My dearest Blogwatchers, I have a question for you. Why is it I feel so nostalgic whenever I go into a grocery store in the UK? What is it about wandering down the biscuit (cookie) aisle, looking at packets of bourbon biscuits and custard creams, that makes me feel so damn wistful? Is it weird that I find myself running my fingers gently over boxes of Alpen Sugar Free while smiling at the Kellogg’s Crunchy Nut Cornflakes? These are the deep thoughts I found myself having, as I drove round the UK this week, after the end of my Scottish hiking adventure. I did consult Google for a formal definition -it defined the true meaning of nostalgia as “A wistful or excessively sentimental sometimes abnormal yearning for return to or of some past period or irrecoverable condition”. It also described it as “the state of being homesick” or “a sentimental longing or wistful affection for a period in the past”. OK – I get all that – but why biscuits?? What is it about Fox’s Classic Collection that triggers these feelings in me?
You find me in reflective mood after a very lovely week which I’ve spent reconnecting with family and friends. If you remember, about this time last year, ManpanionTM and I spent some time in the UK really going back into my memory archives, with visits to where I grew up in Cornwall as well as my first trip back to Cambridge and my old College since I left, PhD in hand, over 30 years ago. I remember getting all the feels, on seeing the once vibrant market town of Camelford, reduced to a depressing shell of a place where the biggest storefront belonged to the local funeral home. The amazement of how tiny King’s Acre seemed now, as an adult, when as a kid it was a huge house from which we ran a guest house. The dislocation of Cambridge where there was just enough that was the same – buildings, colleges, market squares and greens- but blurred with the passage of time, faded memories, things missing and things added, that the overall feeling was one of no longer belonging. Yep, my last trip back was an emotional smorgasbord indeed.
This time round, I would again get to see Dad and Thomas, but also to visit with friends and family I hadn’t seen since our fairytale wedding in Scotland, a full 3 years ago! It’s crazy how fast time flies – and then when you see old and cherished friends, how it feels as if no time has passed at all. I caught the train from Pitlochry early in the morning, for my 5hr ride down to Manchester, where I had rented a car for the rest of the week. The B&B owner was lovely and gave me a lift to the train station (I take it all back about the 4pm check-in time!) which was much appreciated as my suitcase, unburdened from any transit weight restrictions, now seemed to be full of bricks (oh, and Scottish whisky). The train station was adorably scenic (as is pretty much everything in Scotland) and I did feel a little sad to be leaving, as I’ve had such a fabulous week here. BUT I know I will be back – I still have the Isle of Skye to visit, as well as the Outer Hebrides and all the other fun Shipping Forecast classics to check out.
It was a straightforward journey (even though I’d somehow managed to book myself into a standard class carriage – the horror!) so before long, I was at the Hertz counter in Manchester Piccadilly politely declining the 400 GBP insurance option on my 225GBP car rental. I boldly declined all the insurance – and then made sure I concentrated extra hard not to drive on the wrong side of the road or clip any unexpectedly high curbs (ahem, Banbury car park). Of course, the one teleconference that my friend Caroline was unable to miss coincided exactly with the time of my arrival – but no worries, the weather was still absolutely gorgeous, so I spent a happy hour sitting in the back garden, soaking up the sunshine and admiring the stylish landscaping, until she was all done.
It was so nice to just sit and chat and catch up – what’s been going on since the wedding, filling in gaps of life stuff that has happened since we started our PhD’s together, 35 years ago. Caroline has the distinction of being one of my longest standing friends (THIRTY FIVE YEARS!) and there is something deeply comforting about spending time with someone who knew you when you were still so, well, fresh – before all the layers of adulthood, career, general fucked up-ness etc. started to form. Unfortunately, her husband Guy (whom I’ve known almost as long as Caroline (and who I introduced her too, btw, so totally taking credit for that) was out of town on business – so it was a real shame to have missed him. The last time I saw him was at our wedding where we partied our asses off to an incredible band for three hours straight- including totally confusing all the Americans present when we “danced” to James’s “Sit Down”. IYKYK. I haven’t danced as much since then. It was also good to hear about mutual Uni friends I’ve lost touch with over the years and hearing what they’ve been up and how life is treating them. There’s no way to sugar coat this. I really could be a much better friend. I know sometimes its the nature of long-standing friendships that you can not speak to someone for years and then you meet and start chatting as if you only spoke yesterday. But should it be that way? Those mutual friends – its been so long, I’m now embarrassed to get back in touch to say hello – as if the arrogance of my thinking they would even be interested in hearing from me. As it happens, they would love to connect again – but I have reached out yet? No. *sigh*
See – I did warn you I was in a reflective mood. Clearly driving for hours lets my mind wander much more than walking across the Scottish highlands (don’t worry, Mum, I’m still paying attention to the road). The next morning, Caroline had the day off work (yey!) so we took a trip into nearby Knutsford, to spend a very lovely morning shopping and being ladies of leisure amongst all the Real Footballers Wives of Cheshire (there were a lot of very nice cars scattered about the town). The High Street is fairly narrow, lined with quite a few historic buildings, and was still decorated with lots of bunting, having celebrated the 80th anniversary of VE Day the previous weekend. It was all terribly British. After scoring some great swag from the various charity shops in town (cashmere sweater, designer handbag), it was time for lunch at a bistro that was clearly designed with everyone’s Istagram feeds in mind – but it was tasty and relatively healthy, so it was a great choice.
And with that, it was time to bid Caroline farewell and head to my next destination – a 3hr drive southwards to Great Ponton to see my cousin Richard and his family. Again, the last time I’d seen Big Cuz was at the wedding, so I didn’t get much of a chance to chat with him and even less time to chat with Luisa, Olivia and Noah. So I was looking forward to spending some QT with them all. The weather had just started to turn, so it was a bit colder by the time I arrived at BC’s, just before 5pm. I was staying at their place and Olivia had very kindly given up her bedroom for me to sleep in (thank you!). (I am also happy to report that the bathroom passed muster and there were no Dutch-style glass shelves anywhere in sight).
We sat outside in the back garden for a bit enjoying the late afternoon sunshine before heading off to a local pizza pasta place for dinner. It was an excellent choice (my pea ravioli was very tasty) and it was nice to get to see a bit of the throbbing metropolis of Great Ponton. After dinner, it was time to take Douglas for a walk, so we strolled down to the local river where we engaged the derpy hound in a game of Go Catch The Imaginary Ball That Is Being Thrown into The River. Proof, if any were needed, that dogs are infinitely easier to please than cats (I write this as a lifelong cat owner) – I mean, it only took just the idea of a ball or stick being thrown and Douglas was insanely happy. While Douglas was merrily splashing about in the river, we wandered over to the nearby field to look at the cows. It only took a few minutes before the most curious of them started to lumber their way down towards the gate to take a look at us, including one absolute unit of a pregnant cow! She was enormous!! There’s gotta be at least two in there – and I don’t envy her job squeezing those out! For such large animals, they are surprisingly stealthy – one minute, the field is empty, the next, there are 15 of them silently staring at you. I don’t know if cows are smarter than people give them credit for – but I like to think that there were at least some thoughts going through their brains (minds?) as they certainly were looking very intently at us. Some of the braver ones came closer for a bit of a lick – Big Cuz was happy to oblige!
We hung with the heifers for a half hour or so, before we headed home, Douglas helpfully shaking himself dry of river juice right behind me. As I’d had a long drive, I retired to bed fairly early (note for my US readers: anything in the UK over 2hrs constitutes a “long drive” – I know, for you, its the equivalent of popping out for a carton of milk). I slept very well (Olivia – your bed is super comfy!) and after a quick coffee for breakfast, I said my farewells and set out around 9am for another “long drive” down to see Dad in Great Bentley.
I stopped at a service station to fill up with gas, as it was just over half full – unfortunately, I couldn’t actually work out how to open the petrol cap! I couldn’t see a button to push anywhere inside the car – so I figured it must be a “push and pop” style cap where you push on it just-so and it pops open. After a few minutes of pushing and cajoling, it still refused to open, so instead I just went into the service station to buy a consolation Twix. The guy behind the counter asked “no petrol?” – and I actually told him the truth and that I couldn’t get the cap off! Not sure why I admitted it – he offered to help but I decided to deal with it Another Time after having consulted YouTube. I thought the bright blue compact car I was driving was a Seat Nugget- but apparently I was driving a Suzuki Swift and it did, indeed, have a petrol cap button inside the car – it was simply helpfully located underneath the driver’s seat. Grrrr. Btw, the names of cars here have not improved since my rant last year. In addition to the inexplicably named QashQai, I spotted one called CAPTUR – spelt exactly like that, WITHOUT THE “E”!! WHY??? What do you think dropping the last letter off will achieve for you from a brand equity perspective? I also saw another car with “REXTON” plastered across the back of it – is that the name of the car, the model, what??? It sounds like a dog’s name!! COME ON!!! Another traffic-related observation was the “Average Speed Check” speed camera – back in my day, I recall there being cameras that would nail you for simply exceeding the speed limit – these ones felt somewhat more forgiving. You can speed a bit, slow down a bit – as long as it all comes out in the wash, you’re good.
Anyway, the weather was a lot colder and there were a few spots of rain – so it was perfect timing, in that it was a transit/travel day. I sadly noticed quite a lot of roadkill – particularly foxes and deer, much more than I see back home in the US – even in similarly rural areas. I wonder if its because the hedges and woods butt right up against the roads here in the UK – and the roads are generally narrower, so the animals are more inclined to try and cross them? Whatever the reason, it was a bit sad – but at least I didn’t see any red squirrels squished on the roads!
I arrived at my digs for the next 2 nights, the Smugglers Cove (just outside Clacton) that had helpfully been renamed to The Marston 4 weeks prior. This made it a tad confusing to find it on Google Maps – particularly for Dad who I’d arranged to meet there! Its attached to a fairly generic pub/sports bar/old people’s home, so I had to go there first to check-in. I was a bit early, but I gave it the old Holloway charm (I think some of it had rubbed off from my stay with Big Cuz) and the chap behind the reception desk kindly arranged an early check-in for me. The room was fairly basic, but a decent size – and this time the in-room coffee & tea station was also stocked with Cadbury’s hot chocolate! Score!! I was on the second floor (no elevator – ugh!), looking out over the car park, so I glanced out of the window and saw Dad’s bright red Fiat 500 parked up. I headed back over to reception (it was in a separate building) to see if I could find him – after a couple of false starts and wanderings around the car park, we finally managed to find each other. As it was lunchtime, we headed over to the Plough in Great Bentley as I remembered having a fairly decent lunch there during last year’s visit. Alas, I guess the chef must have died or quit, as I was served probably the worst avocado toast and poached egg I’ve ever eaten – and Dad had a steak sandwich that had been cooked to oblivion! It was Not Good.
After lunch, I drove Dad back over to the caravan and we sat and chatted for a bit before I headed back to the hotel for a rest and to finish unpacking (it was a real treat to be in one place for more than a night!). We’d arranged to meet later to head to Clacton-on-Sea for dinner. I’d not visited before so was curious to see how it compared to other seaside towns, such as Margate or Ramsgate down in Kent where I used to live. It was a much smaller town than I was expecting and I guess it’s still early in the tourist season as it was pretty quiet and there didn’t really seem to be a whole lot going on. There weren’t all that many places to choose from for dinner – but the local steakhouse had fairly decent reviews, so we gave that a try. We both had medium rare steaks – mine was cooked perfectly, alas Dad’s was not. Two strikes in one day on the meat stakes!
The next day, after a relaxed morning and completing a few errands (I’d forgotten how depressing UK chemists are), we decided to visit the historic town of Coggeshall, about a half hour’s drive from Great Bentley. According to Wikipedia, “Coggeshall is a town and civil parish in the Braintree district, in Essex, England, between Braintree and Colchester on the Roman road Stane Street and the River Blackwater. In 2001 it had a population of 3,919. It has almost 300 listed buildings and a market whose charter was granted in 1256 by King Henry III” In other words, it’s pretty damned old! There are a couple of particularly notable buildings, both now managed and conserved by the National Trust – one is Grange Barn, one of the oldest timber framed buildings in Europe , having been built in the 13th century to serve Coggeshall Abbey (read about it HERE). The other is called Paycocke House and is a surviving example of a Tudor merchant’s house and garden. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paycocke%27s_House_and_Gardens
By the time we’d made it over to Coggeshall, it was about lunchtime so we decided to try out another pub for food. The pub itself was pretty old, with parts of it dating back to the 15th Century – so for pure atmosphere alone, it was a winner As I was still steadily working my way through “British Foods I Haven’t Had For A While”. I chose a ploughman’s and Dad had the pie of the day. It was SOOOO good – giant lumps of cheese and country style ham with Branston pickle AND piccalilli!! Faith in pub lunches – restored.
After lunch, we waddled down the road to go see Paycocke House. Before coming away on holiday, ManpanionTM and I had been engrossed in Wolf Hall, a series set in Tudor England based on the books by Hilary Mantel, which tells the story of the rise (and eventual downfall) of Thomas Cromwell, a key advisor to Henry VIII. We have been completely spellbound by it (in fact, I’m putting off watching the last 2 episodes as it does not end well for our protagonist) and having just that additional bit of awareness of the history of the times (the books/TV production are noted for their historical accuracy) really enhanced the visit for me. It made it a lot easier to imagine what life would have been like in this house during this time. And it was just remarkable how well preserved the interior was – due, in large part, to the considerable efforts of the Buxton family (who had purchased it from the Paycocke’s in 1584) and gave it to the National Trust in 1924 (it was fully restored in the 1960s).
As you look at the pictures below, you’ll notice there is a LOT of wood used throughout the interior – apparently, the build has at least twice the number of structural beams that were actually needed – an apparent signifier of great wealth. The rooms were all staged to represent how they would have been used – Paycocke made his money selling high quality woolen fabrics and they had modern-day recreations of samples so you could feel the different cloths. I don’t know whether its just because I’m getting older – or because I’ve now lived in the States for over 20years – but I’m finding I am much more appreciative of my country’s history than I used to be. I can now understand why the Americans go nuts for stuff like this – it is pretty fucking cool.
So it was a very nice afternoon out – we had a cup of tea in the garden where I admired the various plantings, including some nicely established beds of lavender and stunning rose bushes (Mum has been sending me pictures of how my newly-planted garden back home has been doing, so its been quite exciting to see all my bareroot roses coming to life!). We then headed back to Great Bentley where I dropped Dad off at the caravan for the evening. We were both still pretty full from our giant lunch, so decided to skip meeting for dinner and instead get together for coffee before I headed out the next morning. I did end up popping into the giant M&S Food store that was right next to my hotel – I have, as yet, failed to have a jam doughnut during my whole UK stay – and I was SOL this time too!! I consoled myself with an iced bun instead.
So, the next morning, Dad came over to meet me around 10am and we popped over to Costa for some caffeine. After coffee, it was time to say our goodbyes and for me to get on the road, heading west for the very last leg of my trip – heading off to hang out with my oldest nephew, Thomas. It was another longish drive – about 3.5hrs – so I had to stop this time and get gas – this time, with no problem! My final destination was just outside of Coventry, a tiny little village called Ilmington on the fringes of the glorious Cotswolds. As you’d expect, the roads got windier and windier and – at one point – it seemed as if I was on the Most Dangerous Road in the UK, given the number and variety of warning signs that peppered the side of the road. In addition to signs that told me of the risk of floods, gravel, deer, slipping and no cats eyes, one sign in particular amused me as it blared out “12 CASUALTIES IN 2 YEARS OVER 3 MILES” multiple times over one stretch of road. I wasn’t sure – was it a warning? Or was it actually a challenge? Given I’d opted out of the collision damage waiver for the Suzuki Nugget, I decided it was the former, so I kept my eyes on the road looking out for errant wildlife, inclement weather and blind felines.
I’d chosen to stay at a historic pub called the Howard Arms – and I could not have been happier with my choice. It was a shame I was only here for 1 night as it was just gorgeous – and the location was Quintessential English Village on steroids. https://howardarms.com It was just across from a lovely little green with a big old tree and the entire village was extremely picturesque. I’d arrived at the Howard Arms just in time to catch the last lunch service, so I had some very tasty cod cheeks and peas (YUM) before taking a stroll through the village. The lady who checked me in told me that there was an old church just a few minutes walk away that was known for its mouse carvings, as well as its improbably large graveyard. Sounded intriguing and I was missing ManpanionTM quite a bit, so off I went to explore. The slightly overcast weather had passed, so it was another gloriously sunny afternoon and even though it was a Monday afternoon, it was very quiet and peaceful. Maybe a bit too quiet? We all know that quaint, sleepy English villages like this one are just hotbeds of murderers so maybe everyone was taking a nap after having been hard at work burying their neighbors in the garden. It would certainly explain why the mixed borders were all so lush.
I got a bit lost trying to find the church (a bit ironic given I’d spent the last week walking 83 miles without losing my way!) but my meanderings took me past some exquisite old dwellings, including one which had one of the best gardens I’d ever seen. Clearly this has been a labor of love for many, many years. I eventually found the church – with its improbable sized graveyard – and went inside to look for wooden-carved mice, the hallmark of Robert Thompson of Kilburn, the carpenter responsible for the church’s interior in the 1930’s. Fortunately, they did have a laminated cheat sheet just tucked inside the main front door listing the locations of all 11 of the mice carved into the various oak woodwork – it still took me a little while, but I am proud to report I found them all! (don’t worry – I only included one of them below!). It was a lovely little church – not too ostentatious or flashy (one of my problems with churches in general) and it was easy to picture the local village folk gathering there to celebrate or mourn major life events (Krusty particularly enjoyed the bell ropes).
So that was the village of Ilmington and the Howard Arms. I feel I packed a lot of the Cotswolds flavor into less than 12 hours! It does make me want to come back and spend more time here exploring (along with probably half the US – apparently the Cotswolds are now completely overrun with tourists and the locals are officially Over It: https://www.independent.co.uk/travel/news-and-advice/bibury-cotswolds-gloucestershire-tourism-coaches-b2720412.html Nevertheless, it’s definitely on my list of potential Future Hikes (yes, I’m already starting to think about coming back next year and doing the same thing. I must be nuts). The next morning, I’d arranged to meet my nephew Thomas at a local coffee shop in Wellesbourne, just after 10am, so I sadly checked out of the Howard Arms just after 9.30am. I met up with a couple of his friends who’d also been in town visiting him (hello Carter!) and after a cheeky spot of brekkie for the boyz (I’d already enjoyed my mini-full English at the Howard Arms) we headed off to Wellesbourne airfield. Thomas has been training to be a pilot for the last few years (its a long process – for which us passengers should be thankful!) but I’d never yet had the chance to actually go flying with him. But today was the day!!!
Now, I’m not enough of an expert to be able to walk you through all the technical details and checks and procedures that Thomas went through before, during and after our flight – but I will say this. I AM SO STINKING PROUD OF MY NEPHEW!!! Thomas’s training to become a pilot has been a long, hard road with many, many challenges and obstacles to endure – but he has stuck with it, and he is now on the cusp of finishing his training and realizing his lifelong dream to fly. It makes this old heart of mine so happy to see someone be able to turn their passion into a career – a lot of us never truly figure out what makes us happy, let alone be able to make a decent living from it. There is also something deeply enriching about observing someone who is completely in their element – calm, competent, totally in control. My little nephew!!! I can understand why his instructors rate him so highly – he has such a, well, pilot-y manner about him – even though you are 4,000ft up in a glorified tin can with wings, you can relax, knowing you are in safe hands (except for the bit where Thomas let me drive the plane – I was totally shitting myself then – doesn’t he know how crap I am at Mario Karts??).
Our original plan was to have flown to the coast for fish and chips, but the weather was a bit too cloudy and overcast, so instead we took a flight over to Duxford, about a 30min flight. As you might know, it used to be a US air base – but is now a military museum, so it was fun to go wander round all the giant aircraft hangers looking at planes from years gone by – including the test Concorde plane. Thomas would drop little bits of aeronautic facts along the way – again, showing his deep and broad knowledge of All Things Plane. After about an hour of wandering around, we climbed back into the little plane (I can’t remember what it was, sorry) and headed back to Wellesbourne.
After we got back and parked the plane, it was around 4pm so we decided to go and find somewhere to have a late lunch. Yet again, I lucked out on the Olde Pub stakes as we found a place nearby that did a SPECTACULAR Sunday roast – including a ridiculous amount of gravy (which is, frankly, the only amount of gravy that makes sense). The roasties were delicious and the Yorkie pud was nicely perky, so my ex-pat longing for a decent roast was finally sated. I did save a teeny bit of room for a Bakewell tart and custard chaser, just to totally finish me off – WORTH IT. After food, I went back with Thomas to check out his new digs in Coventry – a great little apartment on the 19th floor with awesome views across the city – perfect for him and the missus. I’m just so proud of him and the life he is creating for himself and his family – just keep doing what you’re doing!! You are crushing it!!
And then, finally, all that was left was to drive over to Heathrow from Coventry, check into my final hotel for the night ahead of my 6am flight back to Chicago the next morning. I must have had a brain fart when I booked the hotel, as I only realized when I got my boarding pass that I was leaving from Terminal 2 – and that the hotel I was at had a walkway which connected you to Terminal 4! Grrrr. Ah well – live and learn (nothing a 45 GBP early morning Uber ride couldn’t fix – ouch). The flight home was very smooth and uneventful (like all the best flights) and I couldn’t wait to see ManpanionTM, as he had very kindly offered to pick me up from the airport. I did smack my 70lb suitcase right into my right shin bone, just above the ankle, as I hauled it off the baggage carousel – giving me an instant bruise and scuff. I had to pretend that it didn’t hurt (it did) and was No Biggie as there was a police officer and sniffer dog circling around and I was worried that too much customs attention might uncover the TWO bottles (instead of the allowed one) of Scottish whisky that were weighing my case down. Kinda ironic that I made it all the way through the Rob Roy Way plus a whole additional week’s exploring – to then injure myself at the baggage carousel at home!! But tis just a flesh wound and it looks impressive next to my hiking sock tan lines.
But that’s it for now – it was a fabulous two weeks – a perfect blend of alone time and friend and family time. I feel relaxed, enriched and grateful for my life and the people in it. I hope you enjoyed my adventure too – the next one is coming right up so stay tuned….
