Sleeping under the stars

Had the funniest day yesterday. Arrived at Euston Station to meet the fabulous Karen for a full day of work. I was standing on platform 2, tapping away on my laptop that was perched precariously on a post. A lovely London train man came up and told me not to be perturbed, but I was standing in the middle of a police training exercise. Seems the new British transport police were learning about how to deal with rude and difficult customers. For once, this wasn’t me. Two people were playing the parts of rudeness, but they didn’t seem rude at all. The police were also very self-contained. My lovely train man friend told me that the English are very refined and everyone behaves themselves – which is why the police don’t need to carry guns.

This was quite a funny conversation as the cabby the day before told me that the English have been blowing each other up, or someone has been blowing them up for centuries. I do love a good cabbie. I got a full history lesson from the Templar Knights of the Crusades through Northern Ireland to today. You gotta love a ride in a black cab; a history lesson and a half hours’ entertainment for 10 quid.

Thursday, I had a day off and walked 31km through the stunning English sunshine. I had never been to the Roman ruins below the Guildhall. The ever-helpful Wikipedia tells me that London’s Roman Amphitheatre was built in AD70 for gladiators to flex their muscles in Roman martial arts to the screaming scores of blood thirsty Londoners throwing Jaffas as they fought and died. Well the bit about the Jaffas I made up, but the rest is apparently true.

When I told the delightful wee bairns that I was off to see the Roman ruins, the very sensible Scotland patronisingly reminded me that I was in the wrong city and the wrong country. He obviously doesn’t know his history well, but pretty cool that the amphitheatre was only discovered after Scotland was born.

Seems they were digging up British soil to build the new Guildhall art shack to house the treasures of the City of London Corporation when they stumbled upon the Roman arena. Also seems that the wooden benches of the arena were at one time kept warm by 7000 Londinium bottoms watching criminals be executed. My sedate 31km stroll had taken me through Henrietta Harriet’s Clerkenwell. I did feel slightly relieved that the Guildhall slaughterhouse was well buried beneath the soil in the 1840s or I might not have been here to enjoy the lovely English sunshine.

London had her party dress on and was in serious show off mode so what else could I do but walk and walk and walk some more. I have covered 52km in two days on foot. I have had the loveliest weekend. Saturday, it was one of my favourite pastimes – gorgeous homeware shops in oh so cool Hoxton and Islington to very refined South Kensington and everywhere in between. I staggered back to the hotel in Bloomsbury and fell asleep pretty well standing up. Yesterday was one of the truly memorable travel days. Brilliant sunshine in London so walked from Bloomsbury right across London. Jane Mills and I caught up in Melbourne a few weeks ago and when we worked out we would be in London together for a day, planned a Sunday date at the Tate. Did a great tour of one of the galleries and then thoroughly enjoyed a trip through the life of Georgia O’Keefe. A really lovely lunch at the Switch House with amazing views. The twinkly lights of Covent Garden provided the perfect end to a perfect day.

Dinner in Henry the VIIIs 1546 Trinity was just lovely. The conference was busy but the highlight was the lovely stroll along the path trodden by Princes, spies, poets and Prime Ministers. The gardens were of course gorgeous, and aliens were long gone with the oh so genteel dinner and the choir in the stalls above. Cambridge was as always beautiful and I had some lovely walks along the Backs after long days of conference concentration.

After my alien encounter on Stanton Moor is was quite a relief to wander the lovely streets of Bakewell. The Brits were out sunning themselves in the gorgeous weather and I drank in the sun. The lovely small market town on the Derbyshire Dales is on the River Wye and it was lovely to see people, water and swans and other signs of normal life. The five arched bridge over the river was shining in the sun and the market town feel was really strong. Always a bit awesome to think that there were market traders standing where I stood in 1254.

My next overnight stop was Buxton, the most amazing spa town close to the border of Chershire and Stafforshire. Guidebooks tell me that the Crescent was modelled on Carr’s Bath design, and it really was gorgeous, even if it was covered in scaffolding. The opera house, the amazing gardens and the Devonshire Dome – a completely over the top folly of a town but no signs of extra terrestrial life so was happy to climb into bed and dream of opera going, spa soaking and promenading aristocracy – a very big improvement on the supernatural.

Eorthburg Hlaw, or Arbor Low, is known as the Stonehenge of the North and I had a great time finding it on my GPS, and then climbing over a farm fence and tramping across a paddock. Completely different to Stonehenge as no tourists, just heaps of sheep and cows. Dodged animal poo (unsuccessfully) as I climbed the henge bank. It did remind me of Avebury as had a similar ditch.

The stones are all fallen, but they would have been quite large, with Gib Hill, a big burial mound across the paddock. I climbed the Hill and the views were fantastic. It all felt very serene – not so, as I headed toward Bakewell and the Moor.

My Neolithic adventure continued to the supposedly atmospheric Nine Ladies Stone Circle. It took me a while to find it and I drove the lovely brand new Merc up and down goat tracks to get there. I gave up on addresses and started using postcodes.

The postcode for the Nine Ladies was in the middle of nowhere. The views were amazing but I was ready to give up when I saw a small sign that said I was on the edge of Stanton Moor. I climbed the fence and hiked along a narrow path. I did have a moment where I thought .. hmm .. maybe I shouldn’t be doing this. There was something quite eerie about the place with six-foot-high grass and scrub at each side of the narrowest walking path. It got spookier as I came across a number of standing stones on the side of the path that seemed to be looking down on me. I walked for ages and then found a stile to climb over and came out on to the Moor.

The purple flowers were out and I could see a large cork stone in the distance. I had no idea where I was and did wonder whether I would end up lost. Seriously, it was so eerie and I kept thinking I could hear buzzing sounds – too much Outlander I think. I came across some serious stone henge hunting walkers who had maps with them. Apparently, there are a number of circles on the Moor but they sent me in search of the Nine Ladies. Of course it had to be Sunday, and the nine women were turned to stone after dancing on a Sunday so my imagination went totally wild and I marched rather than danced. I came across so many Bronze Age remnants, but the really spooky feeling remained. When I entered the field, the stones were spread in a large circle. They were much smaller than other stone circles that I have visited but there was something about it that made me want to get out of there. Now for the really spooky bit – I got back to the hotel and downloaded my photos on to my computer. Amongst them was the weirdest image. Now I am sure there is some really easy Apple explanation –buzzing sounds, weird stones and now aliens – I was so relieved to jump in the car, lock the doors and speed as fast as possible down the goat tracked hill. Castlerigg is one of my favourite places in the world – I visit often. Definitely not the same on Stanton Moor – yep too much engagement with Outlander perhaps, but check out the photo – OMG  

The lovely Sarah from Elsevier in Oxford suggested that I should spend the weekend in the Peak District. I drove across last night to the City of Chesterfield, right on the edge of the Peak National Park. Georgiana Cavendish, the Duchess of Devonshire, and Lady Elizabeth Foster are amongst my favourite historical figures, so I was very excited to visit the scene of that oh so scandalous ménage a trois. Of course Chatsworth is also the home of Mr Darcy, so how could I resist a visit to the massive Derbyshire pad of so much excitement.

Today, there was excitement plus. I followed millions of Range Rovers along the winding, gorgeous Peak roads and drove along the snake road to the Baroque/Italianate golden stone edifice. It was a stunning Derbyshire morning, with bright sunlight pouring through the windows. As I headed toward Bakewell, the clouds came in and the temperature dropped. Uncommon for me, I had grabbed a cardigan and my brolly, so felt well prepared to join the masses there for the Chatsworth country fair. Of course, I had grabbed my nightie instead of my cardy, so trooped off across the rain swept parklands in my t-shirt in search of sheep dog trials, highland dancing and the massive number of food and wine stalls that are the quintessential staples of English country fairs.

Well it poured, poured and poured some more. I contemplated going back to the car to get my nightie so I could artfully drape it across my shoulders as the latest fashion statement. I did resist, but only just.

I ended up in the cooking demonstration pavilion, largely because it was massive and dry. It was hilarious. Hundreds of twin set and pearl groupies squealing for Mary Berry. Now of course, I had to google who Mary Berry was. Artisan producers, the Great British Bake Off, and hurdle jumping sheep dogs. The excitement was all too much. Back in the car, the soaking wet clothes came off, the nightie went on and again I showed much restraint by not stopping at the Bakewell tart shop. The Range Rover types were all stopped, but I thought a nightie and boot wearing Aussie, ordinarily might be ok, but unfortunately, and somewhat stupidly, I had forgotten my pearls. Jan has just emailed me to tell me that Mary Berry is one of the UKs national treasures. I am not sure about national treasure, but I do rather think that in another era the style icon, Georgiana, would have been highly entertained by today’s Australian fashionista – blunnies, a nightie, dripping wet hair, but alas no pearls. Hey Lyd – check out the teepees.

Oh I have had a lovely day. Started the morning in the gorgeous medieval market town that is most famous for the birth of the Bard of Avon. Whilst Bardolatry abounds, I rather like the historical links as the gateway to the British canals. The flight over was super easy. I knew I was exhausted from the crappy cold that I have had for the last week or so, but didn’t think I would pass out and sleep for about 17 hours. The lovely flatbed upstairs helps, and I was totally cocooned away in my favourite Qantas pod with no-one beside me. Felt incredibly decadent to drink champagne and then just doze away as though I wasn’t being jettisoned across the world at 1000km hour.

I arrived into glaring sunshine in Dubai, where the heat was radiating off the glass. Heathrow was also bathed in brilliant sunshine and after the terrible winter at home, I felt like a snake, wanting to simply lie down and sun myself. The good thing about the Qantas pod, is that your bags are usually first off. I whizzed through passport control quickly but then stood and stood and stood some more. Now I had slept for hours, but still had that jetlagged, sleep deprived feeling, where you go to say something and the words make no sense. The older man was standing beside me. I kept thinking gee you are familiar, and when he spoke, I thought, I know that voice. Anyway, Mr Geoffrey Rush and I waited ages for our bags. If you are going to lose your bags at Heathrow and have to wait for ages, then waiting with Mr Rush sure stops you complaining.

I left Heathrow in a beautiful brand new C class Mercedes. I sure should have taken more notice of how Fiona drives because I found myself on the busy Heathrow Northern Perimeter Road with this lovely black piece of German machinery that wouldn’t drive beyond 20 miles an hour. Of course there was no emergency stopping lane, so I drove down the middle of the road with the hazard lights on. OMG. I have no idea what I did to the car but it was 15 minutes of total stress. When I eventually turned it off and on and put my foot down, the lovely engine purred and the damn thing took off at 100 miles an hour.

Oh I love this car. I have felt like I have flown across England’s mountains green. After a lovely day with Jan in Lincoln, and her fantastic Indian fare, I am now holed up in Chesterfield. Tomorrow Mr Darcy’s Pemberley.

Our conference was super busy but we all did really well. Our symposia was really successful, I had fun chairing and the conference civic welcome in the city hall provided an opportunity for Selpie O’Highland dancers. Hey Gretch we really need Selpie lessons.

I was excited as the conference closed as we were visiting the Childsmile team the next day. They picked us up early on Friday. It was sort of like a Mr Bean episode, with three Aussies who had been munching on Scottish shortbread, hence with expanding waistlines, crowded into the backseat of a small Scottish car. We visited a couple of schools and I must admit I was desperate to steal very cute Scottish 5-year-olds. We walked into one classroom and were met with an excited gaggle of the cutest, Glaswegian speaking wee ones who yelled out ‘hello Australia’. We were treated like royalty and the kids were so excited that their poor teacher had massive trouble controlling them. Vanessa, I did think of you. They wanted to talk about great white sharks, snakes and spiders and were totally intrigued by us. Even the little ones were asking ‘do you know my cousin in Australia’ – again, we couldn’t understand a word they were saying but oh my goodness they were very cute. Their teacher told us she liked the tooth brushing programs as it was the only time they were quiet for the whole day.

Our train trip to Auld Reekie was again easy, and it was nice to have a wee rest before we braced ourselves for the cobblestones and climb up to meet William and Robert at the gates to the granite fortress that dominates the Edinburgh streetscape. Today we have walked 500 miles and it isn’t over. Virginia isn’t convinced she even likes ghosts but you seriously can’t come to Edinburgh and leave without one poltergeist sighting – we are drinking buckets of good builders tea, stuffing chocolate in our mouths and getting rugged up ready for the terrifying covenanters prison. I keep telling Virginia it isn’t scary … but of course … I lie !!!!

The wee beastie was floating on her back as we drove up the side of the Loch. It was nice to arrive into our lodgings in Inverness and there were good locks on the door to keep out the heinous Campbell ghosts. We wandered through the bronze age Clava Cairns and past the Cairns of the fallen Highlanders buried beneath the soil of Culloden. It is pretty fantastic to drive some of the most scenic roads in the world all within the space of 24 hours, and drink in the history of the Highlanders. A pitstop at the fantastic Blair Atholl watermill wasn’t planned, but that is the lovely thing about Scotland. Pull off the road into any small village and feel like you have walked into Brigadoon. We munched on great toasties and fabulous shortbread in the 1590 mill. Fabulous eating bread, where the flour of the bread that you are eating is being stone ground a few metres from you. We arrive into Stirling late afternoon so went in search of a wee drop at the 1733 Settle Inn. We could have sat for hours as the drinks cost almost nothing and the fire was burning in the tiniest, stone walled pub. Virginia had no idea what the barman was saying so it was a damn miracle we ended up with exactly what we wanted. We arrived back into the very cool Glaswegian city. From Sauropods, giants and beasties to partying Scotsman, great restaurants and the noise of the most vibrant of cities we had been to a parallel universe but were now back to work.

This trip will always be known as Selpie O’Castle, Selpie O’Castle with fountain and Selpie O’Hairy cow. Carol even brought a pink brolly with matching shoe laces for the occasion. Whilst we were headed for the bathtub of the wee beastie, my imagination was wild again as we left the shortbread tin Eilean Donan over the Drochaid an Eilein Sgitheanaich across the Loch Alsh. Skye really is the most dramatic and wild place. With the wee beastie floating around on her back in Loch Ness, I was convinced that I could see thumping Sauropods plodding across the wilds of Skye. Now I have had totally crappy asthma so perhaps it was a bit of oxygen deprivation but I was totally convinced that any moment the lagoon loving wee beastie would peer down at me through the window. As we drove across the remote, fog covered roads you could occasionally see the giants finger tips poking through the clouds. As the rain pelted down and the wind rocked the car, I was once again convinced that giants or beasties would rock our solid German engineering. Just as I closed my eyes for the giant to toss us, the sun poured down through the giant’s finger tips.  Our wee stop for a 40 pound round of restorative G&T was completely over the top but we had survived stomping Sauropods and giant beasties so decided it was a small price for Carol to pay for the ambience of the over priced Portree bar.