The next stop on our journey is Plymouth. The original idea was to use this as a staging point to explore Cornwall - but now we realize the extent of the traffic we feel this is likely to be just too much driving.
We had also thought about trying to go to Stonehenge. But over dinner , we decide that we are really much more interested in seeing Plymouth and the Victory than looking through the rain at some old rocks.
We are surprised to find in the morning that daylight saving has started. Thank heavens for self adjusting times on electronic devices! Even so, we are still jet lagged enough to find it easy to be on the road early - it beats the traffic!
It is another windy, rainy and frankly freezing day. But we aren't the only ones at the Portsmouth naval yard when it opens for business.
The Victory is just like walking through the pages of Hornblower for us. We have lots of chats with the guides posted over the ship. One even lets us pretend to fire a gun. Most of the cannons are fiberglass replicas, but there are a few genuine cannon on the ship if you know where to look.
We also tour the M33 - a WW1 gunship that was at Gallipoli. The Mary Rose was having work done - so not available for viewing. But we went to the exhibit and saw the bits we could. There was much more than we could fit into our visit. Luckily also lovely tea rooms and an antique shop filled with military bric a brac including an ejector seat.
Now I can get Mike oldfield's Portsmouth out of an endless loop in my head...
Then it was on to Plymouth. The hotel that Alison, our travel agent, had found for us was a beauty! The Duke of Cornwall, originally opened around 150 years ago. A fabulous gothic building with a gorgeous caste iron staircase. All the rooms are individually decorated. Ours had yellow hydrangea patterned wallpaper and a luxurious blue and yellow carpet.
The weather was still truly horrible and the hotel had a very pleasant lounge area. - so we ended up ordering food at the bar and having a pleasant night watching the rain beating on the windows. Luckily the storm seemed to blow itself out overnight and we woke up to blue skies.
We hadn't really expected much of Plymouth, so it was a pleasant surprise in the morning to find it was a really pretty town. The Barbican area close to the harbour has lots of narrow cobbled streets and the harbour itself is really attractive. There is also a park called the hoe - providing lovely views as well as endless opportunities for double entendres. This is supposedly where Sir Francis Drake was playing bowls when he spotted the Spanish Armada.
In the afternoon I nagged Grant into driving us out of town to visit Drakes residence - Buckland abbey. It was originally an abbey - sold off by Henry VIII to Richard Granville. Mr Granville turned out to be a pioneer in church conversions and remodeled the building to be a family manor. He ran into some of the classic problems that home renovation show addicts such as myself are familiar with - too high ceilings, awkward shaped rooms. Anyway - after establishing that any of these little difficulties could be overcome with the application of money - he eventually a sold it on to Sir Francis.
We finished the day with a delicious dinner at the river cottage cafe - which Grant had booked for me that morning. Yummo! Simple food done well. We started with a tasting plate - sausages with hummus, baked Camembert and spinach and nutmeg gratin. Then for mains Grant had whiting and chips and I had salmon with lentils. Dessert was chocolate pudding for Grant with coffee sauce and sticky toffee pudding for me. All delicious.
Thursday 31 March 2016
Tuesday 29 March 2016
Piers and pavillions
The trouble with falling asleep at 4:30 in the afternoon is that you are bound to get an early start the next day.
Sure enough we are out and about before 7 the next morning. At least this helps us beat the crowds.
The morning is blustery. We see a group of locals risking exposure as they head for an early morning swim - I feel thy put the Bondi icebergs to shame.
We have time to get the lay of the land and discover that we can walk to everywhere we want to go from our hotel - which is lucky as there is no way we want to drive. We find a cafe that opens for breakfast at 7 and are on their doorstep a little before that, having already walked on the pebbly beach, checked out the entrance to the pier and watched the squirrels in the gardens of the Royal Pavillion.
A chilly walk really helps you appreciate a warm coffee and a full English breakfast.
I have read so many historical novels that include a fictional visit to the Royal Pavillion that I can't help but be excited to be there in person. I particularly love the gigantic chandeliers hanging from the claws of dragons. Unfortunately you aren't allowed to take ANY photos inside. Grant is less entranced and mutters about Wealth built on exploitation of colonies...
One story we find amusing is a card next to a large ormolu clock on the mantelpiece of one of the rooms. When the Victoria decided that the Pavillion was not really to her taste (too public, being right in the middle of town. And I do have some sympathy for her opinion that it is silly to have a home so close to the sea with no sea views) much of the Royal furniture and ornamentation was removed and used elsewhere in other Royal properties. The card explained that the city of Brighton paid to have a replica of this particular clock made for the Pavillion. It seems incredible to us that the Royal family couldn't spare one clock...
We also cover the lanes - which seem to have a lot of designer shops (no fur hats though!) and generally enjoy the architecture. I need to have a cider before I can brave a walk to the end of the pier. The weather has only got worse as the day has gone on and I am freezing.
By the end of the day we feel that we have well and truly covered the place and done more than our allocated 10000 steps. We had originally located a pub called the Lion and Lobster that Grant had spotted on the internet before we left Canberra as our dinner destination - but it turned out to be packed. So we find another cafe - which turns out to have delicious food and great service. Then it's one final trudge through the wind and rain to finish our day at the seaside.
Sure enough we are out and about before 7 the next morning. At least this helps us beat the crowds.
The morning is blustery. We see a group of locals risking exposure as they head for an early morning swim - I feel thy put the Bondi icebergs to shame.
We have time to get the lay of the land and discover that we can walk to everywhere we want to go from our hotel - which is lucky as there is no way we want to drive. We find a cafe that opens for breakfast at 7 and are on their doorstep a little before that, having already walked on the pebbly beach, checked out the entrance to the pier and watched the squirrels in the gardens of the Royal Pavillion.
A chilly walk really helps you appreciate a warm coffee and a full English breakfast.
I have read so many historical novels that include a fictional visit to the Royal Pavillion that I can't help but be excited to be there in person. I particularly love the gigantic chandeliers hanging from the claws of dragons. Unfortunately you aren't allowed to take ANY photos inside. Grant is less entranced and mutters about Wealth built on exploitation of colonies...
One story we find amusing is a card next to a large ormolu clock on the mantelpiece of one of the rooms. When the Victoria decided that the Pavillion was not really to her taste (too public, being right in the middle of town. And I do have some sympathy for her opinion that it is silly to have a home so close to the sea with no sea views) much of the Royal furniture and ornamentation was removed and used elsewhere in other Royal properties. The card explained that the city of Brighton paid to have a replica of this particular clock made for the Pavillion. It seems incredible to us that the Royal family couldn't spare one clock...
We also cover the lanes - which seem to have a lot of designer shops (no fur hats though!) and generally enjoy the architecture. I need to have a cider before I can brave a walk to the end of the pier. The weather has only got worse as the day has gone on and I am freezing.
By the end of the day we feel that we have well and truly covered the place and done more than our allocated 10000 steps. We had originally located a pub called the Lion and Lobster that Grant had spotted on the internet before we left Canberra as our dinner destination - but it turned out to be packed. So we find another cafe - which turns out to have delicious food and great service. Then it's one final trudge through the wind and rain to finish our day at the seaside.
Cribb study tour 2016
Just a few hours after landing and we're already in trouble with the police!
Thanks to Dani studying in Dundee for 6 months Grant has been persuaded to board the long flight back to the mother country. I'm here by just assuming from the first that I would be included. So onto the iconic QF1.
We booked exit row Seats on the top floor of the A380 and my QANTAS club membership gives us lounge access. Best we could do without springing for business class. I would have to say they were excellent seats with the only problem being the lack of storage space - trade off for the leg room I guess. Service was excellent - but sleep on airplanes is always pretty difficult.
On landing we were off to pick up our hire car and drive to Brighton. The Europcar office was slammed and the whole process took about 2 hours - much longer than expected. Somehow we ended up walking out having been up sold from the Passat we had booked to a MUCH more expensive Mercedes SUV. Which is lovely and brand new.
Operating on very little sleep Grant is driving down the M road. We are in the middle lane of the road when the satnav falls off the screen. As we frantically try to reinstall it, evidently our speed must have dropped below some mandatory minimum. A police car speeds up beside us on our left and the occupants gesture angrily at us to move over. Confusing - as doing that would have caused us to crash into them... Anyway with much angry gesturing from the bobbies - we move chastened into the left lane - risking being whisked off to an unknown destination on one of the mysterious exits.
With no further incident we arrive in our first scheduled stop - the town of Battle. You may think that the Battle of Hastings in 1066 took place in the town of Hastings. But no - turns out it took place just down the road in the town of Battle.
Battle turns out to be a sweet little town having some kind of festival that involves dressing up. We see a dead ringer for Captain Mainwering - complete with home guard uniform and another bunch dressed up as the trains fro Thomas the Tank engine (yes - really). We have a lovely pub lunch and a walk around. Being early Spring the trees still look bare and are just coming into leaf But daffodils are up all over the place in clumps by the side of the road.
We have a lovely pub lunch and a bit of a wander. I see a fake fur hat and, in an uncharacteristic burst of thrift, decide not to buy it. A decision that I rue for the next several days of wind and rain which I endure with my daggy purple beanie jammed on my head.
After Battle we head for Brightom where we are booked to stay in a seafront hotel. We try to outsmart the NAVMAN and plot a route by the coast rather than inland where it wants to take us. Big mistake. I have a rapid refresher course in Th eccentricity of English road signs. On the not very detailed map we have picked up it LOOKS as though you just need to follow a particular A road to go where we want to go - but the signs don't necessarily include that A road in any of the exits from a particular roundabout - instead ALL directions have A and B road numbers that are not the road we are trying to follow. Even going by the next town along the route doesn't help - as there may be several routes to the same town. After driving in circles for a while, we give in and follow the satellite navigation directions. After all - this is what we brought it along to do.
By the time we arrive in Brighton, Grant is exhausted. But the closer we get to our hotel, the worse the traffic gets. Close to the seafront, the traffic is bumper to bumper,, it takes us close to half an hour to travel the last kilometer. This includes scary interludes where we end up in the wrong lane because of strange configurations of intersections....
At this point it dawns on me that a seaside town is probably not a good destination for an Easter Saturday. We can see that the footpaths are also packed with holidays get Brits.
When we finally reach our hotel room at 4:30 in the afternoon all we can manage is a shower before we fall into a deep sleep. Brighton can wait until tomorrow.
Thanks to Dani studying in Dundee for 6 months Grant has been persuaded to board the long flight back to the mother country. I'm here by just assuming from the first that I would be included. So onto the iconic QF1.
We booked exit row Seats on the top floor of the A380 and my QANTAS club membership gives us lounge access. Best we could do without springing for business class. I would have to say they were excellent seats with the only problem being the lack of storage space - trade off for the leg room I guess. Service was excellent - but sleep on airplanes is always pretty difficult.
On landing we were off to pick up our hire car and drive to Brighton. The Europcar office was slammed and the whole process took about 2 hours - much longer than expected. Somehow we ended up walking out having been up sold from the Passat we had booked to a MUCH more expensive Mercedes SUV. Which is lovely and brand new.
Operating on very little sleep Grant is driving down the M road. We are in the middle lane of the road when the satnav falls off the screen. As we frantically try to reinstall it, evidently our speed must have dropped below some mandatory minimum. A police car speeds up beside us on our left and the occupants gesture angrily at us to move over. Confusing - as doing that would have caused us to crash into them... Anyway with much angry gesturing from the bobbies - we move chastened into the left lane - risking being whisked off to an unknown destination on one of the mysterious exits.
With no further incident we arrive in our first scheduled stop - the town of Battle. You may think that the Battle of Hastings in 1066 took place in the town of Hastings. But no - turns out it took place just down the road in the town of Battle.
Battle turns out to be a sweet little town having some kind of festival that involves dressing up. We see a dead ringer for Captain Mainwering - complete with home guard uniform and another bunch dressed up as the trains fro Thomas the Tank engine (yes - really). We have a lovely pub lunch and a walk around. Being early Spring the trees still look bare and are just coming into leaf But daffodils are up all over the place in clumps by the side of the road.
We have a lovely pub lunch and a bit of a wander. I see a fake fur hat and, in an uncharacteristic burst of thrift, decide not to buy it. A decision that I rue for the next several days of wind and rain which I endure with my daggy purple beanie jammed on my head.
After Battle we head for Brightom where we are booked to stay in a seafront hotel. We try to outsmart the NAVMAN and plot a route by the coast rather than inland where it wants to take us. Big mistake. I have a rapid refresher course in Th eccentricity of English road signs. On the not very detailed map we have picked up it LOOKS as though you just need to follow a particular A road to go where we want to go - but the signs don't necessarily include that A road in any of the exits from a particular roundabout - instead ALL directions have A and B road numbers that are not the road we are trying to follow. Even going by the next town along the route doesn't help - as there may be several routes to the same town. After driving in circles for a while, we give in and follow the satellite navigation directions. After all - this is what we brought it along to do.
By the time we arrive in Brighton, Grant is exhausted. But the closer we get to our hotel, the worse the traffic gets. Close to the seafront, the traffic is bumper to bumper,, it takes us close to half an hour to travel the last kilometer. This includes scary interludes where we end up in the wrong lane because of strange configurations of intersections....
At this point it dawns on me that a seaside town is probably not a good destination for an Easter Saturday. We can see that the footpaths are also packed with holidays get Brits.
When we finally reach our hotel room at 4:30 in the afternoon all we can manage is a shower before we fall into a deep sleep. Brighton can wait until tomorrow.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
