings and the surroundings were very pretty.

It was cold and you can see a scattering of snow dusting the path below. I like taking photos of the steps and walls around England. They are built so well as many years ago they managed to combine aesthetics with function with great success.

My son took a photo of me standing on some rocks. He was quite into taking photos when we were on holiday.

Even though it was very cold it did not stop my son having an icecream. The wind cut like ice on bare skin but the taste of the icecream was worth it (as told by S upon completion).

I love these pastel coloured beach huts. The way they curve around and look as though they belong.

There beach is covered in stones. We picked up a few and they were smooth and cold to touch. My son chose one to take home. The sound of the water coming into the shore and the rolling back was full of the clink of stones touching each other and the hissing of the water finding it's way back through the open spaces amongst the smooth pebbles. I can still hear it and would have just loved to have sat on the beach to enjoy it for a bit longer.

Lyme Regis is very, very busy during the warmer months. So coming in Winter allowed us to see the area without the crowds.

When I go on holiday I always say silly things like "I want to live here" and then we go to another place and I say "No, no, here is where I want to live" only to say the same thing in the next pretty place.

But Lyme Regis is the one place I would love to live. For a while anyway.

Oh, wait! Lyme Regis and also The Lake District.

And maybe St Ives, which I have not been to as yet but believe it to be lovely.

Oh, wait, I have been to Clovelly and that was another place I loved.

Actually, now that I am home and back with all things familiar to me I have to confess that here is where I am happy to live.

Or maybe I am just happy wherever I may be.

Ciao

LC

Cheddar Caves

Straight after leaving Chester we headed down towards a small place called Cheddar where the Cheddar Caves are situated. And, yes, where Cheddar Cheese originated from.

The weather was very snowy and we had to take care as we went along, sticking mainly to the big motorway rather than the gorgeous little winding roads that would lead us through the small villages. Although the snow was pretty to look at it was also causing significant problems in smaller towns.

We drove for hours to make sure we found a place to stay close to Cheddar. There is always an awful point in time when you are on holiday when you realise that the daylight is about to end and there is no place to sleep. It is also at this point in time when tensions start to rise in the car. It seems as though each bed and breakfast we pass by is too awful to contemplate or has no vacancies.

In the end we found ourselves in a bed and breakfast in a town called Wells. It was dark and it was snowing and it was freezing. The woman was surprised to see us at 6.30pm at night but was happy to get the room ready for us.

After we dragged our suitcases up three flights of narrow stairs and dumped them in the room we made our way into the town in the hope of getting something to eat. Unfortunately every restaurant in town was closed. This was because the bad weather had prevented staff from being able to get to work. So, instead we had to buy food from the local supermarket and eat bread rolls with ham in the room.

On the way back from the supermarket we had to walk through a dark and spooky churchyard. The wind was freezing and fierce and pushed against us as we made our way toward the road. There was thick snow on the ground everywhere and when I got to the road I hesitated before crossing. My husband called out to me to cross as it was a pedestrian crossing.

"No it isn't," I replied and then asked how he knew as he could not see the white lines on the road as it was covered in snow.

"The Belisha Beacon," he said pointing to the striped pole with it's light on top.

"What?" I asked.

"Belisha Beacon. Leslie Hore-Belisha created them as he felt pedestrians had to have right of way on the road for safety reasons," my husband patiently explained as we made our way through the snowy wind.

Well, I know what a pedestrian crossing is. Even just a crossing. But I never knew the "official name" for them. For the remainder of the trip I kept pointing out Belisha Beacons whenever I saw them and said the name.

So, back to the bed and breakfast thing.

Although a bit "twee" in appearance the room was spotless. And it was freezing cold. We had to wait for the room to heat up after the lady put the radiator on. It never actually warmed up that much and we had to stand against the heaters to watch television and drink a cup of tea. Each bed had a hot water bottle but I froze all night long.

The next morning the woman asked if the room was cold and said that it was okay. The fact we rocked up on her doorstep in the dark and quite late made us very grateful she was able to accomodate us anyway.

Then she told us how her and her husband had been outside the side of the house at midnight with fans and jugs of hot water trying to fix the boiler outlet (boiler is what heats the water for the radiators) as it had become condensed and stopped working. So, really, she was the one freezing in the night.

In the UK I noticed that there were no power points in the bathrooms. The same applied in Paris and Italy. I think it is a safety thing. Now, in Paris and Italy there was a power point situated near a mirror so that I could always dry my hair properly.

Not in the UK. At this bed and breakfast I had to get my husband to hold a mirror up whilst I groomed myself. In the end I gave up. The room was so cold I just wanted to get out and into a warm car. Plus, it was a complete waste of time as once I put my head out the door and into the open air it undid any grooming efforts entirely and I ended up with big and frizzy hair everyday.

So, we arrived at the Cheddar Caves and we were the only tourists there. I swear it felt like royalty. A whole team of people were there to show us the caves and answer any questions we had. In Summer the place would be crowded and unpleasant but for us, with the snow all around and blue sky, it was wonderful.

Although I did take a lot of photos of the caves it was nigh impossible to capture the breathless beauty of them. The smooth surfaces, the damp air and the vastness of the interior caverns are things that you would have to physically experience to see them properly. But still, here are a couple of shots.

The picture below is of a big and beautiful cavern that is cleverly lit so that you can see all the nooks and crannys in all their glory. I liked the smell of it. Damp and mossy.

Below is a photo of what they called mirror pools (or something like that). This one is small but seemed to run forever. The stalagtites and stalagmites and other rock formations are reflected back at each other via a still pool of water and clever lighting.

Sadly, my limited photographic skills are unable to capture the stillness of it all and the full impact of the reflection. It would be worth looking for photographs of the Cheddar Caves on the the internet just to see other views of it.

There were some steps to climb up. About 274 steps to accurate. Up we went to the very top of the slippery stairs and then climbed a tower to see over the countryside of Somerset. It was at that point my camera battery died and I was unable to take a photo.

The day was delightful even if very, very cold. The lack of crowds has been the big plus during our trip. Although cold we have only had about three days of rain. Most of the time the sky has been blue. I would be more likely to travel in Winter and avoid crowds rather than be crushed amongst hoards of noisy people.

However, the down side of Winter travel is that some things are shut for repairs and maintenance so it pays to do homework before you leave. Also, bad weather did change a few of our plans. But that is part of being on holiday. You take all that into consideration.

As I write this post we are spending our last night in Rome and our last night of holiday as tomorrow morning (Friday) we fly out and head home.

I am looking forward to getting back to my own bed.

Ciao

LC

Holiday Things

There is a whole lot of stuff that just has to be with you when you travel.

And with those things comes an array of cords. Battery charger for the digital camera. Another charger for the video camera. One for the Nintendo DS. One for the mobile phone. Plus the adaptor to make sure it all works in the country you are visiting.

My husband is responsible for the cordy things. I am responsible for the toiletries. So we both have a jobs when we are packing up the case and leaving the hotel room.

Both of us do a final sweep of the room upon leaving.

During a trip, and especially a trip in Winter, there is a lot of time spent in the hotel room at the end of a long day.

We spend time playing card games. My son fiddles with the Rubiks cube (which he has mastered).

He tells me that it is no hard. Just a formula you work with.

You know you have been on holiday too long when you have to wash clothes in the bathroom sink. I hate that stage and we have been at it for over a week. It is almost impossible to find a laundrette in a big city and, quite frankly, I don't care if I wear the same clothes day in and day out now. As long as I can wash underwear and socks that is fine.

Then hang them all up to dry.

Or you can hang them in the shower. I had to hand wash my son's jeans in the basin using shampoo. Not that he cares as he is happy to wear the same stuff everyday for ever and ever.

Below is a photo of my son's favorite winding down activity at the end of a day of touring. We usually get back to the hotel between 5pm and 6pm and then plonk for the night. Thank goodness for the internet.

A couple of times we also have splurged on cable television as too many days of foreign speaking television is a bit much. In Venice my son and I played Mah Jong for hours on end as there was no internet and no cable televsion. I cannot watch dubbed English shows. Honestly, seeing Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor in a movie with dubbed Italian voices is just awful.

So, just two more nights in Rome and we head off to home sweet home.

Lots more things to talk about and photos to upload.

Ciao

LC

Chester

During our time in the UK we went to the beautiful town of Chester.

Like many English towns it has a mix of Roman, Norman and Saxon happenings in it's incredible history. It is also surrounded by one of the finest walls in the UK.

When we arrived the snowy weather was continuing to creep all over the land and made for slippery steps across cobbled paths. More than once I was doing a middle aged shuffle as I encoutered fresh patches of ice underneath my feet. These were the moments when I embraced my wonderful gortex hiking shoes with their thick tread.

Below is a photo, albeit rather dark, of the incredibly intrictate town clock in Chester. This was where we started our walk along the snowy wall.

S had a great time in the snow. Although, after this photo was taken he fell over and found a large amount of snow down the back of his underwear and subsequently complained non stop (as though WE put it there or something)

We stayed just outside of Chester in a small town called Mickel Trafford in a bed and breakfast called "The Manor". The house was around five hundred years old and inside it had great big beams and waxed floors. One thing that was rather odd was the size of the bathroom. It was huge and when I got out of the shower I was unsure where to stand. At one point I bent over to dry myself and caught glimpse of my bare behind in a mirror which, I can assure you, is not what I wanted to see when on holiday.

The bed we slept in was absolutely the biggest bed I have ever slept in. I have no idea how they managed to get it up the stairs let alone where they bought the bed linen from. As I lay in it I remembered the little song I used to sing that went like this;

There were ten in the bed and the little one said "roll over, roll over"

So they all rolled over and one fell out.

There were nine in the bed and the little one said "roll over, roll over"

So they all rolled over and one fell out.

etc. until only one is left.

I wondered if whoever wrote the song had been sleeping in a bed this size.

Anyway, the place was lovely and the hospitality and food was great.

Below is a photo of another section of the wall around Chester. I loved the stonework and how it looks with the white snow laying on it.

A photo with some detail of the lovely town behind.

I loved this building. It featured on many postcards I looked at. That beautiful black and white facade is stunning and more so in the flesh. The town is full of such buildings. It must be great to be able to shop in such visually appealing surroundings. Surely it would make the entire process of parting with money less painless?

And it was when visiting Chester that I met up with blogging buddy "Annie" whom I first encountered when she was penning her very funny blog Hex My Ex and her introspective and moving blog Annie's Rexia.

It was a big thing to meet up. It also took me out of my comfort zone a little. I mean, dropping in on someone on the other side of the world is so out of my normal range of activities that I was terribly anxious. What if it was a totally awkward disaster? What if she thought I was a poindexter and talked rubbish?

Well, as it was, it turned out to be a wonderful evening. Truly I wish we had had more days to stay in Chester as I would loved to have caught up the next day and just talked non stop. The three of us even had dinner at Annies house and K drank enough that I had to drive home, in the pitch black, freezing cold night AND go on the dark and spooky motorway in the middle of nowhere. BUT, it was all worth it.

A big, big thank you to Annie and her husband (Mr Parsnip) for being so kind to us when we arrived. I hope we can return the hospitality one day. Plus I have to say how lovely youngest daughter is. An absolute gem.

Although Annie has not been blogging for a while she did promise to me that a new one was on the cards. So, I am looking forward to it for I do love her skillful way with words.

As I write this blog we are actually in The City of Light - Paris. But before I give the low down on the delicious place that Paris is I do have a few more things to mention about wonderful England.

So, tomorrow (Saturday) we will spend one more day in Paris and then catch an overnight train to Venice. That will be an interesting journey.

Ciao

LC

Snowy York

We arrived in the beautiful town of York on Saturday.

My husband and I were last here in about 1995. I had fond memories of how pretty the town was with it's old buildings and in particular the lovely group of shops in a street named The Shambles.

On the Sunday we made a trip to the National Railway Museum where we spent many hours walking around and looking at all the trains and train paraphernalia.

You cannot see York without entering the stone walls of the beautiful York Minster. And, while you are there it is worth the huffing and puffing to walk up the 275 steps to the top of it for a fantastic view (photos I will upload in a later post). The steps are of stone and go upwards in a spiral fashion. However, there are limits to what size person can fit up the stairwell. It was a tight fit for a few people.

York is a walled city and we went for a walk along sections that were open. The snow was a delight for us and, as I will post about later one, has been a constant companion.

On January 4th we had been doing the York thing when, at the end of the day, my husband said "Happy Anniversary". Lucky he remembered because I certainly didn't. It was our ninteenth wedding anniversary so we celebrated in the warmth of Betty's Tea Rooms. We had actually been in these same tea rooms many years ago.

The afternoon tea was followed by a trip to the movies to see that new release Avatar. A great escape for almost three hours. All in 3D. However, don't drink a pot of green tea before you go in otherwise you will all but wet yourself. I had to go twice to the toilet during the movie.

Outside in the snow opposite the Novotel Hotel in York I was delighted once again by the novelty of snow.

As I write this post it is now the 9th January and we are down near the New Forest area having been to MANY places in between. Including a wonderful evening with a blogging buddy which I will post about as soon as I can.

I am so happy being on the Internet again (kissing my lap top). I love modern technology and feel a little deprived when away from it for too long. Although, my son has been doing some writing whilst on holiday. Says a lot about using the brain for something other than Xbox.

Hope everyone is well and happy.

Ciao

LC

Quick Post

Due to the lack of internet access I cannot reply to comments but will as soon as I can.

Also, due to the hogging of my laptop by husband and son it just adds to the inability to do my blogging.

Interesting how husband loves using my laptop despite the fact he MOANED about me taking it with......

Sharing a hotel room with husband and son, sharing a car space with husband and son, sharing personal space with husband and son is extra work when doing it for twenty four hours, day after day.

Having said that, we are all getting on very well.

Now watching Mr Bean on television listening to childish giggles from husband and son.

Oh, hang on, I do have something funny to mention.

Whilst we have been here the weather has been very, very snowy. We travelled from York to Chester in almost blizzard conditions.

On the motorway they have trucks spreading grit around to keep the roads from being icey and dangerous.

Anyway, at one point, I am sad to say, I farted in the car. At the same moment we passed one of those grit spreading trucks. My husband had the car window open.

"Oh, what do they use in that grit. It is disgusting," he commented.

I looked at him wondering if he was serious. Judging by the curious look on his face and the continued "sniffing" action he was taking I realised that he thought that my fart was part of the grit ingredients.

"I farted," I said.

"Oh, you didn't did you? I thought that was the grit," my husband said.

By this stage I was almost wetting myself laughing. I made comments about the secret ingredient in the grit and asked if he had been able to tell me what vintage the grit was from as I could not help but notice his intensely serious sniffing action.

Since then, however, I cannot fart without one of them asking if I am "spreading grit".

Or, if something smells they say "have you been spreading grit again".

Sheesh, I am not responsible for all the bad smells in the UK.

I think the "spreading grit" joke is going to get good mileage.

Ciao
LC

December 31st

Finally after a few times visiting London we went to visit the well known Madame Tussauds.

Each time we came to London and had a notion to make the effort to go there we would be put off by the incredibly long queue of people outside the entrance. And I mean long. You could find yourself waiting for two or more hours to get in and that is not in Summer.

So, off we went nice and early in the morning and when we got there, you guessed it, there was a long queue. The doors had not opened and we waited for about an hour before getting inside and purchasing the tickets.

Whilst we were waiting in the queue I kind of had an internal fit when I saw the entry fee. Don't get me wrong, I am happy to pay to do things but I am a bookkeeper and therefore very anal about how I spend money and how I perceive value for money. There is no logic in my assessment by the way, I just am annoying about it.

To get in was about $50 Australia dollars per adult and only slightly less for children. But I had made up my mind that I wanted to go and wanted my son to see it as well.

Well, I have to say that it was the best money spent in ages. When I walked into the glitzy room full of celebrities I was full of absolute childish joy. The whole thing was surreal. The likeness of the wax celebs was uncanny. However, they all looked a bit dead. Maybe dead is a strong word. More like, um, lifeless? My husband felt they looked dead as he had a rather unfortunate memory of his mother's appearance after she died and insisted that the waxworks and his mother shared a similar glazing of eyes.

What was interesting was seeing the body size of each figurine. Susan Sarandon is quite small in height. There was Christina Aguilera and she really is a little pipsqueak to have standing next to me.

Ah, yes, Nicole Kidman. Sadly, she looks like wax these days due to her use of Botox (which she denies but really, really, can we believe her?)

Oh, Brad and Angela. The golden celebrity couple. I was honoured to stand by their side.

I had a chat to the man of the moment and offered a few suggestions about health care reform and other important areas of politics.

And we made our way down Baker Street of course.

The day was great which was just as well as the New Year's Eve celebrations were a bit ordinary.

I had rather high expectations of the evening which was the first mistake.

Then, my moody son decided to infect the atmosphere with some non stop whinging about everything and anything. His clothes, his shoes, the cold, the crowds - you name it, he had an opinion about it. And a negative opinion at that.

Then, his oversensitive mother (me) took it all rather personally and got into a bit of a mood herself and found it nigh impossible not to react each time the child pushed one of her buttons.

Also, we had not eaten since 2.00pm and it was now around 10.00pm as we made our way down towards the area where the fireworks were going to be seen. You may well ask why we had not eaten dinner by 10.00pm at night. That was because all three of us were so exhausted after the long day out that we fell asleep in the hotel room at 4.00 pm and then did not wake up for hours.

So, we are walking along and looking for food that we can both eat only to realise that things were either booked out or closed. Tensions were high. I actually said to my husband that we should just dump the son and run. My husband looked at me as if to say "You bitch" and I walked off.

The crowds got bigger and bigger and my son was getting whinier and whinier to the point where I felt like yelling "Shut the fuck up". But as I am a grown up I did not do that and would not anyway no matter what I think at the time. We are all allowed to think mean thoughts now and then. It is what we do with them that defines us.

After finding a place to get coffee we made a decision to head back to the hotel room. The crowds were reaching levels of over two hundred thousand and the thought of being amongst that with a twelve year old was a bit stressful. Plus it was cold and S was just painfully sour.

Once back in the room we watched the fireworks on television. At that point my son burst into tears and said he was sorry for being awful. He looked at the fireworks and wanted to run back to the river and watch them. But it was too late.

He felt depressed about ruining our night and I just said that stuff happens and we all make mistakes and get caught in moods. I then spent some time telling him that there will be more New Years Eve moments in his life and mine and it was okay. I just felt so sorry for him. I have been in those moods when younger and just regretted them bitterly. I saw no point in making him feel worse than he already did.

But he did learn something from it and that was the impact his behaviour had on other people.

The whole mood thing, I am sure, was aggravated by jet lag and poor sleep patterns. Both he and I are awfully difficult when sleep deprived. However, as an adult I have a more reasonable handle on it. He will learn as he grows up more.

So, although the New Year was a bit of a fizzer it turned out fine in the end.

The next day as we walked through the empty streets of London and saw many splashes of New Years Eve vomit around the place we realised that seeing the new year out in a hotel room is not so bad after all.

I seriously could not think of anything worse than a hangover on New Years day.

Ciao

LC