Blighty 2025 - Down day my arse!

Today was supposed to be a down day, that is just leave the car alone a vegetate at the cottage. No such luck.

I needed a shirt for the upcoming weekend celebrations, so we jumped in the Carrot and made our way over to Marks and Spencer's in Witney, the first of five, nay six, stops on a shopping expedition. It's a small branch of M&S in Witney for sure, but the only dress shirts they had for men were either short-sleeved or black. Two small shelves, and that was it. There was a quarter of the upstairs sales floor dedicated to women's unmentionables, but shirts? Forget it. That knocked me back because I've always thought of M&S as infallible. 

We traipsed over to Next, where at least there was about one fifth of the upper sales floor's rear wall dedicated to men's dress shirts. That most were slim fit was not good (their customer base is a lot younger than me), but I did get a blueish, not particularly patterned, shirt in the right size and regular fit, so all was not lost.

Then it was off to Superdrug, followed by Waitrose, then Holland & Barratt. Goodies dumped in the car, we then motored over to Sainsbury's for groceries.

Waiting for Dear Wife to conclude her transactions in H&B, I was struck that there were a lot of people "out shopping". That is they were walking between stores and visiting a few of each to pick up a few things. People in Chatham don't really "shop" like that. They drive to the store they want, buy stuff, then drive to the next store. There are of course the "Malls", although our nearest is an hour away, There people move about in an air-conditioned retail palace, but our local malls are just clothes shops and cell-phone outlets. When I say clothes, I don't mean ordinary stuff, I mean expensive, branded items that only young people are daft enough to spend their money on. We don't go to the Mall very often.

That said, British shops are perpetually busy. Their floor areas are small, their shelves high and they're almost always busy. It's not that people spend more money shopping in the UK, but retail business in Canada survives on a much lower footfall than in the UK. Big stores in the UK will close if they don't get the footfall they're expecting, and they'd laugh at the footfall figures in Canada. That's culture I suppose.

Once we were done shopping, we went home, had some lunch, then climbed in the car again and headed over to Toddington, just a few miles north of Cheltenham. Toddington is the base for the GWSR (see yesterday's post), and has good little gift shop, something we missed out on yesterday. We also thought that there might be a model train shop, but the the sign Emma saw the day before clearly referred to a one-off sales event that had long gone by today. We watched two steam hauled trains pass through the station, spent a ton of money in the gift shop, then got back into the car to go to a model shop in Cheltenham. A very helpful (?) lady on the station platform suggested this, so naturally we had to go.

Fortunately Cheltenham wasn't far away, and the store was quickly located. I bought two used HO/OO gauge steam locos, but Charlie came away with a five-car, GWR Paddington Bear liveried, Hitachi bi-mode train in "N" gauge. I won't tell you how much that cost because it'll make your hair curl, but thank you great-grandparents.

Then it was a surprisingly swift run back along the A40 to Witney, and a sit down fish and chip meal at Smarts'. I had proper fish, but the others had variations on the theme, all plant-based. It wasn't too costly for the four of us, either, not compared with something like pizzas. Then it was home again.

That was the down day, and I'm knackered. We've been prepping for the weekend away this evening, and I even ironed the shirt I bought in Next. How's that for domestic?

The laptop's not travelling with me this weekend (a long story about a sticky lid/screen hinge), so the blog is going to have the weekend off. Enjoy!

Blighty 2025 - Full Steam Ahead, and other silly sayings

Today we made the fairly short trip to the Cotswold village of Broadway, and the Gloucestershire and Warwickshire Steam Railway, better known as the GWSR. For my North American readers that's the "Glostershure and Worrickshure Steam Railway".

Broadway is better known for it's idyllic main street, broad and lined with Cotswold Stone buildings, albeit that it's all gone a bit high-priced and touristy these days. But at the bottom of that street is the old Cheltenham to Stratford-Upon-Avon railway line, raised from the dead by a dedicated band of volunteers and now running regular jaunts between Broadway and Cheltenham Racecourse, with trains normally hauled by steam locomotives. Heritage railways are on the up in the UK, and the GWSR is an excellent example of how to do it correctly.

There is a good history of the line on the GWSR website, from it's original inception in 1899, to the present day, and you can read about it here.

Our drive over there through the pretty, if twisty, roads of the Cotswolds was easy, and the weather was set fair as well. There's a car park next to Broadway Station, operated by the local council, and it was there that we pulled in and I went to pay. Now parking in the UK is expensive, and these days dominated by parking apps for mobile phones; witness the parking at British Rail stations. But here it was either coins, of which I had none, or a parking app that I didn't have on my phone. I loaded the app using the data only e-sim I've been using to avoid the scandalous charges by my Canadian cell phone provider, but of course the app wanted to confirm the phone number by sending me an SMS message. OK, I switched e-sims and fired up Rogers Canada, only to find no signal. Bugger, I thought.

Dear Wife legged it on up to the station to buy our GWSR train tickets, while I nipped into a little petrol station on the roadside and bought a chocolate bar with a £10 note, asking for my change in £1 coins. Oh my goodness, you'd have thought I'd have asked him to sign his daughter into slavery! What a face on the man! Still, he did cough up the requisite coins. Back at the car park, I shovelled five coins into the machine and received two tickets, one to go on the dashboard of the car, and one to exchange at the station ticket office for a £3 discount on the train fare. Result. I was a wee bit crestfallen when Dear Wife and Emma expressed surprised that I'd had the gumption to read the tickets and bring one up to the station, how nice it is that people have confidence in my abilities.

The train was standing in the station, big green Merchant Navy Class locomotive at the front, Peninsular and Oriental (P&O for the ordinary folks), number 35006, ready to haul us down to Cheltenham Racecourse. The carriages, or cars, were not new but were considerably newer than the loco, and took myself and Dear Wife back in time to when we were taken on train trips as kids ourselves. Charlie of course was ecstatic.

The loco huffed and puffed and we set off south through the lush, and I mean lush, Cotswold countryside. The rail line has a lot of infrastructure that has to be maintained, stations, bridges, viaducts and tunnels, and everything looked so well cared for. The stations on the line had more or less been demolished when British Rail closed the line, but the GWSR has brought them back, from rebuilt signal boxes, to new platforms and old station buildings, and right down to some period signage and posters. For a train nerd, it is absolute heaven, and for us oldies, it really stirred some memories.

We had traditional card tickets, which were duly "clipped" by the train's guard part way through the trip. The sound and smell of the steam loco was magical and our stately progress allowed us to soak up the Vale of Evesham and the Severn Valley views, and the hills of Malvern and beyond. The weather was bright and sunny, and that added to the enjoyment.

At the Racecourse we alighted and watched the loco uncouple from the front of the train and trundle around to the back, to be coupled on there and be ready for the return trip to Broadway. We availed ourselves of snacks from the outlet on the station, which bore more than a passing resemblance to a garden shed, and boarded the train once again for the slow run north.

Back at Broadway, we watched the loco get relocated from one end of the train to the other again, only this time, when the loco was ready and they were waiting for the signal, the driver let Charlie, and a couple of other kids, up onto the footplate. You can imagine how delighted the little fellow was to be standing on a real, fired up and working steam engine. That was such a nice touch at the end of a day when everyone associated with the railway had been so lovely.

Heading home, we climbed (in the car) the very steep Fish Hill, and paused at the top to visit Broadway Tower, a folly built right on the edge of the escarpment and commanding amazing views. Of course it was just closing up for the day, but we stopped for a few minutes in the car park and took in the view, which was breathtaking, at least in a bucolic, English way. We were actually chivvied out of the car park by an anxious worker there, keen to lock the gates, so we climbed back into the Carrot and headed home. 

When the the lady in the Satnav became unexpectedly quiet at a key intersection, I naturally took the wrong road of the two available, but we enjoyed a short and pretty diversion through the tiny village of Upper Oddington which, apart from having the narrowest roads in the UK, was really nice.

A quiet evening in was capped by watching our beloved Chelsea Football Club win the UEFA Europa Conference League final, streamed for free through Discovery+, and shown through a nice TV in the cottage using a "borrowed" HDMI cable (I put it back when the game was over). A good day, I think.

Blighty 2025 - Up in the Smoke

Today was the first of our three planned trips to London, the Smoke.

I'd left booking the train tickets until the last minute because I wasn't sure the trip would go ahead, especially given the forecast rain, but we jigged around the things we'd planned to do and booked the tickets the night before. 

Since the privatisation of Britain's railways, fares have become labyrinthine. We were at least spared the problem of dealing with different rail companies, but long gone are the days when you could pitch up at the station and ask for a "Cheap Day Return". Dear Wife and I have a discount card that gives 33% off the price of train tickets if we travel together, so trying to work that into the equation when Emma doesn't have a discount card, and still get a good price, is tough. Then working around the restrictions on cheaper tickets adds another level of difficulty, as does the availability of some fares. However, in a moment of madness, I entered an option of three adult tickets, travelling after 0930hrs, without using our discount card, and the computer said yes. Travel as a group of three, and not only did they offer the Off-Peak tickets we wanted, but also a discount fare for everyone! A potential return fare of £48 was reduced to £19.80. Sure, the first return train from London that we could get was post-1900hrs, but we simply had to take a later train into London so that our day wasn't too long. I booked the "Groupsave" tickets, and opted to pick the physical tickets up at Didcot Station.

The rain was coming down in a very English manner as we drove out of Shipton-under-Wychwood, constant but not heavy. It was a slow cross-country drive to Abingdon, then down the A34 for a short way, then into Didcot. Having lived in that area for fifteen years, I know it fairly well, but I was quite taken aback at the housing development that's taken place. Didcot was expanding when I left in 2009, but it had expanded significantly more now. The station had grown a shiny new multi-storey car park, and because we were parking in the afternoon, the usual daily charge of £4.25 was reduced to £2.25, which pleased me greatly.

I had a wee bit of bother collecting the tickets from the machine in the station, though. It wanted my booking reference, so I went onto my phone only to find that the e-mail with the reference number hadn't loaded into the app. Naturally there was no phone signal on either of my phone's e-SIMs, so I had to sign up to the station's Wi-Fi. Not really a huge issue, except that they wanted more details about me than the Government does. However, I persevered, and as soon as the Wi-Fi connected, up came my e-mail. I made a note to ensure that my phone had loaded all my emails before leaving the cottage next time!

Tickets collected, we made our way to the platforms and awaited the trains. The Great Western Railway company has, with Government help invested in a lot of new rolling stock, including the nice Hitachi sets we'd travelled on at the weekend. National Rail, the people who look after the infrastructure, had installed overhead electric power lines, so these new Hitachis run on electricity from Didcot into London (I'm not sure how far west the electrification goes), but can also run as diesels when there is no electricity available, like from Charlbury to Oxford. I like that.

The train was busy, of course, and it always makes me wonder why five car sets are run when nine car sets are available. Accountants' thinking I suppose. We did get a seat each, albeit a few rows apart, although I had to warn Emma to point out to the ticket collector where we were sitting because on a Groupsave, we had to travel together. Actually, the ticket collector, or Revenue Collection Officer, Matty, was very thorough in his work. Given those labyrinthine ticket structures, discount cards and travel restrictions, he spent a lot of time explaining the rules, and collecting money, from people. Far from being officious, he was being helpful, and keeping everyone honest, which has been a problem on British railways in the past.

The trains in the UK , at least those running into London, are frequent and fast. It's fifty-seven miles from Didcot to Paddington, and in a car it would take you an hour and a half. On the train it was thirty-nine minutes, and that was with a stop at Reading. It's smooth, quiet and stress-free. Mind you, I might not say that if I had to travel every day into London like a lot of people do, indeed like I did in the 1980s.

At Paddington Station, Charlie was overawed. He's been watching the Paddington Bear films, so has seen the place on the big screen, but the noise and bustle of the place in real life quite surprised him. He'll often wear ear defenders when external noise gets too great, and he asked for them as soon as we alighted from the train. He went to see the Paddington Bear statue, and the Paddington Bear bench, and had photos taken of course. It's half-term week here in the UK, and there are a lot of kids out and about with parents. It's a bit disturbing to witness the brazen entitlement of some of those parents, though. Selfishness hasn't improved in the time I've been away.

We made our way down drizzly Praed Street, past St Mary's Hospital (well known to me in a previous life), and onto a mercifully quiet branch of Greggs the Bakers. Greggs used to be a fairly small North London bakery chain, but in recent years it's gone national in a big way, selling a limited range of hot and cold ready-to-eat food, including their famous vegan sausage rolls. There are other vegan goodies, as well, which is why we were there. It was a very pleasant lunch break, and Charlie enjoyed his TWO ring doughnuts.

We walked on down to Edgware Road tube station with a view to getting to Covent Garden. I had wanted to go by bus, but Transport for London's rather excellent phone app showed we'd need a couple of bus route changes and some walking, so I thought the Tube would be easier. Circle Line to Kings Cross, then Piccadilly Line to Covent Garden. TfL uses something called an Oyster Card, a pre-paid card that you can carry physically, or have on your phone, to access trains, tubes and buses. The fares using Oyster are reasonable, and there's a daily cap so you can get to a point where your travel is essentially free. If you plan to travel by bus, then an Oyster card is a must as they don't take cash. That said, you can also use Apple or Google Pay, or any card in your Google Wallet through your phone instead of Oyster. I don't know if the discounts or caps apply if you do that, but either way, cash has all but disappeared. We'd bought some physical Tourist Oyster cards, pre-loaded with credit (although we could just as easily have obtained Oyster Cards from any Tube station), only Emma forgot to bring hers. Step up Mum, who'd brough one that we'd used a couple of years ago. We added some new credit though a machine at the tube station, and we were off. 

While I think about it, I have to give credit to both the rail companies and TfL where children's travel is concerned. Rail companies allow kids under five to travel free, and older kids to get at least 50% discount, and it can be up to 80% with a Travelcard. TfL allow all kids under 12 to travel free, although kids over five have to have a Kids' Oyster card, to allow school kids to travel on their own, and to be logged in and out through the barriers. It really gets kids into the public transport mindset, which can only be a good thing.

On the Tube, we did the trip to Covent Garden, which is one of the few stations in Central London that doesn't have escalators. You can walk up the 199 steps if you want, but most people opt to use one of the elevators. I only mention that because in recent times, Covent Garden has become one of the most visited tube stations on the network, and the elevators can cause big delays in busy times. Fortunately this day it wasn't bad at all.

You may know that the current "Covent Garden", the shopping, eating and entertainment hot spot, was once London's fruit, vegetable, and flower market. It closed in 1975 and moved to a more lorry-friendly spot at Nine Elms, south of the river. When I arrived in London in 1977 the market was all boarded up and the area was a ghost town. But, a few years and quite a bit of money later, it's one of London's premier spot for visitors. It is actually quite a good place to visit. It's noisy and bustling, with street entertainers and expensive shops, all mixed in with a pub, restaurants and plenty of smaller places to eat. Again, if I had to work around there, as I once did, I might not find it quite so agreeable as I did this afternoon.

Our reason for being at Covent Garden was to satisfy our wet-weather option of visiting the London Transport museum. It's been there for quite a while, but I'd never been, so I was quite looking forward to it. Dear wife and I had to pay £24 each, but that allows us to visit at any time, and as often as we like, for the next twelve months. Yes, I know, we won't be here for more than a couple of weeks, but the price was the same as a day ticket, so why not? We may go back, you never know. Charlie didn't have to pay because he is under five, but because he had his ear defenders on, the greeter assumed some disability on his part and allowed Emma free entry as well, as his carer. Charlie is autistic, and I guess the greeter recognised that with the ear defenders. How progressive of the museum!

The London Transport Museum was great. The exhibits were excellent, especially as the kids could get in or on quite a few of them. The interpretation material was good, and there were many, many helpful staff on duty. The place was heaving, of course, it being half-term, but it didn't detract from the experience. Was £24 a bit steep for entry? Probably, but that is an annual ticket. The gift shop was full of exciting things, quite expensive things, but heck, why not gouge the tourists? I bought a baseball cap, only to find that it doesn't fit. How can a baseball cap not fit?  Ho hum.

We walked over to Leicester Square to see the Lego Store, and the movie statues in the garden there. Leicester Square is the home of Britain's premier cinemas, and there seemed to be the makings of a film premier set up there outside one of the cinemas. It's all go, up in the Smoke.

As we had a bit of time to spare, we thought we'd take a bus from Charing Cross to Tower Hill, in order to see Tower Bridge. The number 15 bus runs along the Strand and the river all the way, so we dutifully joined the scrum of people waiting at the bus stop. A 15 went the other way, turned around and parked up just short of the bus stop, the driver on a break. The TfL app said the bus was due in four minutes, but with another three minutes behind it. But we waited fifteen minutes while the scrum grew bigger and that one bus didn't move. I suggested waking down to the Embankment to catch the tube, but Charlie wanted the bus. As a compromise, and knowing that when the 15 did move it would be packed, I suggested catching a number 9 to the Aldwych, only a few minutes ride, and that placated the boy. We rode the top deck right up to the Aldwych, then got off, for the bus terminated there, and walked around to Temple station to get on the Underground.

Tower Hill was a bit of a let down because the Tower of London was closing for the evening when we arrived, and they had closed off the walk along the river by Tower Bridge. The wind was whipping along the river, too, and there was a cruise ship parked up alongside HMS Belfast, so we didn't get the full Tower Hill experience. Time, though, was pressing on, and we were all knackered by this point. Charlie deserves some significant credit for hanging on in there, where many a four-year-old would have given up hours before.

We took a Circle Line train around to Paddington, then opted to catch the slow train back to Didcot rather than wait for the fast train. Because it was only the second slow train after the cheap ticket restriction time, it was packed and we were standing as the train left the station. A very nice woman gave up her seat for Emma and Charlie, and just as he was about to melt down, I was able to distract him with one of the railway-based gifts Emma had bought at the museum, which was fortunate. After Slough we managed to sit, and then the train really started to empty as we stopped at each station. The fast train passed us while we were stopped at Reading, and we finally rolled into Didcot at 9pm.

We still had a fifty minute drive back to Shipton, but I decided to take the faster roads back, avoiding the country roads in the dark, and we occupied Charlie by looking the coloured "Cat's Eyes" on the road, and all the trucks parked up in the laybys for the night. 

It was a long day, a tiring day, actually a very good day. That was the first of three, so I hope the next two are as good.

Blighty 2025 - Bourton-on-the-Water

 

We decided to visit Bourton-on-the-Water, the scarily pretty Cotswold village that sits astride the River Windrush. I say river, it's not much more than a stream, but the good elders of Bourton have seen fit to build little bridges over the river and to keep the whole place picturesque. In retrospect, maybe a Bank Holiday Monday wasn't the best day to visit.

I knew it would be busy, but I didn't anticipate that half of Birmingham would be there (judging by the accents), nor the coachloads of foreign tourists. That was my error, I suppose.

The run over from Shipton was easy enough, apart from the entitled twat in a Range Rover (what else round here?) who decided he'd pull across and block a mini-roundabout when his exit wasn't clear, Nice move, holding up traffic in two directions. I'm still getting used to the 20mph speed limit in all the villages you pass through in England, but I'm not complaining because I think it's actually a good idea, but I still have to check myself as I hit that limit sign. It seems that the majority of drivers are OK with the very low limit because compliance seems quite high. It also helps that the rented car we have has a little audible alarm that goes off every time I go over said limit. I've a few weeks to get used to it all, I guess.

The car park at Bourton, or at least the one on Rissington Road, was a nightmare, with people waiting for others to vacate slots, but blocking up others trying to enter or leave. It was GBP4.50 for two hours, which is a bit steep, but there was no shortage of takers.

The village itself was heaving with visitors, which made walking beside the river a wee bit hazardous. You'd only get wet shoes if you were knocked in, but who wants wet shoes?

We went into the famous Bourton Model Village, a walk around model layout of the actual village, originally constructed in 1936 and used the same materials for the model houses that the real buildings were made of. It's not very big, and the pathways are small, but we were sharing our visit with so many other people that it made things a little difficult. It didn't help that people were trying to get photos of each other in among the buildings, and the people milling around. With so many people jammed in there, I gave that pleasure a miss.

After the Model Village, which frankly was a bit of a let down, and rather shabbily exited you out to the front door of a bar in the New Inn next door, it was time to brave the crowds along the river. When I say crowds, I do mean crowds, and there were hoards of dogs in the mix as well, and yet more people trying for photographs of each other in amongst the throng. It was all a bit much for poor Charlie, who had had enough and forced us back to the car. Ah, still, we did manage a visit.

The run home uneventful, and we were able to see many of the re-introduced birds of prey, the Red Kites, wheeling around above the farmland. They really are fabulous birds, and so successful after breeding pairs from Wales and Spain were set up in the Chiltern Hills in 1990. Goodness knows how many of them are flying now, but they've spread a long way from the Chilterns in the intervening 35 years. Read about their success here.

Tomorrow is a big day, up "in the smoke". Stay tuned for more exciting adventures.

Blighty 2025 - In another country

 

It was a late start for us today. Well, not for me, I was wide awake at 6:45 in the morning, but no one else surfaced before 11am. I was being very calm, though, and the plan for the day looked like it may have to be limited, but we could still do the main part.

We set a course for Raglan Castle, near Raglan, Monmouthshire. Those with a keen eye for geography will know that Monmouthshire is in Wales (just), and is another country.

Our Satnav set us on a cross-country route that avoided any centre of population, except Stow-on-the-Wold, and had us go north on the M5 for a bit, then south west for quite a while on the M50. The route was a little longer than the more direct A40, but the motorway sections made it quite a bit quicker. It was a good choice of route, too.

The run to Stow was certainly bucolic; mile after mile of narrow lanes, twists and turns, and a few small hills and dales. The countryside around these parts is wonderful, with mature woodland, hedgerows and small hillocky hills. If you know about this part of the world then you'll also know that it's famed for its wool, and even now the hillsides were dotted with sheep. Burford, Stowe, and the rest, may have lost their trade in wool, but it's still being produced in these parts, which was quite reassuring.

The only thing that didn't quite ring true was the overwhelming evidence of money. Farmers can be wealthy, for sure, but there were too many Aston Martins, Porsches, Mercedes Benz, Range/Land Rovers about to belong to the farmers. Then there were the big, expensive houses dotted around, none with sheep sheds or tactors. I recently heard the Cotswolds described as Britain's answer to the Hamptons in the USA, and I'd say that was becoming a fair statement. Stow-on-the-Wold was teeming with expensive cars and expensive looking people (it's the long weekend here). I guess they have to live somewhere.

The run over towards the M5, a few miles north of Cheltenham, was a little less like the Hamptons, but just as enjoyable as the run up to Stow.

I had never been on the M50 before today. It's a short, two-lane motorway running down to Ross-on-Wye, where it links up with the A40 heading west into South Wales. This being a long weekend, there was plenty of traffic, but we made good time and were rolling up the access road to Raglan Castle pretty much on schedule, despite the late start.

I won't go on about the castle too much, except to say that it was established in the 1200s to help with the defence of England (from the Welsh), and had been in constant use as a big home rather than a defensive stronghold, right up until its partial demolition by Oliver Cromwell's Parliamentarians after the end of the English Civil War in 1653. It now stands as a craftily restored ruin, and is as beautiful a ruined castle as you'll ever see.

Because it was the long weekend, there was lots of other "stuff" going on at the castle, including a Medieval Murder Mystery, with people dressed up in period costumes and demonstrating some period crafts. Personally I'm not much into this dressing up thing, but it certainly added a bit of colour.

We wandered around the castle, went up to the top of the Keep and enjoyed a splendid view, then ate our picnic lunch in the castle grounds, which was all most enjoyable, despite the blustery wind. I should also mention the Swallows whizzing about the ruins. I had never seen a proper British Barn Swallow before going to Raglan some years ago, and here were the Swallows, almost certainly related to the ones I'd seen before, rushing in and out of the ancient building. Excellent stuff.

Obviously we raided the gift shop before leaving, it would be impolite not to, and kept Cadw, the castle's stewards, going for a few more months. 

We had planned to maybe visit Goodrich Castle, a "proper" fortification built on a cliff above the River Wye, but were really short on time, so we headed south down through the steep-side valley cut by that same river, and made our way to Tintern Abbey. There are quite a few ruined abbeys in the Britain, set up by various orders of monks, then sacked by King Henry the Eighth as part of his break with the Holy Roman Church. Tintern is one, and goodness is it ever a beautiful place? On a bend in the river, the ruins stand tall against the steep valley sides and look just fabulous. We hadn't planned on going in, it was just closing up for the day anyway, but just to admire the place from the pub garden next door (with a pint of Welsh beer in hand, of course) was enough.

Then it was time to head home. We made our way back into England on the old Severn Bridge, with no toll going eastwards. The Bristol Channel is impressive, but it was seriously windy out in the middle. On the M4, outside Swindon, we stopped at a motorway service station and the girls topped up vegan pasty and sausage roll supplies from Greggs and the West Cornwall Pasty Company. Service stations are not the most exciting places on earth, but when the shops like Greggs are very much a novelty for the overseas visitor, they seem quite exotic. Not so much excitement for the petrol, of course, because it was a full twenty-five pence a litre more expensive than anywhere else - that hasn't changed since my days in England.

On the way home we stopped for a very bland take-out pizza at Dominoes in Carterton, well it is the long weekend, and rolled back into Shipton at around seven in the evening. A long day, for sure, but really very interesting, and successful given the late start. And it didn't rain!

Tomorrow, as they say, is another day.

Blighty 2025 - Unplanned Oxford

 A sound sleep did help, but not as much as I'd have liked, and it was still a stressed morning as everyone started to find their feet in their new surroundings. Still, the shower was nice.

We had another run into Witney to complete the immediate supplies requirement. It was still busy through Burford, where despite a perfectly good, and free, Car Park at the bottom of the town, people were causing all manner of traffic-related problems while they tried to park at the side of the main road. 

Sainsbury's in Witney was very busy, which is something we're not used to, comparatively speaking. Charlie was "wired" and had to be withdrawn from the fray so that Mummy and Grandma could complete their shopping without losing their minds completely. Back at the cottage, Charlie's excitability continued, so his mother decided that a ride on a train might help. With remarkable spontaneity, off we trotted to the village of Charlbury where a reasonably priced train ticket could be had for the seventeen minute run into Oxford.

I'd never been on "The Cotswold Line", and like a lot of Britain's railways, it's been brought back from near death over the past few decades by paying passengers wanting to go into London after moving out into the countryside. The train, a nine(!) car Hitachi set in the dark green of the Great Western Railway company, pulled up at the tastefully refurbished station. (I just read about the station, and it's second platform and double track were reinstated in 2011 after being removed in 1971. The reinstated platform was extended to accommodate the nine car sets in 2018). It had come from Great Malvern and was heading into London Paddington, carrying a fair few more passengers than I'd expected, especially given that it was a Saturday. I pulled a face about the nine car set because that's a very long train compared to the five car sets on most UK Cross Country operated trains that do far longer distances. Indeed, there was even an hourly service in each direction on that route, which kind of knocks spots off Canada's VIA Rail's sad attempt at providing a service with a four car train only four times a day servicing Chatham Ontario.

Anyway, a swift seventeen minutes later we were walking into an incredibly busy Oxford, not looking for anything in particular. Goodness, but Oxford is vibrant. Obviously it's a university town, the university town I suppose, so there are hordes of young people about, but it was also full of day trippers and longer-term, more serious tourists as well. With Charlie in tow, it's not easy to walk around too much, so we visited a Pret A Manger store for a snack, a gift shop for some gifts, and did a small circuit that included Cornmarket Street, the Covered Market, Turl Street and Broad Street. It is a fabulous little town, even when crowded, and I'd recommend it to anyone visiting the UK, and that's not mentioning all the fabulous colleges and museums that you can visit if you stay longer. The high point of the day was witnessing one of Farage's Reform/right-wing "National Strike" demonstrations in town. There were about a dozen "Reformers" waving Union flags (the biggest of which was upside down), two dozen Police officers, and hundreds of counter-demonstrators waving Pride flags and easily out-demonstrating the Reformers. Fun, fun, fun. 

When Charlie started to get anxious about missing the train, we made our way back to the station, and then back to Charlbury and the car. We took a detour around the lanes to get chips from a place in Witney, but the little fellow had crashed out in the car and he wouldn't even eat his vegan nugget thingies when we arrived home. He cuddled with his mum and went to bed, which was really him doing what we all wanted to.

If things go according to plan, we'll go a little further afield tomorrow, but that's another day.

Blighty 2025 - The Beginning

A long time in the planning, a significant family birthday is our prime motivation for yet another grand tour of our joint fatherland, England. This is a long one, just on four weeks, and is costing not only an arm and a leg, but the foot and the hand as well.

Planning started over a year ago, and we'd booked three weeks in a charming little house in the centre of the Cotswold town of Burford. Why Burford? Well, it's central, it's pretty, and is far enough away from our usual haunts that it makes this trip a little different.

The only trouble was that, a month out from departure and we are on the hook for the full accommodation cost, but we discovered to our horror that the cottage we had booked had been removed from the cottage rental agency's booking calendar, but no one had thought to mention this small detail to us. Given how close this was to departure, and we'd already paid in full for the air fares and the rental car, there was no backing out, and an awful lot of panic on our part. Step up Gardeners Cottage, in the almost as pretty Cotswold village of Shipton-under-Wychwood, just a few miles north of Burford. A place that had all the Burford place had, and more, and was available for the three weeks that we needed it. A quick booking, and a shed load of money, later and Bingo! The deposit we'd paid on the first cottage was fully refunded, naturally.

So, it was a long a fraught morning that we waited at home before setting off for Toronto's Lester Pearson airport and our overnight flight to London. It was fraught because the British Airways computer had decided to schedule a different aircraft and the seats we had paid a King's ransom to reserve didn't exist on the new aircraft. Again, without anyone actually telling us, we had been allocated different seats, none of them close to a window. Sure, a seat is a seat, but why pay a ton of cash for a specific seat and then have it whipped away from you on the morning of the flight? Decisive action was called for, so I put in a claim for the refund of the money paid to reserve the seats; take that BA!

The drive up to the airport wasn't great. The weather was horrible, low cloud and rain for most of it, and of course given the hour of the day and multiple collisions on our route, our four hour journey ran into five. It was a good job that we'd allowed so much extra time.

Check in at the valet parking was simple, as was checking in for the flight, so bagless, thank goodness, we made our way through security and into the vastness of Terminal 3. I've moaned before about the removal of most of the regular seating there, in favour of tables aimed at food and drink service from a number of outlets recently installed. Ordering food and drink isn't mandatory if you use the tables, but I still prefer a proper "comfy" chair and a good view out of the window, both of which were achieved, thank without having to settle for the table arrangement. The food and drink outlets are scarily expensive, as are all of the shops and whatnot in the terminal building; there are a lot of people making a lot of profit from their captive audience, and I object to that. 

The aircraft due to take us to London arrived late thanks to the weather, so was late in loading and late in departing. We pushed back about thirty minutes behind schedule, and the aircraft's pilots bolted for the runway. I commented to DW on how fast we were taxiing, and as we turned onto the runway, we promptly turned off it again and parked on one of the runway exits. This wasn't looking so good. After about ten minutes, the Captain came on to say that one of the aircrafts brakes was overheating so they had to wait until it cooled off before making a second attempt at getting to the runway. Curiously, I wasn't surprised at this news. Anyway, at the second attempt we took off, very smoothly it has to be said, and headed east into the night. 

The inflight food was OK, in as much as any inflight food is OK. I had Macaroni and tomato sauce, which wasn't too too horrible. Then it was time to achieve the almost impossible, some sleep. The seats on the Airbus A350 are not comfortable, and while dozed through Singing in the Rain, and a Harry Potter audio book, I didn't feel very rested as I awoke properly somewhere over Northern Ireland. We were served one of those odd aircraft "light snacks", a kind of pastry filled with tomato sauce, and to go with it, a very small cup of coffee. It was a strange snack, but we'd paid for it, so it was all dutifully consumed.

We arrived more or less back on schedule in a warm and sunny London, and Heathrow Terminal 5 wasn't too awful. We made our way to the Sofitel Hotel, just outside the Terminal, where Sixt car rental have a desk, and went through the usual "upsell" routine with one of the agents there. On a twenty-seven day rental I didn't really want to be upsold, despite the agent pretending that there was no way our luggage would fit in the type of car I'd already paid for. She set us up with a Skoda Karoq, or "Carrott" as it will be known for the next four weeks, and guess what? The luggage fitted in. Just.

I haven't driven a manual car for a while, but took to it quite easily. You never forget clutch control. Modern cars no longer have a manual handbrake, so I was having to get used to the electric version, and learn to trust it when it released automatically, but it was all fine. Our official route to Oxfordshire had us on the dreaded Orbital motorway, the M25, for a few miles. But this was Friday afternoon, at the start of the schools' half-term holiday week, so the normally busy road was doubly-busy. I opted to avoid the stopped traffic and made for the slightly less busy M4, and a cross-country route, despite the protestations of the lady in the Satnav. 

We came off the M4 at Theale, made our way through Pangbourne and Streatley, then skirted the Berkshire downs, took a detour through the village of Blewbury, my home for fifteen years, then onto the A34 to Abingdon, and across country to Witney, just a few miles short of our destination. We were some hours ahead of schedule, so stopped to pick up some supplies at Waitrose, the excellent grocery arm of the John Lewis group. Far from picking up "a few bits", eighty-five great British Pounds later we struggled to fit our many purchases into the already well packed Skoda.

What should have been a fifteen minute drive to the cottage took nearer forty as we crept through Burford in gridlocked traffic, victims once again of half-term Friday. There's a bridge across the River Windrush at the bottom of the hill in Burford, so narrow that it's controlled by traffic lights, and that was the cause of the delay, at least in terms of how the really heavy traffic coped with those traffic lights. I'm hoping that it's not so bad on other days. The slight upside of the hold up was that we arrived at our home for the next three weeks, more or less at the time we were supposed to.

I'll write about the cottage in another post, but it really is a nice place to be, right on the edge of the Cotswolds. 

And so to bed. Everyone was dazed and confused after the (mostly) sleepless overnight flight, so tempers were beginning to fray, and I couldn't find the car keys which didn't help the general mood. Still, a good night's sleep will surely sort me out.

Happy New (Camping) Year

Welcome to 2025, at least in Airstream terms.

Last week we extracted dear old Towed Haul from the dealer's Winter storage lot, and dragged her home to commence our fifteenth camping season. That said, actual Airstreaming will be suspended until we return from a mega-trip overseas in mid-June.

We'd paid for storage up until the end of April, and had planned to get the old girl out on May 1st. That didn't work for us, but as I tried to arrange a pick up date with the dealer, their service department was completely swamped and I spent a week trying to get someone to call me back, given that phones were not being picked up beyond the reception desk. In the end I had to resort to e-mailing the owner, which resulted in a call, and an appointment was made for May 9th.

We duly rolled up at the dealer's place, it's an hour's drive away, only to be told that they'd "dropped the ball" and the Airstream hadn't been prepped! Being retired now and therefore cool AF, we both dealt with this news in a surprisingly calm fashion and, when told it'd all be sorted in about 45 minutes, we repaired to the big city (London, Ontario), and made our way to the British Pride Bakery where we could pick up some British food items, including a nice Cornish Pasty (which obviously hadn't been anywhere near Cornwall), and a big sausage roll. If you're a Brit, you'll understand. I also picked up a Cadbury's Twirl chocolate bar for the hard pressed Peggy back at the dealer's place.

We weren't quite done with the problems, either, as we had a call from Peggy to say that they'd lost Towed Haul's keys, but they'd found a spare that would fit. DW explained what our keys looked like, and by the time we arrived back at the dealer's lot, not only was the Airstream ready to go, but Peggy had found the keys. The dealer adjusted the invoice in recognition of our trouble, I handed over the chocolate bar, and we were set and ready to go. All's well that ends well.

The first tow of the season is always a bit of a worry, especially given the state of the rusty old hitch receiver. But, the Toadmobile was duly hitched to the trailer, electrics and brakes connected and tested, and off we went. We usually take the old Talbot Trail home, an 80/90 Km/hr back road that runs parallel to Highway 401, and that busy Friday afternoon was no exception. It's easier on the Toadmobile, easier on the gas, and easier on my nerves to go that way, even if it takes about twenty minutes longer. The trailer followed us straight and true, though, no twitching about and no surprises. I drove at the speed limit and managed a healthy 18.1 Km/100 litres, which is almost exactly 13 miles to the US gallon. Sure, we were lightly loaded and we had a slight tailwind, but that's not bad given the stickiness of the rather excellent Michelin LT tires on the trailer, which do increase the rolling resistance.

Back at the ranch, I had to back the old girl onto the driveway while avoiding the eldest's broken down car which was occupying one side. Still, I did it in one go and was feeling very pleased with myself. Our four-year-old grandson was on hand to help unhitch and put the stabilisers down, and I have to say that it was very nice to have Towed Haul back on the driveway. Of course, she has a winter's worth of grime on her, so cleaning is due, but that that can wait until I get a cooler day.

We have a few trips planned later in the Summer, but right now our focus is on the mega-trip, which I will document here as it unfolds. In the meantime, welcome home Towed Haul, and happy (camping) new year.