Oxford is soggy and grey this week, but otherwise, life is good. Ants and I are still recovering after having the gorgeous Miss Heather up for the long weekend here - Monday was a public holiday (or bank holiday, as they're known in these parts).
I'm somewhat proud to say that Heather now loves Oxford nearly as much as we do! Took her to the pub where CS Lewis wrote Narnia and Tolkein invented hobbits (they used to skive off from teaching english classes on a tuesday and hang out with literary mates in a bar called the Eagle and Child), a wander beside the Thames and past Oxford Castle and King Henry VIII's former stables. There were pints at The Bear (laughing at students in grad gowns and doting rellies wearing even funnier attire!) and Head of the River (the rowers were out - yum) and at the Half Moon, where the Sunday Session was absolutely cracking.
Monday we adjourned to Warwick Castle to see Ants in action- he is just loving life as a Master of Trebuchet, although this particular day it was down for maintenance, and he did look funny trying to demonstrate it on a model that was barely as big as himself... Oh well!
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Jousting at Blenheim
The highlight of this May weekend, though, was Blenheim Palace, just up the road from Oxford, in regal Woodstock. Edward the Black Prince was born here, they say, and a royal hunting lodge stood here for centuries. Princess Elizabeth (later Elizabeth I) was held here for some months too, by Queen (Bloody) Mary, during the maddest years of her sister's reign.
But it wasn't 'til the 18th Century that Blenheim took the gorgeous form one sees today, when the grounds were gifted by Queen Anne to the first Duke of Marlborough for his victories over the French. Sumptuous, no?
(btw, that's the lovely Heather in yellow... showing just how grand a scale these buildings have!)
Most famous these days as the birthplace of Winston Churchill (not a bad place to grow up), Blenheim opens its doors to tournaments and such...
... and yet here and there are reminders that this is still someone's private home...
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Hooray hooray, the first of May...
...outdoor screwing begins today!
So cool to finally be in the right hemisphere to say such things.
So despite running away to Aus for a month in the middle of winter, I totally understand why the beginning of spring is such a big deal. Winter tends to send English people a bit mad.
I'm sure that's why thousands of people stagger into the high street at 4am in the freezing dark to assemble outside Magdalene (I still don't know why it's pronounces Maudlin) College - some of the college kids still sporting strapless evening gowns and the remains of black tie from all-night-end-of-academic-year balls. After about 2 hours of freezing my bits off and texting family back home about what a lunatic thing I was doing, I finally heard the college choir shuffle onto the roof of the tower about 5 floors overhead. They then sang hymns in Latin for about 15 minutes (that was worth waiting for - not) which was broadcast down to us on the tinniest PA system you ever heard. Actually, I'd have preferred to hear it through tin-cans joined by a string... No wonder people jump off the Magdalene Bridge (into about 18 inches of freezing water, a long way below). Despite a recent ban and a heavy police presence, apparently 3 people managed the feat this year...
After such an anticlimax, I hastened off to the famed Victoria Arms in Old Marston village, not far from home. I arrived at 6.15 to find the morning folk session in full swing, with about 100 revellers well into cooked-brekkie-for-a-fiver washed down by at least their first pint. All the Half Moon regulars were there - even Joe, the landlord! And we sang all the spring songs - John Barleycorn (at least 2 versions, maybe 3), Long Life and Success to the Farmer, Nothing for Poor Shepherds to Do and a long list of others. By the time chilly dawn turned into brilliant sunny morning we were far too merry to bother with suncream as we trouped outside for Morrismen (and women!) and my first maypole dance.
I should point out that some of our friends had been up all night at the previous nights session, and that most of them book May 2 off work as well, to recover. We lasted until about 3pm when, given our big weekend in Leeds and an early start, we trudged across the field home for a long hard nanna-nap.
Next year, I aspire to know the words...
So cool to finally be in the right hemisphere to say such things.
So despite running away to Aus for a month in the middle of winter, I totally understand why the beginning of spring is such a big deal. Winter tends to send English people a bit mad.
I'm sure that's why thousands of people stagger into the high street at 4am in the freezing dark to assemble outside Magdalene (I still don't know why it's pronounces Maudlin) College - some of the college kids still sporting strapless evening gowns and the remains of black tie from all-night-end-of-academic-year balls. After about 2 hours of freezing my bits off and texting family back home about what a lunatic thing I was doing, I finally heard the college choir shuffle onto the roof of the tower about 5 floors overhead. They then sang hymns in Latin for about 15 minutes (that was worth waiting for - not) which was broadcast down to us on the tinniest PA system you ever heard. Actually, I'd have preferred to hear it through tin-cans joined by a string... No wonder people jump off the Magdalene Bridge (into about 18 inches of freezing water, a long way below). Despite a recent ban and a heavy police presence, apparently 3 people managed the feat this year...
After such an anticlimax, I hastened off to the famed Victoria Arms in Old Marston village, not far from home. I arrived at 6.15 to find the morning folk session in full swing, with about 100 revellers well into cooked-brekkie-for-a-fiver washed down by at least their first pint. All the Half Moon regulars were there - even Joe, the landlord! And we sang all the spring songs - John Barleycorn (at least 2 versions, maybe 3), Long Life and Success to the Farmer, Nothing for Poor Shepherds to Do and a long list of others. By the time chilly dawn turned into brilliant sunny morning we were far too merry to bother with suncream as we trouped outside for Morrismen (and women!) and my first maypole dance.
I should point out that some of our friends had been up all night at the previous nights session, and that most of them book May 2 off work as well, to recover. We lasted until about 3pm when, given our big weekend in Leeds and an early start, we trudged across the field home for a long hard nanna-nap.
Next year, I aspire to know the words...
Tall tales and tall trees - Nottingham and Sherwood Forest
I'd been warned that it was the murder capital of Britain, but the part of me that grew up devouring tales of Robin Hood and Sherwood forest was just dying to go check out Nottingham.
Nevertheless, we went there during daylight.
The road from Leeds is curvy and scenic, but it's very clear that Sherwood Forest is not a patch on the mighty greenwood of 1000 years ago. Just a few hundred of the thousands of 'really old trees' remain, the rest were cut down for ship-building in the 1700s. Signposts now mark out patches of remnant forest amid fields and shrubby regrowth, and the visitor's centre, when we get there, is (as Ants put it) "In desperate need of a cash injection". No doubt it was leading edge when it was built in the 1970s... undaunted, we followed one of the walking trails to the oldest oak in the forest, said to be 1000 years old. Its massive limbs held up by scaffolds and steel posts, it looked as though it was being kept alive for the sake of a record, and it was all a bit sad, rather than awe inspiring. We cut our losses and headed to Nottingham for lunch.
As English cities go, Notts is pretty modern, but the shape of the old medieval town is easy to imagine - the castle (what's left of it - not much more than a posh renaissance manor house now, really) sits atop a massive rock formation that rises out of the earth. A lot of the hillside boasts prettily sculptured gardens, but many of the old walls at the foot of the hill remain, winding their way up a series of no-man's lands and narrow gateways. It would have commanded a powerful view of the town below, and seemed all but impregnable.
But it wasn't the castle we really came to see. Nestled at the base of the castle and built into excavated rock, is a stone and timber formation that claims to be England's oldest pub. Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem was opened in 1189AD, and is said to have been the staging point from which Richard I led his troops on the third Crusade. Tunnels dug into the rock connect it to the castle grounds - the infamous Mortimer's Hole is said to have been used by Roger Mortimer, Earl of March and lover of Queen Isabella (wife of the allegedly-not-very-into-women Edward II, of death-by-red-hot-poker fame) to access the queen when she was in residence. Most historians now agree that neither the tale of the midnight rendezvous nor the poker is likely to be true, but that doesn't stop venues from continuing the myths.
Ye Olde Trip... is full of plaques with tales of dodgy artefacts - from a 'pregnancy chair' to a ship in a bottle that kills anyone who tries to clean it. All good tourist fun. Best call in for a pint only though - food is standard english fare, and not as good as many other pubs we've seen in our travels.
Nevertheless, we went there during daylight.
The road from Leeds is curvy and scenic, but it's very clear that Sherwood Forest is not a patch on the mighty greenwood of 1000 years ago. Just a few hundred of the thousands of 'really old trees' remain, the rest were cut down for ship-building in the 1700s. Signposts now mark out patches of remnant forest amid fields and shrubby regrowth, and the visitor's centre, when we get there, is (as Ants put it) "In desperate need of a cash injection". No doubt it was leading edge when it was built in the 1970s... undaunted, we followed one of the walking trails to the oldest oak in the forest, said to be 1000 years old. Its massive limbs held up by scaffolds and steel posts, it looked as though it was being kept alive for the sake of a record, and it was all a bit sad, rather than awe inspiring. We cut our losses and headed to Nottingham for lunch.
As English cities go, Notts is pretty modern, but the shape of the old medieval town is easy to imagine - the castle (what's left of it - not much more than a posh renaissance manor house now, really) sits atop a massive rock formation that rises out of the earth. A lot of the hillside boasts prettily sculptured gardens, but many of the old walls at the foot of the hill remain, winding their way up a series of no-man's lands and narrow gateways. It would have commanded a powerful view of the town below, and seemed all but impregnable.
But it wasn't the castle we really came to see. Nestled at the base of the castle and built into excavated rock, is a stone and timber formation that claims to be England's oldest pub. Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem was opened in 1189AD, and is said to have been the staging point from which Richard I led his troops on the third Crusade. Tunnels dug into the rock connect it to the castle grounds - the infamous Mortimer's Hole is said to have been used by Roger Mortimer, Earl of March and lover of Queen Isabella (wife of the allegedly-not-very-into-women Edward II, of death-by-red-hot-poker fame) to access the queen when she was in residence. Most historians now agree that neither the tale of the midnight rendezvous nor the poker is likely to be true, but that doesn't stop venues from continuing the myths.
Ye Olde Trip... is full of plaques with tales of dodgy artefacts - from a 'pregnancy chair' to a ship in a bottle that kills anyone who tries to clean it. All good tourist fun. Best call in for a pint only though - food is standard english fare, and not as good as many other pubs we've seen in our travels.
One of the coolest weekends. Ever.
The lovely Anthony turned 35 on Saturday...(Teehee!) To celebrate, we took a coupla days off and hired a car (I know, evil Georgi. Moo!) to head up to the Royal Armouries at Leeds, about 3 hours away. I swear, it's re-enactor's paradise.
We spent nearly 3 full days madly photographing and documenting everything we could find, plus watching displays of pattern welding swords, Tudor hunting, horseriding. and falconry. The renaissance armour from Italy was stunning...
There were suits of armour owned by Henry VIII and Robert Dudley....(That's Henry VIII's armour Ants is standing beside below - funny how weapons make him strike a rugby pose. Hmm. Primal.)
These masks, from the same era, were pretty trippy too - handmade, as gifts (?really) to Henry VIII... personally, I think it's as mad as the dinner set frenzy that was showered over Wellington after he defeated Napoleon (check the rant on March 9, 2006, if you can't remember this piece of giggle).
For mine, there's way more to see in Leeds even than at the Tower of London...
I loved this boar spear... I want one!!But the most amazing bit came out of a natter with the horse display guys after their show. They were at Hastings, we were at Hastings, they've studied fighting from manuscripts, we've studied fighting from manuscripts, the usual re-enactor patter. Then Ants offered them a special day out at Warwick... and they returned the favour by offering to have a word with Phil-the-chief-librarian... Next day, we were wandering around the fencing weapons section when the phone rang. "Hi, it's Chris, would you like a really cool finish to your weekend'??
Suddenly we're down on level 1 (the 'no public access' floor), meeting Phil the Librarian, who handed us a pair of white gloves each and pointed us towards a big cushion on which was resting... i33. Yes, the original.
Those who don't give a rats about history won't care that it's believed to be the oldest extant manual of swordfighting, published circa 1270 AD. The rest of you, please wipe the drool off your keyboards now. We spent about 40 minutes leafing through it, admiring the piccies (neither of us reads Old German, or Latin....), and half laughing, half wincing at the bits where some generations' past toddler appears to have coloured over the diagrams with crayon...
We left feeling really special.
More about Leeds
The Royal Armouries, it must be said, were hard to top, but the artsy craftman's market and the painted timber Covered Market (the largest in Europe, apparently) gave us more than a morning's browsing.
As you can see, Anthony spent the morning pulling faces - although he downright scowled when he realised I'd posed him under this sign on purpose....
Modern Leeds is a carelessly cool city - a whole lotta Victorian stone edifices meet industrial revolution hits urban chic, that reminds me a bit of Melbourne. The reclaimed waterfront is clearly becoming a hub for trendy bars and renovated factories-turned-studio-flats.
As you can see, Anthony spent the morning pulling faces - although he downright scowled when he realised I'd posed him under this sign on purpose.... Modern Leeds is a carelessly cool city - a whole lotta Victorian stone edifices meet industrial revolution hits urban chic, that reminds me a bit of Melbourne. The reclaimed waterfront is clearly becoming a hub for trendy bars and renovated factories-turned-studio-flats. And damn but the eating's good! Having turned up at a spanish place I'd found on the web and found it packed on the Saturday, we wandered around for ages trying to get a bit to eat - Anthony's (which I've since learned has a michelin star!) was booked out, and there was nary a table to be had even at Loch Fyne or any of the better 'national' restaurants.
We were getting desperate, when we found Georgetown. Set inside a former watchmakers shop, this restaurant was still all kitted out in Victorian opulence (etched mirrors, chandeliers, dark timber and pretty porcelain), serving up seriously good Indonesian, Malay and Chinese dishes in a quirky, but workable, 'civilised dining in the colonies' kinda theme. The asian flavours tasted authentic, the service was darn good, and after our champagne, three courses and wine, we adjourned to the piano bar for coffee, digestifs and a smoke. Piano bar? Yes, an asian chap played for about 3 hours to an almost empty dining room. At the prices we paid, I don't understand how this place wasn't packed.
From there we found a groovy bar where we drank cherry beers from Belgium before staggering into the shrieking cacophony of chavs and mingers that litter the streets of English cities everywhere on a Saturday night...
This was a new breed of chav though. Leeds counts, to most English folk, as 'up north' (some people consider Brummies to be northerners - blimey!) and is fulled with an odd mix of accents - I'd just gotten used to the slightly nasally singsong of Lancastrian-like accents, when a cab driver's broad Yorkshire drawl made me sit up and have to check my ears. "Y'want 't Brookfild 'otel? On 'Unslet roood. Aye ah noo the won". Maybe you had to be there...
Anyway, we rounded out the weekend by heading back to the Spanish place on Sunday, where we learned they did "Tapas for a Tenner" on Sundays... bliss!
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