Now... about those stowaways

Frank Sinatrat usually hangs out with my daughter Kelly.  Lion L Messi usually hangs out with Anne-Geri'.  SOMEHOW or other, they ended up hanging out with me and David in England.  Yes, they stowed away in my luggage, the little devils.  I didn't even notice them until I unpacked in Horsham.

Yes. there they are, in among my undies. Messi looks a little... messy, but Frankie maintains his Chairman of the Board cool.  (Figures they'd end up in the underwear drawer.)

Like all of us, the guys were looking forward to a nice bath and a couple of drinks after the long trip.  Fortunately, our hotel room had a bath tub just their size.  I think they called it a bidet.

A little refreshment was called for.

Lion L is a tea-totaler.  Frankie is not.

After a toddy or two, they were off to scope out the hotel (and look for babes.)

They found a goody locker right off the bat.

And they found a "babe" without too much trouble.  They both overwhelmed her with their charms.

Back at the room, they investigated the tea caddy... and ate all the cookies.

But in the end, they settled on a good cuppa Joe.

After a good night's sleep in the most comfortable bed known to man, they were ready to head out and explore.

First, they borrowed some wellies.

In stomping around the 96 acres upon which the South Lodge Hotel sits, they encountered a rabbit hole.  Messi was all for diving right in after the rabbit, but cooler heads prevailed.  "Man, don't you remember what happened to that Alice chick when SHE followed a rabbit down a hole?  Don't be a schnook!," was Frankie's advice.  It took some convincing, but Messi finally listened to reason.

They took some pretty good pictures of the hotel grounds.

They made themselves very popular when they decided to pitch in and help the staff during a rush.

The boys accompanied us to London after three wonderful days in Horsham.  David and I set off to Poole to visit with our friends the Bryants, but Frank and Lion L decided to stay behind.  They claimed they were too pooped, but I think it was because they discovered room service.

When we returned, the guys joined us in a bit of sight-seeing.

Outside the British Museum.

Inside the British Museum.  Those are some of the Elgin Marbles in the background.

At the Sherlock Holmes Museum, 221b Baker Street, London.

At the Victoria and Albert Museum- where Messi was recognized, but Frankie was not!  A little tension there for a few minutes, but all was soon well.

They LOVED the Science and Technology Museum.  They posed with the symbol of the Museum, Dan Dare, who was deliberately created to compete with and offer an alternative to American comic book superheroes- which were (and are) too violent.  Lion L was very impressed with Dan Dare. 

Frankie called him a wuss.

All in all, the guys were good company.  Lion L 'got' England a little more than Frankie did.  In fact, at one point in our journey, Frankie turned to me with a skeptical look on his mug and asked, "You gave up Hawaii for this?"  To which the only answer is... DAMN STRAIGHT.

And now my travel journal comes to a a close.  Dave and I had the most wonderful time in England.  We both love the country, the people, and the style of living.  The Brits are just good folks and England is everything you ever dreamed it would be, no matter WHAT you dreamed it would be.  I could go back tomorrow.  Sigh.  Oh, well,  ta ta for now from Tullahoma.  Happy New Year to all.

The game's a foot!

Dave humored me by taking me to 221B Baker Street.  A devotee of the British, the Victoria and Albert, and the British Science and Technology Museums (all of which we visited, by the way), he needed convincing that I was serious about wanting to go there.  A museum dedicated to a person who never existed located at a place he never lived for the amusement of readers of Victorian fiction?  Not his cup of tea.  It suited me right down to the ground, though. 

I bought a copy of this print while in the gift shop.  This is how we imagine 221B Baker Street... and, absent the carriages and attire, this is how it looks.

                                       

I don't think this sign is original, however.  (Note Lion L. Messi and Frank Sinatrat on top of the sign; more on these stowaways in a later blog).

After passing through an outer door, a short foyer, and an inner door, I climbed the steps to the "first floor" lair of the great detective.  Oddly, he was not in.  However, Dr. Watson was at home, and was most gracious.

                                  

Watson in his chair.  (Is this a cake job, or what?  The actor portraying Watson gets to sit in a comfy chair in front of a warm fire and meet fascinating people like myself for a living!)  The study is perfect.  I felt like I had stepped into one of A. Conan Doyle's stories.  Here are some more shots of the study.

                                    

A Holmesian homage to Queen Victoria: the intitials V.R. tatooed into the wallpaper. Holmes created them by shooting his pistol one afternoon when he was bored.   The settee is barely discernable beneath, while the dining table peeks in from the left.

                                                    

Holmes' chair and corner desk/laboratory.  His violin is sitting atop a pile of papers and sheet music.  I sat in this chair.  I also wore Holmes' deerstalker hat.  The things you can get away with when the host is not at home.

                         

What passes for a dining room faces the street.  Notice how it is jammed into a corner so that only Holmes and the doctor can dine.  I imagine the room could be reconfigured whenever they entertained guests.  It's amazing when you see the attention to detail the curators have brought to this room.  All the Victorian flourishes and overcrowded rooms, tables and desks thrilled me beyond words.  I was ready to move in.

Holmes' bedroom is off the study on the first floor.  His rogues gallery assures that he goes to sleep with villains he has defeated glowering down on him.  The bedroom is spartan, compared to the opulence of the study.   

Up a flight of steep narrow stairs, and the rooms of Dr. Watson can be seen.  They are a bit less austere but oddly, the curators chose not to set up a bedstead for the good doctor.

Yet another flight of steps and voila! It's like stepping into Madame Toussad's.  There are vignettes of many of Holmes' most famous cases, beautifully done and wonderfully maintained.  Of course, no museum vignette would be complete without the two arch-rivals themselves, Holmes and Moriarty.

Watson, Lady Frances Fairfax, and the great consulting detective himself.

Professor Moriarty.

And, to end, I must tell you that there is, in fact, a bathroom at 221B Baker Street.  You just need to go up 3.5 floors to find it.

No tub.  No shower. LOTS of pans and tubs.  Okay, I take back my previous statement about being ready to move in.  Back down the 3.5 flights, and out the door.

Off to Mrs. Hudson's rooms (now a gift shop) and her fabled kitchen (now a tea-room).

SUCH FUN!

Meet the Bryants and other treasures of the British Isles

Nigel Bryant and his wife Jackie (or Jack) have birthdays in July, one day apart. They have been married for roughly 30 years and have two beautiful and accomplished daughters Rachael and Hannah, both in their 20's.  They are an interesting couple.  Nigel is in constant motion, full of energy, mischief, bombast and knowledge.  You can't help but learn a thing or two when you are with Nigel. Jack is also a knowledgeable person but on a more serene scale.  She has a talent for making people feel comfortable. They are great folks.  They actually live near Eastleigh, but about a year ago, bought a vacation condo in Poole right on the water.  I don't remember if they are on Poole Harbour proper or on Holes Bay, but wherever they are is an estuary and quiet area protected by the National Trust.  We spent lots of time just enjoying the view of the tides and the birds from their French doors.  We went sightseeing by car on Saturday and spent a day on the quay on Sunday. I have written about them bass-ackwards, I realize as I edit this mess.  Well, that's me.  Temporally disadvantaged.  Sigh.

We visited the Poole Museum which was too cool.  This logboat that was excavated from the Poole Harbor is over 2,000 years old.  All sorts of incredible exhibits and works of art.  I spent a pleasant half-hour in the natural history interactive, learning about the local waterbirds. 

This 2,000 year old logboat was cut from a single tree.  It was amazing watching the

interactives on its excavation.

We spent a happy hour in the Poole Pottery shop.  Follow this link for a real treat:  http://www.poolepottery.co.uk/contents

If the two days with the Bryants have sort of intermingled in my mind, it's probaby because we almost didn't make the trip; I was as sick as a dog with the cold from hell: but neither Dave nor I wanted to miss seeing our friends.  I don't think I was as engaging as I can been when I am well, but I was engaged.   I just hope the Bryants didn't catch my cold.  Dave sure did.

Here I am with Nigel and Jack on the Quay in Poole.  [Aside: in England, the word q-u-a-y is pronounced "key".  Don't ask- they don't pronounce "quake" as "cake" or "quaint" as "caint" or "quail' as "kale", but "quay" is "key"...).

Nigel recently lost 50 pounds.  Guess who found them.  Hint:  it wasn't Jack.

This snap does not do justice to Jackie, as Dave faced us into the sun, in a high wind.

A few views of the Quay, which is alive with vacationers in the  summer months.  We are here in December and the crowds are thinner... and not as scantily clad.

Side by side pubs, the Jolly Sailor and the Admiral Nelson.  Nothing is better than a good English pub, unless it is two English pubs.

Me and the old man strike a pose. Take a closer look at this marker.  Even when the history is history, the Brits commemorate it.

The "unfortunate duke" was the acknowledged bastard  son of King Charles II.  (King Charles II had 14 illegitimate children, of which James Scott, Duke of Monmouth was the eldest.)  Monmouth (a Protestant) was executed for treason for leading the Monmouth Rebellion against James II (a Catholic) in 1685.  Family feuds.  They're a bitch.  Or bastard, as the case may be.

The Bryants took us on a tour of the area in Nigel's Mercedes.  We took the ferry to the Sandbank Peninsula, which was and may still be the most expensive plot of real estate in Europe.  It's where God would live if He could afford it.  We saw Swansea and Bournemouth, but I must admit, my favorite locale was Corfe Castle, a keep from the 11C. in the county of Dorset, near Swansea. 

These are not my photographs.  I found them online.  The fog was too thick to get a decent shot of the wonderful relic, and, in any case, I am not a photographer.  I take snapshots.   The following are from Wikipedia.  (Please contribute to Wikipedia with your knowledge and your financial support.)

Can you imagine being a kid and having something like Corfe Castle as a part of your daily landscape?

It's a big hike and bigger climb to approach the castle, and in my health, I didn't attempt it.  But you really feel as if King Arthur and his knights could materialize out of the mists at any time.  What a country for the imagination this is!  The more I see of England, the more I fall in love with it. 

Back to the 21st Century.  Sunday on the Quay, we had a traditional English Sunday roast dinner, with both boiled and roasted potatoes, like you do, at a lovely old pub, and then Dave and I headed back to London.  We had such a good time, and the Bryants are such gracious hosts.

I hope that Nigel and Jack will let Dave and I return the favor sometime soon.  It's just that, since Nigel retired from Cubic, they have been cruising.  No, not in the American sense; they've been going on world cruises!  They are just back from a cruise that lasted over 100 days!  Nigel packed three tuxedoes!  Who owns THREE TUXEDOES??!!  Nigel Bryant, that's who. 

Good friends.  We're blessed to know them.

Next blog:  I join the Baker Street Irregulars. Ta ta for now!

Hello from Poole..and Corfe...and Bournemouth...and Swanage..and Sandbank Peninsula..and, oh yeah...London

Actually, London came first...and THEN last.  Dave and I left Horsham after having a wonderful visit; the staff there are aces, the food is spectacularly delicious; I was even able to borrow some Wellies from the South Lodge cache and clomp about the grounds.  What an extraordinary place.  I would love to go back someday.  But after a few days of rich food and magnificent lodging, I found myself perversely wanting a sandwich (how French!) and "I longed for a bungalow", as Eddie Izzard would (and did) say.

The driver showed up 10ish and drove us in style to the Rubens at the Palace Hotel just down a road a bit from Buckingham Palace, which is the palace Rubens at the Palace Hotel is at.  And here it is.

Doormen.  Concierges.  Lovely (but surprisingly small rooms) with comfy beds and all the mod cons, like high speed internet.  Of course, everything here is wired for 240 volts so unless you like fried electronics, remember to buy an adapter.  Here's our cozy little nest.

That's padded fabric on the walls, not paint or wall paper. Really beautifully done, too.  Next, our equally elegant if Lilliputian bath.

There may be diabloical reasoning behind the relative smallness of the room.  Yes, tourists and business travelers will be gone from their rooms must of the time, either touristing or businessing, but still, at the end of the day, one does want a comfortable place to spend the hours between dins and bed.  May I introduce to you the Cavalry Bar?

Ah, the happy hours we have spent in the Cavalry Bar, enjoying the art, the drums, the regimental regalia, the wine, the Pimm's Cup, the Long Island Iced tea.  Hey, we both have had hideous colds!  Alcohol kills germs.

We left our London haven to travel to Poole to visit our dear firiends Nigel and Jackie Bryant.  Nigel is an ex-Cubic high mucky-muck, a right mixer and a great guy, and Jackie is grace and poise personified.  Dave and I spent the weekend with them (at this time, only I had the cold), and we had the best time.  They deserve their own story, which will be my next posting. Sunday night we were back in London, and Dave was succumbing to the rhinovirus from hell. 

No matter.  We crammed our pockets with hankies and tissues and trekked to the British Museum. OMG!  What an indescribably incredible place.  We saw the Rosetta Stone and the Elgin Marbles.  (Lion L. was surprised by them; he'd expected them to be smaller... and round.)  None of my photos can do the British Museum justice, so check out http://www.britishmuseum.org/.  Prepare to be amazed.

Our colds and their attendant coughs and sneezes made us feel like Typhoid Mary in duplicate so we hied on back to the Rubens to partake of the most brilliant and wonderful of British inventions, afternoon tea.

Notice our view? It is the back of Buckingham Palace, an area called the Palace Mews.  We watched people and carriages come and go, and saw young palace workers hanging out the window, getting a breath of fresh air, or cooling off.  England temps are problematic.  Outside is cold and damp.  Inside is hot and damp.  It's a lot like San Francisco, where you can find yourself really cold and sweating like a pig at the same time.  Thanks to our life in Frisco, we were actually adequately dressed for London.  Here's a shot of the Palace Mews.

Not a bad view at tea-time, eh? 

I really love England.

Tomorrow, in homage to my friend Marcia Kribs, reader and Holmes enthusiast extraordinaire, we are going to 221B Baker Street.  The Sherlock Holmes Museum is there, set up exactly as described in the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.  Cannot wait!  Then off to the Victoria and Albert, and the Science Museum.  We will probably miss tea-time.  Darn!  That means we will have to repair to the Cavalry Bar for solace.  Cheers!