Monthly Archives: May 2013

The highroads of Scotland

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We arrived into Edinburgh late afternoon. By that time I well and truly had the Florentine Flu (or perhaps, but doesn’t sound as good, the Veronese, Roman or Cambridgeshire cold). Now, I am usually so damn organised that I bring enough pharmaceuticals to cure anything that might befall, but alas, I had myself convinced that it was the English/Scottish/European summer – I just didn’t remind myself that the summer heat sits at 10 degrees Celsius. Well the Scots are out in t-shirts, the shops are full of bikinis, Lydia has been trying to buy a coat but they think she is weird cause it is summer. There is a biting cold wind. I went in search of over the counter drugs and was pleasantly surprised that it is much easier than home to buy large amounts of pseudoephedrine. Heavily dosed up, we chased ghosts through the streets of Edinburgh. We were promised that we would visit spots where people lived in utter misery. As I felt like crap it seemed rather fitting.

Underground we went in the pitch black. Our leather coated, vampire looking guide thought it was highly amusing to run his fingers along your shoulder as he lurked in dark corners. As we wandered in the dark, through the depths of the South Bridge Vaults, we were sure we were being stalked by the South Bridge Entity – that malevolent presence that reminded us that we were in the darkest of places –  home to the poorest of the poor, the plague and Burke and Hare’s corpses. Our lovely guide told us that we were quite safe as the walls were made strong by the hundreds of bones that were crushed to make the plaster. We were told that when the bridge was due to open in 1788 there was a great deal of superstition surrounding the bridge. A grand lady was asked to open the bridge to allay the fear but a few days before, she died mysteriously. She therefore did the bridge opening as the first body to be carried over the bridge in a coffin.

The labyrinth of rooms below the bridge is damp, moldy, cold and filled with rats – yes one would wonder why we paid good money to visit. We went on to the Covenanters Prison and the Black Mausoleum, the lair of the Mackenzie Poltergeist. Deep in Greyfriars Kirkyard we screamed and yelled – Lydia’s ear was burning hot – was she getting sick or was it the mark of the poltergeist.? As the clock stuck midnight we scuttled home past the looming castle.

It was so damn cold in the morning that we decided we would be Arctic explorers and brave the climb past Holyrood Palace and up to Robert Louis Stevenson’s ‘hill for magnitude’. OMG it was so cold and I coughed and spluttered my way up – the view for miles from the top of Arthur’s seat is fantastic though. As we wandered down past the crags we soaked in the glorious Scottish summer and rubbed our frostbitten fingers.

Our gorgeous summer tour continued to the ancient stronghold of Edinburgh Castle. Yes it is a commanding view, but the bitter winds really made us wonder why the Scotts and the English have fought so much for its control. I was sure we could hear Robert the Bruce and William Wallace’s teeth chattering as we wandered back down the Royal Mile.

We can tell the fellow Aussies without asking nationality. They are like us, rugged up in hats, coats, and gloves. The locals are sun baking on the mound but there isn’t any sun. But then, oh Scotland is so beautiful.

We waved farewell to Scotland via the Earl of Rosslyn’s 1446 chapel – last time I was here it was a quiet place full of the mysterious green men – this time it had well and truly become the Da Vinci Code tourist spot – some of it’s magic had disappeared but the mysterious green men, the apprentice pillar and the weird Knight’s Templar effigies sit ignoring the tourists.

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Bed-sheeted Druids

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Through the home of Robin and his merry men we drove to the wonderful walled city of York. In recognition of medieval York’s Roman history, and as we were driving along Hadrian’s Wall, we thought we better combine good Roman and British tradition and stuff pasta in our mouth at Jamie’s Italian. I don’t think the thousands of Roman soldiers in 43AD would have enjoyed their lunch as much as we did. After a stroll along the Shambles and past the Minster we headed our trusty VW Golf chariot north.

It seemed somewhat fitting, that after leaving Cambridge we should head for the wild but beautiful place that captured the fascination of William Stukeley, anantiquarian alma mater of Corpus Christi. In 1776 in his Itinerarium Curiosum it was written

‘ for a mile before we came to Keswick, on an eminence in the middle of a great concavity of those rude hills, and not far from the banks of the river Greata, I observed another Celtic work, very intire: It is 100 foot in diameter, and consists of forty stones, some very large’.

Well a mile before we came to Keswick we also came across the Druid stones in the wild, vast and beautiful hills of the Lakes District. Castlerigg is one of my favourite places and I always try and visit. The surrounding fells form the most fantastic amphitheatre for the circle that always makes me think of secretive druidish practices, pagan rituals and people dressed up in bed sheets. The plaque at the paddock gate tells us that the circle was probably built in 3200 BC during the early bronze era. I think I love this place so much, as unlike the touristy Stonehenge, the Neolithic ritual circle stands in middle Earth miles from anywhere – you expect to see Gandalf, with his flowing beard and white robes direct his staff at the hills to light up the circle.

We drove across the beautiful Pennines between Lancashire and Yorkshire. No wonder the place has been designated as an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty (AONB). The stunning moors, rivers, woods and the beautiful stone buildings nestled amongst the dales. The stone fences, the green patchwork fields and the total lack of anything resembling people, apart from the smoke coming out of a stone farmhouse, made us feel we really were in hobbit country.

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The Cam Bridge

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I came to Cambridge to do a little bit of work on a book I am writing. The sun was shining and all thoughts of work disappeared as we went punting along the river Cam. Lydia caught the park and ride bus in to Cambridge and I went in in the afternoon. Pip’s house where we are staying is always a lovely oasis. Landbeach is a tiny villages about 5 miles from Cambridge. In Roman times it was situated on a Roman road and there are sites such as the remains of the medieval manor house when you wander across a field. We have had lovely English sunshine but it is quite cold and we just have to forget it is the English summer. We made the wise decision not to punt ourselves. Could you imagine Lyd and I trying to make a lovely flat bottomed punt go in a certain direction. The river Cam was full of punts filled with people enjoying the sunny evening. As we glided under college bridges and past the spectacular colleges that define Cambridge we thought our punter made it all look easy. He knew exactly when to duck  under the stone arches. I reckon I would have knocked myself out. Our dignified and elegant glide in the dappled sunshine ensured that at least for today we didn’t qualify to join the student club where membership is only for those who  unwittingly end up crawling on to the banks dripping with water from the river Cam.

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Byfield House

May 23 2013Image

Oh my goodness. I don’t even know how to start to describe where we are. We spent the morning in Bath, which was lovely – we toured the Roman baths and really enjoyed the fantastic museum. We then headed to a place that had been recommended as the best B and B in the Cotswolds. My friend Pip had stayed here with her partner Tony and their baby tortoises and had told me that I really needed to visit at some point. When I was thinking about our trip, I sent an email to see if there was a vacancy for a couple of days at Byfield House, the place that Pip had recommended. I got this amazingly detailed email back from Jill who let me know that they only had one night available in May/June. Well it turned out that we could fit in the single night. Jill sounded totally delightful on the email so I was keen to come and meet her. She told me that Brett had been born in Melbourne and that Brett’s ancestors were on the goldfields of Bendigo. Well it all seemed as though it was meant to be.

We are in the absolutely beautiful town of Painswick in the Cotswold’s. We drove through spectacular English fields and arrived in this wonderful Cotswold village. A drive down a tiny street, with stone buildings scraping the side of the car.  I stopped to ask someone directions to Byfield House and the comment was ‘oh you lucky things it is the most magic place’ – sounded hopeful so we kept driving and found this stone building in the middle of the town that was lovely, but the stone exterior hid what was inside. Well we are sleeping on the top floor  of a 14th century Tudor house. I am not often speechless, but arriving here was just totally blown away. Jill and Brett are the most fantastic hosts. The houses in Bisley Street are all 14th century. The village is a historic wool town surrounded by exquisite national trust woodlands.

Jill is a completely extroverted antique collector and across about four floors the house is filled to the brim with the most amazing antiques and paintings. All incredibly early furniture – it is like sleeping in a museum. We have the whole house to ourselves and there must be at least twenty rooms – all filled to the brim with antiques – Lydia is beside herself and is off with the camera – a bit like a country house photographer. There is a fridge full of food, bottles of wine for us to drink, piles of amazing books and exquisite magazines. I am sitting in an antique armchair completely surrounded by extremely early artwork. Lords and Ladies are looking at me from every wall. It is sort of like being in the most amazing antique shop. The wineglasses are beautiful, every piece of furniture an exquisite example – centuries old. No description can do it justice.

We were welcomed with tea and brownies in the antique kitchen and sat and chatted for ages.

Lydia and I marched across the most amazing fields, past old mills and climbed stiles along the side of the river. To the tiny local pub for the best fish and chips I have ever eaten. I am now climbing into a huge antique bed. Lydia has her own antique filled room next door and our fresh croissants will be delivered early in the am – it is just heavenly!

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Francis, William and Kevin

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We had a lovely day in the home of El Papa in Roma. Musei Vaticani was as fantastic as always. My favourite continues to be the Galleria delle carte geografiche, the amazing long gallery painted by Danti between 1580-1583. The golden frescoes on the ceiling are just incredible and the maps – commissioned by Pope Gregory XIII, make this space, I think, even more fantastic than the Cappella Sistina. The Musei was pretty crowded but our wait in line worth it once we entered. Michelangelo’s artwork is unquestionably spectacular, but it always intrigues me how people rush past all of the treasures and don’t even stop to look at what must be the most amazing collection in the world.

I was very excited as the Vatican hadn’t given away their Chagall’s – they were hanging exactly where they should have been.   I know that Capella Sistina is amazing, but personally, I always find it so stark and do hope they bring comfy chairs in for conclave. Always crowded, the security makes so much noise telling everyone to be quiet, for me, it loses some of the feeling of a sacred space. I had not known the Stanze di Raphael was the residence of the Popes between 1507-1585 – I was rushing this morning and tipped my cup of tea all over the wall in the hotel – imagine doing that to the Raphael frescoes.

One really should wear ones glasses. I was convinced our flight back to London left at 8.45pm – no it was 6.45 – I have never gone so close to missing a plane !! Wouldn’t it be just terrible to be stranded in Rome!

We arrived back into Heathrow and collected our car. Well a few years ago my children remember the total saga of picking up a car in Paris on a Friday evening and not being able to get the damn thing into reverse. We had to make sure we only drove forward, until a kindly elderly medico helped by jumping into the car, laughing and driving off waving (he did bring it back) and madam (neither of them spoke English) was in fits of laughter on the side of the road – whilst this madam was in floods of tear after travelling with four L’enfant terrible. Well this time we are in Reading. Totally dodgy neighborhood. We pulled into the golden arches – because I had almost caused us to miss our flight we hadn’t had anything to eat since the morning so we decided we would succumb to salty chips. Anyway, we pulled into this dark commercial area with a whole heap of feral kids with car bonnets up. I obviously don’t get out much cause Lyd told me the same types hang out around Coles – anyway the hoodies, tatts and metal (and that was the girls) made me feel slightly anxious at 10.30pm at night. We ran in got something to eat, came out and started the car up – well do you think I could work out how an hell to put the thing in reverse – we searched the car for books, flicking lights on and off. The car in front of us contained hoodie wearing, delinquent looking UK types and we could see them staring. Well, impressions can be so wrong. We eventually decided that they weren’t going anywhere and we couldn’t go forward so I climbed out (of the locked car) and went and said ‘ I know you are going to think I am really weird by I can’t work out how to put the damn car in reverse’ – out of the shadows came these very cultured young men (not) who climbed into the car – I did think for a moment he would steal the car and Lydia, but no, he was totally delightful – they all thought it was incredibly funny and Lyd is now reminding me of my judgmental ways – they couldn’t figure out why and earth we had left Australia for cold, boring old England

Today’s drive through the Cotswold’s to the home of the Bard of Avon was pretty damn gorgeous. I had never been to this part of England and the gardens of Anne Hathaway’s cottage really looked like a postcard. We drove across picture perfect fields through the Venice of England, Bourton on the Water, and had lunch in a lovely old pub overlooking the idyllic village scenery.

Well we went from honey golden old stone to tonight’s fantastic ‘grand design’ house near Bath. We have the house to ourselves and it really is so stunning. I have been out in the garden with the camera. The awards that it has won and the architectural magazine features are all downstairs and I am looking forward to getting out with the camera again tomorrow.

It really has been 24 hours of total culture change!

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Latte macchiato

May 21 2013

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Well apparently I have scarred my children for life. Alex, because he thinks I am disgraceful as I am not drinking espresso after lunch. It seems (according to my Italian/Chinese, kilt wearing coffee expert son) that one should never have milk in coffee after lunch. If I really must, I should drink macchiato’s but I am obviously a disgraceful insult to Roma if I drink children’s hot milk with a stain of macchiato. I think my morning cappuccino is acceptable and I think my evening chianti would be OK. Although Lydia is convinced her mother is an alcoholic, as after tonight’s chianti, I did have trouble getting the card in the hotel room door. Don’t you love children that think their mother is totally out of control having one chianti! Although, I do rather love the Italian view of a glass of chianti – I think it is probably half a bottle .. but alas when in Roma ……

Lydia is scarred because of the old homeless woman outside Termini when we arrived. We were walking past and she just lifted the skirt and stood up and had a pee on the pavement. Lydia is apparently traumatised because an old Italian woman bared her ‘big hairy bottom’ [my daughters words not mine] in the middle of a civilized city. I did remind my daughter that the older woman was once 24 and her response was ‘she was probably doing the same at 24’. Lydia’s comment was ‘please get me back to a country where homeless people are at least civilized’.

I am a disgrace, but we did have rather a nice day wandering the Roman streets. It is pretty cool isn’t it how you can be just strolling along and there is a Corinthian pillar in the middle of the street that has been sitting happily there since a few decades BC.

We walked up to Via Settembre and then across to Piazza Barberini. The Fontana del Tritone was all covered up so we strolled down Via Sistina to Spagna to the Scalinata della Trinità dei Monti. It might be the widest staircase in the world but it does make a pretty good perch to people watch in Roma. Piazza Di Spagna is full of extremely expensive shops but people from all nationalities sit and watch the world pass. We wandered on to Piazza del Popolo. The “trident” of Via del Corso, Via del Babuino Via di Ripetta are all full of designer shops and it is somewhat ironic that they all converge in the ‘peoples square’, the centre for Italian executions. We walked across the Fiume Tevere via the Ponte Margherita along a much quieter street past the Castel Sant’ Angelo. As we passed the mausoleum of Hadrian I did think of him and my time spent sitting on his wall in the English countryside with just the cows for company. The bronze statue of Archangel Michael, standing on top of the castel was looking down on the men trying to lure gullible tourists with the latest Louis Vuitton ‘genuine’ creation. We walked back across Ponte Umberto I to the gorgeous Piazza Navona that contains my favourite fountains. Surprisingly, we stopped for gelato and sat and watched the world go past. We sat quietly in the Pantheon and marveled at the oculus to the sky. I am constantly intrigued by sitting in a church where the damn great hole in the roof lets all of the rain in but I do think it is pretty cool that a pagan temple is now a Christian place of worship.  I do think it is one of the most amazing places .. worshipping in a great big Roman temple.

A walk back past the Fontana Di Trevi to throw our coins to ensure that we would return. No matter how many times one stands before the temple to the ‘Roman holiday’ its sheer beauty takes your breath away. Although one does wish you could sit for just a moment without being annoyed by rose selling nuisances.

We stomped back up the stairs to the Qurinale to what I think is one of the most beautiful churches in all of Rome – Santa Maria della Vittoria. Bernini’s Ecstasy of Saint Teresa is one of my favourites and I love the fact that it is always so quiet there.

We had a lovely dinner tonight on the roof top of Roma. Tomorrow we will visit el papa Francisco. I am totally intrigued by the calendars on sale all over Roma with the dishiest priests portrayed for each month. Sort of like the Italian version of the New York Fire Department muscled men in braces and not much else calendar. I just can’t quite get my head around the whole concept of ‘playboy’ mate of the month in the white collar but we are in a city that sells I heart Francisco t-shirts so I guess Cosi va il mondo.

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Botticelli, Bernini and Crocodile Dundee

May 19th 2013

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We had dinner tonight in a traditional small ristorante, Berzitello. Do we really sound like that? Lydia and I looked at each other over our rigatoni, tagliatelle and chianti and both said ‘what is that terrible noise’. It was like a female version of Crocodile Dundee (only worse). We decided they must be Queenslanders! A table full of outspoken fellow country people – we heard (and the whole restaurant heard), about their cruise, their shopping and their expertise in wine (really exaggerated). They were absolutely full of it. It was a stark contrast to last night’s ‘museums under the moon’. We were lucky enough to be in Firenze for the annual after dark museum opening – all museums were open and free until midnight so we spent an enchanted evening with Botticelli, Michelangelo and of course David.

We are not sure what the Italian version of the Blarney stone is but the rather lovely Italian waiter who served us at dinner last night, at the very gorgeous Ristorante Accademia, had definitely kissed it. He then went on to kiss my daughters hand and tell her that she was the most beautiful sight he had ever encountered. I told him I would rather like a house to visit in Firenze so by the end of dinner he and I had completed the deal on the dowry, the wedding and how often I would visit. Lydia sat giggling, blushing and shaking her head. My the time we walked out the door he had handed over his phone number and I was planning the bambinos – reality check though – I am not sure the Italian waiter can keep my daughter in the volume of gelato that she consumes! Tonight in Roma Lydia told me that she could still feel a small amount of blood swishing through her right arm – she is determined to replace her whole circulatory system with gelato!

Roma is as always totally wonderful. After dinner we circumnavigated the whole city – Lydia has now been sacked from map reading after we ended up almost at Musei Vaticani when we were supposed to be reclining on the steps of Piazza di Spagna. After walking for what seemed like hours around the Palatino we finally staggered back past Fontana Di Trevi and up the steps beside the Quirinale. This is the home of the Italian President and is high on Qurinal Hill, the tallest of Rome’s seven hills. It seems it has housed thirty popes, four kings and eleven presidents. As we walked up the side, at first we couldn’t work out what the suave looking suited Italian men were doing standing looking very James Bond like, but we then figured out where we were. I have been reading Dan Brown’s latest book (as you do when it is set in Firenze) so was convinced we were going to be kidnapped and thrown into the back of the discrete BMW.

Well I do like camping under the stars (all five of them) and tonight is just beautiful. We have been a bit spoilt. We were upgraded on the plane on the way over and now have been upgraded to a beautiful suite in the lovely Hotel Artimede. I have real tea in front of me, and Lindt chocolate and the couch is very comfortable. The gelato princess is lying in the room beside me reading. We are on Via Nazionale – a short walk from Fontana Di Trevi, Piazza Di Spagna and Piazza Barberini – that is if you don’t let my gelato eating daughter anywhere near a map !!

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Antica Torretta

May 18 2013

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Stunning dinner tonight in a beautiful restaurant in Piazza Broilo topped off a gorgeous Veronese day. The rain cleared by lunchtime and we sat in Pizza delle Erbe and shared a pizza. We had a great sleep in Hotel Giulietta E Romeo in a quiet cobbled street just off Piazza Bra in the shadow of the Arena – so good a sleep that we missed breakfast so justified our gelato in the afternoon. The Montague’s and Capulet’s may have feuded but surely they would have stopped every now and then to take in the beauty of this stunning place. Everywhere you walk the scenery gets more stunning. The view across the river really looked like a magnificent painting from the old Masters. We had dinner tonight in the gorgeous Antica Torretta. A beautiful small restaurant on the corner of a small piazza. I had seen it on Trip Advisor but we saw it when we were out wandering today and it looked so beautiful we wandered back for dinner. Scampi, pasta with asparagus and speck and as you can see below we couldn’t resist the stunning desert. We have planned a hike in the morning to Castel San Pietro so think our fantastic dinner was justly deserved!

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Mille Miglia

May 16 2013

Click here to see our welcome to Verona Ken Smith this is especially for you !

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Yes we are in Italy. Fast cars, cigarette smoking, arm waving, pasta eating and yes gelato !! What is it about my instant Italian speaking children. Well, last time we were in Verona, Italian speaking Al became fluent overnight BUT his sister beats him. She has the app that she just types in and it yells Italian. Only problem is it didn’t understand ‘where is the bus?’ .. ‘where is the train?’ .. yes but we were at the train station. Maybe a sigh of relief cause I can just see the oh so stylish Italians being pleased to have an iphone shoved in their face, that screams at them in US accented Italian. A slightly vague moment in rain soaked Italy – are we in Verona or the Italian lakes? The night was clear but the flooding drains and puddles (make that lakes) told us they had a lot of rain. We wandered in the direction of the Arena di Verona, the wonderful AD 30 Roman amphitheatre in Piazza Bra. Well tonight was fantastic – last year Al and I were in Sienna for the Palio. This time oh so much more stylish – boys and their toys – Ken would have been in his element.

The Mille Miglia took place in Italy 24 times between 1927 and 1957. The open endurance race saw the best of Italian sports cars hit the road for the 1000 mile race. It is now re-enacted each May and arrived into Verona last night as we did. The only cars that can enter are those made between 1927 and 1957 .. gorgeous cars with the Arena as a backdrop. We ate our way through fantastic pasta and had a front seat as the Ferraris, Alphas and Fiats sped past.

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PBears marching band

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It is sort of weird isn’t it that you can wave goodbye to the White Cliffs of Dover and a few minutes later have to be singing

Allons enfants de la patrie,

Le jour de gloire est arriv

Contre nous de la tyrannie

L’tendard sanglant est lev

Entendez vous dans les campagnes,

Mugir ces froces soldats

Ils viennent jusque dans nos bras

Egorger nos fils, nos compagnes!

At 20000 feet, one minute the green fields of the mother country, the next the slightly browner fields of the French countryside. It takes about 8 hours to swim (if you are superhuman) the channel and what seems like a few minutes to fly over.

Our flight from the US was tiring. A bit too short to be easy. By the time you get up in the air it is only about four hours before they are trying to organise everyone for landing. Arrived into London at 9 and both felt really queasy. Not real sure what was happening over the Atlantic but boy did that plane bump around. A strong tail wind had us arrive about 45 minutes early. From the glitz of New York, to the staid but very cultured Smithsonians, and now the somewhat comforting sign of red buses, London cabs and young English lads standing outside ye olde English taverns with the obligatory pint of ale.

We decided that the tube was the easiest as had booked into a hotel in Covent Garden/Bloomsbury. I did think of Henrietta as we walked up High Holborn. My third great grandmother Henrietta Harriet Haywood was born on the 7 February 1826 and christened in St Marylebone Christ Church in London. On the 12th of June 1843 she was convicted at the Old Bailey of stealing, 10 cigar-cases, value 3s.; 3 tobacco-pipes, 1s.; 3 pipe-bowls, 9d.; 2 snuff-boxes, 8d.; 34 cigars, 2s. 6d.; 1 umbrella, 1s.; 3 ounces of snuff, 9d.; 1 cup, 3d.; 1 saucer, 3d.; 21 cards, 3d.; 3 cigar-tubes, 1s.; 2 snuff-boxes, 9d.; 1 walking-stick, 9d.; and 1 pound of tobacco, 4s. 6d. Now, one can only assume the black market existed at the time for tobacco products, otherwise my grandmother a few generations back had a large nicotine habit. If so, she had better lungs than me!  Although in London, one can always imagine why one would need to steal an umbrella. She was a servant of Solomon Phillips, a tobacconist who lived in a grand house in High Holborn and 170 years later her direct descendants are booking into a swish hotel a few doors up in one of the loveliest parts of London. We had arrived in London via the US from Bendigo and my grandmother ended up in Bendigo via the convict ship the Woodbridge and a stint in Van Dieman’s land.

We wandered a bit but then the awful waves of tiredness just wouldn’t let us stay standing any longer. A long sleep and then mugs of good English restorative tea and felt somewhat revived. I don’t know what they do with their tea but even good old builders tea seems to taste better in the English air or should I say damn freezing air. Oh my goodness, it was so damn cold. Lydia turned blue and I had to drink a good Chianti to warm up. Well the Brits might deal with the cold by way of keeping calm and carrying on but we followed the adage keep calm and hakuna matata. Simba was fantastic and the costumes and color of the performance spectacular against the gorgeous interior of the Lyceum. I have now switched from Dancing Queen to a bit of Elton and the Circle of Life. The Lyceum is currently home to the Lion King but is a stunning 1834 late baroque, rococo styled building in Wellington Street off the Strand. The ceiling is covered in wonderful flamboyant carvings and you feel like you should be dressed in ball gowns, gloves and diamonds rather that slightly travel weary trousers and walking shoes.

After a proper English breakfast and more builders’ tea, we peaked outside wrapped up like Michelin tyre men in coats, scarves, and numerous layers, but the English had turned on the weather for the colonials. Spectacular English sunshine.

Lizzie had lots of visitors when we called in and as the Queen’s Guard marched up the Mall I expected to see Paddington Bear following. I don’t know what it is but every time I see the Queen’s Guard with their bearskin hats I think of Paddington.

We visited Nelson and the lions. London was looking quite regal and restrained. Although maybe it just seemed so, as it was mid week, and the last time I was here there were Aussie flags draped all over the lions and our fellow countrymen were partying with Nelson. We caught the train to Oxford Street and a short whizz through Liberty. Caught up with Pip at the Kings Fund, a gorgeous building on Cavendish Square.

Back to the great hotel that we were staying at, with the most fantastic staff, and then, as always, the entertaining ride in the London cab. Today’s trivia was that there are about 65000 cabbies in London and it takes 3 to 5 years to get your licence. Our cabbie was a martial arts expert who liked doing the run from Heathrow so he could nick into the Marriott to use their gym between pick-ups. He lives near Cambridge and it often takes him longer to drive home than to drive to Belgium. He had been driving cabs for twelve years but still said he thought it was amazing he could drive into the tunnel and pop up in Belgium in 20 minutes. Well in the US you get educated in the subway, in the UK you just need to step into a London cab.

I am looking out the window at 35000 feet and can see huge peaks and snow fields that have probably only ever had Yeti wander over them. Sitting amongst the clouds I often expect to see Botticelli cherubs playing in the clouds, but as we fly over the Italian alps, I expect to see them with their golden bows and arrows chasing Yeti across the spectacularly snow capped peaks.

I do wonder whether this pilot trained with Goose and Maverick… One minute I can see the horizon, the next it feels like and looks like we are swinging between horizontal and vertical. I do hope my stomach settles down though as the voices around me remind me that our decisions about what to eat will be easy for the next few days … It is never too late, too early, too hot, too cold, too wet, too dry for gelato !!!

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