Category: Uncategorized

Guest Post: My First Trip To London

 

by Guest Blogger M. Denise C.

 

I had never been to London nor had I ever travelled abroad alone when I challenged myself to a very spur of the moment trip to London a few years ago. Because of my work schedule, I went in late October as it is hard for me to take vacation from November through March. The timing for this first trip to London turned out to be perfect for me.

I arrived in London one fine Tuesday and gathered my suitcase from baggage claim at Heathrow before jumping on the Tube. My hotel was only a block away from Earl’s Court Station, a really great area in South Kensington to be staying. The pre-purchased travel card I had bought online was awesome and I enjoyed not having to hassle with buying any travel tickets during my stay. Now that I am a more seasoned traveler, I purchase an Oyster card and load it for the recommended amount for however long I am staying. I have yet to take a cab ride in London—it’s the Tube or walking for me. I learned a long time ago that you really get the feel of a place if you forego taxis and walk or take the local transit system. I will make exceptions going to and from airports, but staying on the Piccadilly line made that unnecessary.

I arrived at my hotel, Base2Stay, that I found by clicking around on Google Maps. My blogging friend, Thomas, who has that great blog on all things bookish, MyPorch, had told me the area around Earl’s Court was a great place to stay. Base2Stay had a cute little single room and was very modern. The room had a twin bed (I went cheap) and a closet, a desk, a flat screen TV, a little kitchenette with a sink, microwave, fridge, and dishes and silverware. The bathroom was huge in comparison to the room itself and had a wonderful towel rack to keep towels toasty warm. There was no restaurant or food service or gym at this hotel (which is why the rate was cheaper, but so very nice and modern). Base2Stay has since opened a sister hotel in Soho that I would also love to try, but it is just not as convenient to a Tube station.

Since I went to London on the cheap and had a kitchenette, I would eat oatmeal for breakfast, eat a decent meal out at lunch at a pub or a restaurant, and then I would eat light or at a takeout place (Pret-a-Manger) or bring something back to the hotel for dinner. One of the best meals I had was at Cafe in the Crypt located under St. Martin in the Fields church (the Queen’s church). It was only £10 and was very British (chicken with potatoes and root vegetables and a gravy and red cabbage).  

The first thing I did upon arrival was to walk around the neighborhood to get orientated as to my location and the major roads nearby (Earl’s Court Road, Brompton Road, and Cromwell Road). South Kensington was very quiet and pretty away from the major streets. A very nice neighborhood as far as I could tell–lots of gardens and cool flats, and townhouses galore.

I then walked east down Cromwell Road and passed by the Museum of Natural History and the Victoria and Albert Museum (above), neither of which I had time to visit. That is what I like about travel – there are always things you miss, which warrants a return trip. I then caught the Fulham 14 bus, as recommended by Thomas, and loved seeing London from the front row of the upper deck.

 

I went past Harrod’s, by Hyde Park Corner and around Piccadilly Circus. I rode the bus until it stopped at Euston Station. While I was sitting up on the second level taking in the London sights, I’d been aware that people had been getting off at each stop, but I hadn’t realized that I was now completely alone on the top level. I went downstairs, but didn’t see anyone, so I walked to the driver’s area and asked if I was supposed to get off. The driver started laughing and said that he hadn’t seen me up there! Yes, I was supposed to have gotten off! He let me ride down a block or so and directed me to where I could catch another bus going in my direction, but I decided to take the Tube back. By that time it was dark so I called an end to my first night in London and settled into my room to watch Law and Order UK.
 

 

The next day I went from the hotel to the Tube and went to Westminster Bridge and did one of the river cruises. When I came out of the Westminster Station, I looked up and there was Big Ben in all his glory! Beautiful. They were working on parts of the buildings the clock tower is attached to (Parliament buildings). So awesome to pop out of the station and look up and see such an iconic building.

The river cruise took about two hours to travel from Westminster Bridge to Greenwich and back. I enjoyed seeing the London Eye, an old battleship called The Belfast, St. Paul’s Cathedral, the Tate Modern, the rebuilt Globe Theatre, the Tower of London, Canary Wharf, and numerous buildings that are now converted into flats–some of which are very beautiful in design, all seen from the boat. And several pubs were pointed out, too! We also crossed under all the great bridges: London Bridge, the Millennium Bridge, Waterloo Bridge and the famous Tower Bridge. I stayed on board for the thirty minutes we were at Greenwich and chatted with the boat crew. I should have jumped off, though, and at least had a look at the Cutty Sark, which was dry-docked there. Next time I will probably stay in Greenwich  for a few hours and go to the Maritime Museum and Observatory.

After that it was time for me to go to Hyde Park Corner and hang out there for a while as I had planned. There are several war memorials at this location, the Wellington Arch, and a statue of Wellington on a horse. Because of the Sharpe novels written by Bernard Cornwell, I have become very interested in Wellington. Just across the street is the wonderful Apsley House, Number One London (and namesake of this wonderful blog), which was the residence of the first Duke of Wellington, as well as the successive dukes.

 


The next day I went to tour the Duke’s home, Apsley House, which is a gem of a museum (as you probably know from reading this blog). The current Duke of Wellington (the 8th) still lives there with his family in private apartments that are not open to the public. Eight main rooms of the mansion are open to the public. The first Duke collected art and received art from the Spanish after his army captured Joseph Bonaparte’s carriage containing the loot at the battle of Vitoria. There were lots of Caravaggio’s and Murillo’s and Velasquez’s and some very interesting portraits of his military friends and himself. And there was this gorgeous china room that had china and swords and guns displayed. One of the cool things for me personally was a jeweled saber from the Tipu Sultan in India that the Duke somehow acquired. Wellington defeated the Tipu Sultan in a battle in India (I knew all about that from Sharpe’s Tiger–one of the prequel novels by Mr. Cornwell).




There was a large dining room and one of the things on the table was a huge (and I mean huge) table piece made all of silver that was very ornate and honored some of his major battles in Spain and Portugal. The house itself was restored to glory. Also, there exists a statue of a naked Napoleon that George IV gave to Wellington after Napoleon was exiled and his property dispersed. The sculptor was Canova. Apparently, Napoleon did not like this statue after completion. I love how it landed in the Duke’s house! It is so huge it is in the stairwell and the staircase winds around it. I wish I could have taken pictures of my own in the house, but they were not allowed.

Oh, I forgot to mention that on my first day I was going across a crosswalk (at Kensington South Station) and I saw Sharpe author Bernard Cornwell himself and his wife and another lady crossing in the opposite direction. My jaw dropped. I knew he was in town for a dinner and a charity event and several book signings prior to the dinner, but I was shocked when I saw him crossing the street. That really made my day!

Over the next few days I went to places like the National Gallery (awesome), the National Portrait Gallery (one of my favorites), the British Museum (did 2 free tours and enjoyed the Enlightenment Gallery the most), the Tower of London (saw the crown jewels and did everything there except I forgot to go in the White Castle), Trafalgar Square on Trafalgar Day, the Horseguards Parade and changing of the guard there, the Churchill War Rooms (excellent) and just walked around some busy streets like the Strand, Oxford St., Regent Street, and around Covent Garden. 




 

One of the highlights of the trip for me was St. Paul’s Cathedral. I spent a few hours there. It is one of the most beautiful cathedrals, my first non-Catholic cathedral in Europe. And the audio tour was also part video via an iPod. The crypt held the graves of both Wellington and Admiral Nelson, along with many others (and now Mrs. Thatcher is entombed there). I walked up 257 stairs to the Whispering Gallery, but did not have it in me to go to the top of the dome (150 more steps in a little winding stair case). Someday I want to go back for Evensong.

I then rushed to Westminster Abbey and missed going in because it closed at 4:30 and the last people were let in at 3:30 and it was 3:35 when I arrived. I have since been there and enjoyed it as much as St. Paul’s. I then trekked past Buckingham Palace so that I could say I did. While I did make it to Waterstone’s during my visit, I didn’t make it to Hamley’s Toy Store, Foyle’s Books, or Persephone Books, all of which were on my list. I ate at one historical pub (The Grenadier) in Belgravia, but had wanted to go to a couple of others. I did go to the Museum of London, which was impressive. City museums turn out to be some of my favorite stops. I also went to the Tate Modern and looked at the permanent collection, but I didn’t want to wait two hours for a ticket to a Gaugin exhibit. I stared at Ai Weiwei’s Sunflower Seedsexhibit in the huge outer hall for a long time.

Looking back, I really did do a whole lot in a short amount of time. I was out for about nine to ten hours each day, and returned to my hotel when it was getting dark. It never rained, only misted after I had gone to see Woman in Black at the Fortune Theatre, which was awesome and featured one of the riflemen from Sharpe, Michael Mears, as one of the leads.

 

 

I did get stuck in the elevator at Earl’s Court Station when I was heading back to the airport at the end of my visit. It was early and I was alone in the elevator, which kept going up and down, but the doors would not open. So I had no choice but to push the alarm button. The voice of a security guard came over the radio and before long they were opening the door for me. In hindsight, it was funny, but I’m still glad it was early and no one else was around.

I’ve been back to London once since that first trip and I hope to take a third trip soon. On both of my previous trips I discovered that there is just too much to do and see London and I only managed to just scratch the surface.

I will never tire of visiting London.

M. Denise C.

You can visit my own blog here.

Do you h
ave a travel story about a trip to England? If so, please consider sharing it here.

 

A Couple In England – Day 8

I woke up on our last day in Bath to a truly gruesome sight – Hubby. He was pale, clammy and looking for all the world as though he were on his last legs.
 
“How do you feel?” I asked in the hopes that I might have misread the signs.
 
“Doctor.”
 
“What?”
 
“I need a doctor. Or maybe an undertaker. I need something more than that crappy Bell’s cough stuff you gave me. No kidding, I want a doctor.”
 
This was serious. As a rule, Hubby runs from medical practitioners.
 
“Okay,” I said, my mind working. “Let’s go downstairs and see about getting you a doctor then. Can you get dressed?”
 
Together, we got us both dressed, and packed, and went downstairs to the reception room, where we found Michael on duty. Michael, it should be said, worked for a time as house steward to the premier land owner in the neighborhood. I don’t think I’m at liberty to tell you all I know about it, confidentiality and all, but think a stately home with the word “long” in it’s name and put that together with another word for “tub” and you might figure it out. Clue: the peer Michael worked for has a harem.
 
Michael took one look at us and said, “Oh, dear.”
 
“We’re supposed to take the train to Windsor today, to meet my friend Hester, but Hubby wants a doctor. Can you get us a doctor?”
 
Michael is the epitome of the word “dapper.” Dressed in a suit and tie, his hair and mustache immaculate, he exudes an air of calm and classy competence. Have I mentioned his pocket square? “I could, of course, call a doctor for you. However, if you’re going to be staying in Windsor, perhaps it would be more expedient for you to call your friend and have her arrange for Hubby to see her practitioner, who would be on the spot, so the speak.”
 
He slid the telephone towards me as Hubby collapsed on the couch by the fireplace. I called Hester, who said she’d call her doctor and see what she could do. She’d ring me back.
 
“Medicine,” Hubby croaked.
 
I explained to Michael that the shops had been closed yesterday and so I hadn’t been able to find any 21st century cold medicine for Hubby.
 
“The chemist down the street is open today,” Michael told me. And so off I went, down Great Pulteney Street to the chemist hard by the bridge.

 
 

A. H. Hale, dispensing chemists, have been in business since the 1800’s and the shop looks like something out of a Jane Austen novel.
 

  

Their window is filled with glass bottles containing variously coloured liquids and powders and, best of all, modern day cold medicine. I conversed with the clerk, who listened to Hubby’s symptoms and stocked me up with an assortment of remedies. Back at the hotel, I found Hubby on the couch, drinking a bottle of Schwepps ginger ale, provided by Michael. I handed over the cough syrup and decongestant pills and within minutes he proclaimed himself much improved. Hester, it turned out, had gotten Hubby an appointment with her doctor for this afternoon, but Hubby now proclaimed himself fit to travel and no longer in need of dire medical intervention. He swore that it was the Schwepps, rather than the medicines, that had cured him. Ingrate. I called Hester, cancelled the doctor and before much longer we were in a cab headed to the station.

You can tell that I was feeling a bit better  myself, as I actually took these photos myself from the platform. We had a few minutes to wait for the next train, so I got us a couple of coffees and brought them out to Hubby.

“No smoking,” he said, as he took the coffee from me.

“Huh?”

“The sign,” he said, pointing in its direction with his chin. “No smoking. We’re outside on the platform and we can’t smoke. You can’t smoke in England.”

“Well, let’s not worry about it until you can’t smoke in France. Or Greece. Or Turkey. Then we’ll worry about it.”

“How long is the train ride to Windsor?”

Uh, oh. Here we go. “It’s about two hours. We, uh, we have to change trains though.”

“Where?”

“At Reading. And Slough.”

“Two changes?”

I could feel his pain. It wasn’t that long ago that I was myself close to death on a train. Only we had been traveling in the opposite direction.

“Reading is close to Stratfield Saye,” I sighed. Stratfield Saye, whose opening times never seem to coincide with my trips to England.

“What’s that?”

“Artie’s house.”

“I thought Apsley House was Artie’s house.”

“It is. He bought Apsley House himself. The country bought Stratfield Saye as a sort of thank you gi
ft for his having defeated Napoleon at Waterloo.”

“What?”

“Yeah. Napoleon was seen as the Hitler of his day. A tyrant. He proclaimed himself as Emperor of France and then turned his eye on the rest of the world. He threatened democracies everywhere. And Wellington and his army and the allies defeated him at Waterloo. Napoleon’s army was notorious for looting and stealing whatever they needed, wherever the went. Napoleon’s troops were the ones who shot the nose off the Sphinx.”

“The Egyptian Sphinx?”

“Yes. Destruction wherever they went. On the other hand, Wellington went out of his way to make sure that people were compensated to some degree for whatever his troops requisitioned. Not that the British didn’t indulge in some looting and pillaging of their own, but still, Artie had a completely different mindset about it. Remember the story about the looted Spanish art I told you about at Apsley House?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“There was this guy called Congreve and he worked at the Royal Arsenal, trying to perfect rockets Wellington had first seen at Seringapatam.”

“Where?”

“In India. Congreve worked to perfect them, but it took several attempts. He demonstrated them to Wellington, hoping he’d use them during his campaigns. It turns out that the rockets were unreliable and their trajectory uncertain. And then they’d set things on fire instead of blowing them up. And the things set afire were not necessarily the things one was aiming at. Wellington said that when he entered a town it was most often in order to liberate it, rather than destroy it. Wellington refused to use them because of the wholesale damage they caused and the destruction they left behind. In his own words, he had a bad opinion of them.”

“So Congreve didn’t get the commission?”

“Not from Wellington, but Congreve had gotten in tight with Prinny, who was pushing for the use of the rockets.”

“Who?”

Sigh. “Prinny, the Prince Regent. King George the fourth. They kept pestering Wellington to use them. When Wellington was in Portugal in 1810, the matter was again raised in a letter from Vice Admiral Berkeley. Wellington said that they wouldn’t answer for his purposes on land, but he allowed that every thing deserved a fair chance. So it was that eventually the Royal Navy used them and fired them from the decks of their ships.”

“How’d that go?”

“You’ve heard of `the rockets red glare’?”

“The bombs bursting in air?”

“Exactly. Those were Congreve’s rockets. They put on a great show, but weren’t very effective.”

Our train arrived and I helped Hubby get ourselves and our luggage onboard. I must say that Hubby was a brick, changes and all, up until the last leg of the journey, when a guy got on the train with a pit bull.

Hubby elbowed me in the side. “He’s got a dog on the train. A pit bull.”

Now, as you know, I pride myself on reporting this trip exactly as it happened. There was a pit bull on the train. Which now allows me to segue neatly into this photo of our granddog, Coco, the pit bull. Who believes with all his heart that he’s a Yorkshire terrier and who is constantly trying to climb onto my lap. But I digress . . . . .

“You’re allowed to bring dogs on the train in England,” I told Hubby.

“You can’t smoke outside on the platform, but you can bring a dog into a crowded train?”

“Look!” I said as I pointed out the window.

“What? What is that? Is that a castle?”

 Part Two Coming Soon!

Fanny Burney's Bath Plaque Unveiled

By guest blogger and author Hester Davenport

 

 

 
Hester Davenport, right, with Maggie Lane, both members of the Burney Society.
 
 
On Saturday 15 June a plaque was unveiled in the gallery of St Swithin’s Church, Bath to Fanny Burney the novelist and diary-writer, or Mme d’Arblay as she was known after her marriage. This righted a wrong dating from 1958, when plaques to her and her half-sister Sarah Harriet were lost. When the St Swithin’s organ was moved downstairs the church authorities, fearing damage, sought to protect them by taking them away beforehand – ironically they then disappeared completely.
There is a strong Burney connection with Bath and with St Swithin’s. Fanny visited it many times and lived there with her husband, Alexandre d’Arblay, after their return from France in 1815. Alexandre died in 1818 and was buried at Swithin’s, and in 1837 her son Alexander joined his father in the churchyard. Fanny, who died in London in 1840 at the age of 88, had asked in her will to be buried there too so all three could be united in death. She had already erected a memorial plaque to her husband in the church gallery and shortly after her own death her heirs paid for an elaborate memorial to her. Her half-sister died in 1844, in Cheltenham, but as she had lived for several years in Bath a memorial plaque was placed beside Fanny’s. (She was also a novelist, and though not achieving the fame of her sister her novel Clarentinewas read three times by Jane Austen, a recommendation indeed.)
The convoluted story does not end there. A huge table-top tomb had been placed over the graves of Fanny and Alexander by Burney descendants, but in 1955 the church decided to exhume the bodies and reinter them near the church (and near the grave of Jane Austen’s father). In the event only the massive tombstone was placed where it is today and the bodies were, without identification, reinterred in a communal graveyard. The tombstone had become an empty sarcophagus.
The Burney Society decided to do something about matters. The sarcophagus was cleaned and re-engraved, and in 2005 a ceremony was held, with onlookers scattering flower petals and the author UA Fanthorpe reading a specially-written poem. Since that event the Society has been fund-raising to replace the missing plaques. Marble plaques with lengthy inscriptions cost a lot of money, and only in the summer of 2012 was the target reached at least for Fanny’s. There was money left over, and a plaque with a simple inscription was planned for Sarah Harriet since the original wording was thought lost. But then a Burney scholar discovered in an obscure volume a photograph of it! This was exciting news except that now another £2000 would be needed for all the extra letters.
 
 
 
 
At least now Mme d’Arblay’s spirit must be at rest. The plaque, superbly engraved by Tony Brown (at right in photo below), was unveiled by Maggie Lane (at left in photo below with Burney Society President Bill Fraser). Maggie, well-known to members of the Jane Austen Society, was a founder member of the Burney Society and was for many years one of its Vice-Presidents; she is the author of A City of Palaces: Bath through the Eyes of Fanny Burney.
 
 
 
But poor Sarah Harriet (Harriotte in the baptismal register) still has no plaque and the empty space is all too obvious. We are now fund-raising as hard as we can; donations of any size would be much appreciated and could be sent to me: Hester Davenport (Chair British Burney Society), 60 Church Road, Old Windsor, Berkshire SL4 2PG.

A Couple In England – Day 7 – Part Four

Leaving the Fashion Museum and Upper Assembly Rooms behind, I now took myself, high heeled boots and all, back down Milsom Street via the cobbled sidewalk. What in the world had I been thinking when I slipped into them this morning? When I got to Pulteney Bridge, I stopped in at the newsagents and bought two more bottles of juice to take back to the room.

Once back at Duke’s Hotel and in the Wellington Suite, I found Hubby pretty much as I’d left him – all loose limbs and pale skin and laying on the bed looking for all the world like Garbo in the death scene from Camille.

“I brought you juice,” I said. “You want some?”

“Unh.”

“Have you eaten anything?”

“Unh.”

“Did you take your medicine?”

“Unh.”

I sat on the bed and thought about the best way to broach the subject of the couples massage I’d booked for us in two hours time. Hubby is not a fan of massage at the best of times, but I had gone ahead and booked it months ago, thinking it would be the perfect way for us to recover from the revelry of New Year’s Eve the night before. Little did I know that we’d miss the New Year entirely or that what we’d be recovering from would be cholera, rather than your run-of-the-mill late night out.

“So . . . I had meant this as a surprise, but I, er, I booked us in for a couples massage at the Bath Priory Hotel and spa.”

Hubby turned a truly horrified gaze upon me. Think “aghast” and you’d only be getting half the picture.

“For when?” he croaked.

“In about two hours.”

“Are you crazy?”

“I booked it months ago. I didn’t know we’d be sick. You don’t want to go?”

“No! I’m dying here. The last thing I want right now is some stranger rubbing me!”

“Okay, okay.“

“You go.”

“I don’t want to leave you alone all afternoon,” I lied.

“I’ll be fine. I can’t get in too much trouble lying here in bed. Unless, of course, I do actually die.”

“Well, I’ll put the phone on the bed right next to you and if you die, or even feel like dying, you can call downstairs for help.”

“Thanks. Go and enjoy yourself. What are you going to do, sit here all afternoon and watch me sleep?”

“Well, if  you’re sure . . . . “

 “I’m sure. I know how much you love the spa. I just can’t believe you feel well enough to have some stranger rubbing you.”

I tried hard to think of a scenario in which I wouldn’t welcome a massage and couldn’t think of a single one. I’ve had massages in various U.S. cities, in England, at sea, in a tropical rain forest, in Paris, in Aruba and in Zurich and . . . .  well, you get the idea. I must have lived in ancient Egypt in another life, as there’s nothing I enjoy more than being anointed with fragrant oils and massaged into a state of semi-consciousness. Pedicures aren’t too shabby, either.

So it was that I hopped into a cab at the appointed hour and went to the Bath Priory Hotel and Spa, located about ten minutes outside of the Bath city centre.

Pulling up into the forecourt, I began to see why the country house hotel had won the Relais and Chateaux Garden of the Year Awards in 2013, the same year their chef was awarded a Michelin star.
From the hotel’s website: “The hotel, built in 1835 as a private residence on land once owned by The Priory of Bath Abbey, is steeped in history and gives more than a nod to its Gothic influences – with cheeky gargoyles and dramatic arches, tempered by soft furnishings inside – beautiful paintings adorning the walls, objects d’art, freshly cut flowers and French Belle Epoque chandeliers. Sit by the smoldering embers of the log fires, sink into the sofas and enjoy a good book or an afternoon tea at leisure. If you are yearning for a well earned spa break, then the Garden Spa, complete with indoor and outdoor pools and the full range of beauty treatments, will ensure you are blissfully content.”

I had definitely come to the right place. Now, if my bowels held firm and my nose didn’t run like a faucet, I’d be fine. I walked through the front door and into a world of posh English luxury. The Elemis spa is located downstairs and I was escorted there by the hotel receptionist and turned over to the spa receptionist, who brought me back to the dressing room so that I could change into my bathing suit.

The spa has an indoor pool, but the amenities I wanted to take advantage of were the sauna and steam room. I was determined to sweat the cholera from my body.

 

Back and forth I went, from sauna to steam and back again for forty minutes. When I was about the consistency of a wet noodle, my masseuse collected me and brought me back to the couple’s treatment room, complete with garden view.
 
 
 

Cocooned in the semi darkness, breathing in the aromatherapy oils, I gave myself over to the ministrations of a stranger and allowed myself to be rubbed. By the end of my massage, I was, indeed, `blissfully c
ontent.’

When I got back to our hotel Hubby asked, “All better now?”

I smiled dreamily. “Much better. Still not all better. But better. What do you want to do for dinner?”

“I’m not really hungry.”

“I know. Neither am I, but we haven’t eaten since yesterday, so I think it would be a good idea to get something. How about a pizza? They deliver. We don’t even have to be dressed.”

“Sold.”

“I’m going take a hot bath first, then we’ll order, okay? You should take a bath. It’ll make you feel better.”

“No, thanks,” Hubby said, emphatically shaking his head. “The way my luck is going, I’d probably slip and fall and end up in a full body cast for the rest of the trip.”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. I laughed because the way the trip was panning out, a scenario like that wasn’t outside the realm of possibility.

So I bathed, we ordered pizza, which was delivered to our door by the hotel staff, and then we watched a little television, namely Bear’s Wild Weekend, the premise of which is that Bear Grylls – British adventurer, writer and television presenter – takes celebrities on exhilarating adventures well outside their comfort zones. In this episode the celebrity was Miranda Hart, of Call the Midwife fame.


Here’s a description of the show: “Bear Grylls takes comedy writer and actress Miranda Hart on a once-in-a-lifetime expedition to the spectacular Swiss Alps. Bear challenges novice Miranda to go far beyond her comfort zone with a series of exhilarating adventures during an intense two-day expedition. Miranda traverses a glacier, crosses crevasses roped to Bear, tackles deep snow in snow shoes and completes a huge boulder scramble. She also faces her greatest fears when she flies in a helicopter and abseils down a waterfall.”

It was a hoot and Hubby and I both enjoyed it immensely. Click the link to watch a clip of the show.

When the show was over, Hubby asked, “What’s on for tomorrow?”

“We take the train to Windsor.”

“Unh. What’s Windsor? Is it crazy like London or quiet like here?”

“Even quieter than here.” I refrained from elaborating and telling Hubby that our train journey tomorrow would require two changes. I didn’t think he’d be able to handle it just then. “I can’t believe we’re leaving Bath already and we didn’t get to do anything we’d planned.”

“You planned. I know how much you were looking forward to it and I’m sorry it was ruined for you. It seems like all we’ve done in Bath is lay in bed, take medicine, blow our noses and wait to die.”

Other than that Mrs. Lincoln, did you enjoy the play?

Day 8 Coming Soon!