Londinium

Hallo, Bloggies - that is if there are any of you left out there. The blog kind of spluttered to a halt round about the time we hit the wall and knew the honeymoon was over. Diary entries would have been along the lines of 'went to visit Woburn Abbey, but it was closed. Didn't really expect otherwise' . (all recited in true eeyore tones). However, a good friend got us out of the glooms by suggesting a walking tour of london. Well....

We ignored the advice of all and sundry and decided to take the car into lunnon (just as well we did - the tubes were on strike), but we found out why people don't really like driving in the city: intricate street systems and conflicting street signs, road works and diversions all over the place, and heavy, slow traffic. nevertheless, in spite of all of that, and thanks to jane's growing talents as a navigator - i only had to contradict her twice and on one of those i wasn't qwuite right.. - we survived unscathed, althought i would swear that we went over Tower bridge at least 3 times rying to escape the one-way system.

Saturday we went to St Paul's. Not as big as York minster but more beautiful. Definitely on the Must see list. While Jane sat down in the ground floor and found herself in a small service, i climbed up all 500 odd very vertcal steps to the tippety top of the dome. Brilliant views, but i wouldn't want to be a roofer on the job.

Back out of the city to the nearest affordable lodging on the M25. Getting quite fond of the service bay hotels. Cheap, cheerful and clean. On the Sunday, in for the walking tour. 10 minutes into the 2-hour tour, the skies opened, and we spent most of the tour ducking under shelters and feeling cold and miserable. Fascinating stuff, though. Tour was on 'ancient London', and while much was on the standard naughty goings on in the priories and nunneries (including the very model for Chaucer's Nun's tale), there were also some nice wee gruesome bits like the story of the poor old Duke of Suffolk, who lost his head in the 1500s. It turned up in the 1800s sans body, so they put it in a glass jar and displayed it in front of the altar for 50 years or so, until a vicar could stand it no longer and shoved it in a biscuit tin and put it in a dark cupboard. They finally buried the last of the Duke in the late 1950s. Various other charming tales tripped from the lips of our dripping but cheerful guide.

So that was the weekend. Back to the grindstone during the week, til someone (bet you'll never guess) hit the Big six oh! And doesn't timefly when you're having fun. Off to Yorkshire rabbit and chardonay jelly in a 16th century pub, now surrounded by 20th century suburbia. Lovely company, lovely setting. Think I've decided to grow old disgracefully. MMM Pass some more jelly! All for now, boys and girls.