12/08/07: Wave Rock

Maybe it’s going to end up being a bit of a signature thing for the two of us, but today, we’d slept in (so most of the morning was already gone) and after a nice leisurely breakfast, I said to Chris ‘let’s drive somewhere!’. But where? ‘we’ll toss a die!’ said I. And? He asked. Well, if it’s 1 or 2, we go north. If it’s 3 or 4, we head east. If it’s 5 or 6, we’ll go south. It was 3. So we packed our picnic, and drove east. And we drove. And we drove. And we drove. And… oh yeah. We just kept on driving. Five hours later – not kidding, not exaggerating, not lying – we found Wave Rock.

Sure, the sun had already set and the mozzies were out and we were freezing and the puppies had to be fed so we couldn’t very well just spend the night and we still had a five hour drive to get home; but you just can’t put a price on experience can you?

We’d come all the way out here, we were damned well going to have our picnic on Wave Rock. So we quickly climbed up, had our very quick picnic, and had to get back to the car before it was too dark to see anything at all. All in all, it was a 10 hour car drive for a 40 minute stint at a nice place we didn’t really get to see. If we didn’t laugh we’d cry.

Job well done Tania and Chris!

09/08/07: Golden Valley Tree Park

Chris was still on holidays, and this morning, I had a job interview at a high school near where we’re building the new house. So he drove me to the interview, which went well, and we went home feeling not much like doing any work.

So Chris and I, being Chris and I, hopped into the car and just drove. And we ended up at the Golden Valley Tree Park. Never had a clue it even existed. It was literally one of those ‘turn down here and let’s see where this road goes’ finds. There was no one there but us, and the weather was absolutely miserable.

We’d packed our usual picnic (crackers, salami, kabana, brie, sun-dried tomatoes, dip and drinks) and went for a walk through the park afterwards. It was sweet. Nothing particularly special as a park, but certainly a nice place to go to for a picnic and stuff.

Maybe 3 stars our of 5 I’d say.

05/08/07: Bibbulmun Track 1

It’s only been a couple of days since I got home, but I’d been feeling a little lost. Not quite knowing what to think or do. Chris and I had decided a long time ago that we’d like to do the Bibbulmun Track, and while I was gone, he’d gone out and bought the maps. So today, we decided to take the puppies out and start from the beginning, and slowly work our way down one little tiny bit at a time.

The Bibbulmun Track is a walking trail that stretches from Kalamunda in the Perth Hills all the way down to Albany in the south coast of WA. It stretches over 1000km and covers easy to difficult bush tracks.

There’s also a bike track, but it’s not completed yet. The weather was absolutely divine for walking, and the puppies were very excited. We’d planned to walk from the first car park to the next, but Chris was so stressed out about the dogs being in a national park that he just didn’t look like he was enjoying himself at all. Everyone we passed were quite happy to see the dogs, who were very well behaved the entire way. Eventually, we turned back before getting to the next car park and found a nice little spot for a picnic (the dogs even had their own bones) outside the park boundaries.

It was actually just what I needed at this point in time because I’d missed the Australian bush. The wildflowers were just starting to come out and the sky was blue and the air was fresh and the birds were singing and all was well with the world. It was nice to be home.

02/08/07: Home Sweet Home

And so it ends. Rem and I had organized to meet after breakfast and get to Gatwick together. Always safer to travel together when you’ve got luggage and stuff. Oh my god it was horrendous. We had no idea how heavy my two suitcases were. He was good enough to drag one of them for me as I struggled with the other. And we made it to Euston Station eventually. Thanks to the fact that London’s so bloody old, they’ve always got something needing to be fixed. And of course, in our case, it was the lines. Which meant significant delays. And so we’d somehow managed to lug my ridiculously heavy cases down the five flights of stairs or something stupid, only to wait in the heat underground.

Both of us were becoming more acutely aware of the time, and eventually I said to Rem ‘Look, I’ll split the fare of a taxi with you’. So we lugged the stuff all the way back up again. All this taking heaps of time of course. Found a taxi on the road and he drove us to Victoria station. It was only a short trip, but by the end of it, we knew all about his wonderfully smart grandson who got a scholarship to New York to study fashion design; his smart grandson’s beautiful girlfriend who’s sad to see him go; his poor dead wife; and the fact that he’s now dating his sister-in-law because his brother married his wife’s sister or something like that; and the fact that he’s planning on taking her out that very day to shop for a new nightie because he’s taking her away for a holiday and so on and so forth.

Anyway. We eventually got to the station and still had to catch another train to the airport. Thankfully, you can buy your tickets on the train and the trip was relatively uneventful. Rem and I discussed the many merits and demerits of living in London. Rem’s extended family comes from Tokyo, so big cities aren’t exactly novel to him. Meanwhile, we make it to the airport in one piece. And of course, they’re doing massive renovations, so the two of us were dragging my heavy-beyond-imagination trolley bags around the detours which involved walking through one, then another car park, and probably even the runway of this airport. It’s freezing, one of the stoppers had snapped of the bottom of my trolley case, my palms were starting to blister (seriously – I’m not just writing out of my arse here), Rem was being an angel not complaining at all. Eventually we get to a fork in the road (literally) and had to go our separate ways.

I take my two cases and my lap top bag and my handbag to the counter. The lady looks at me like I’m nuts and proceeds to tell me that I’ve got the equivalent of two people’s overloaded luggage and there’s no way they’re going to let me on the plane. I’m about to start crying. It was so traumatic I think I’ve gone and pushed it right to the very back of my mind.

To cut a long story short, there was a baggage shipment place at the end of the airport. I took all my stuff there, shoved a whole heap of disposables into a bin, packed the rest into a box, dumped one suitcase and went back to the counter about two hours later with less weight in my bag than a sack of potatoes. The lady was impressed. I was quite fortunate really because the baggage company was actually the same baggage company that was shipping my bike home. And they hadn’t shipped the bike yet – it was still in the dock. So they just pulled up my records and added and extra box to my shipment for a smaller cost than it would have been had I shipped them separately. Still. A lot of money had been spent unnecessarily, and I was not happy. But by this time, all I wanted to do was get home.

And I knew that with an attitude like that, there was no way that it was going to be an easy trip. And it wasn’t.

The entire journey to Dubai, some baby was wailing two rows in front of me. The only time it stopped was when it got too tired to cry any more. Surely that’s not actually possible? What on earth could be wrong with the baby to make it cry like that? To make matters worse, I was sitting next to Dumb and Dumber. It was horrendous. I’d never felt like such a snob in my life, but good god they were common! I tried ignoring them but they kept trying to talk to me. I think I ignored them to the point where it was beyond rude (is it rude to put your headphones on with nothing playing when someone’s trying to talk to you?). But what the hell. I was tired, I had sore feet and sore hands, I was poor beyond measure, I wanted to go home and I was not in the mood to lament over the fact that there was no lifeguard at that particular family’s gene pool. Clearly, I wasn’t the only person who felt that way, because I forgot all decorum and pushed and bolted my way out of that plane as soon as it landed with the one intention of getting away from the mother and daughter’s incessant and unbelievably inane prattle. As luck would have it, when I finally made it to the queue to check in at Dubai, who were right behind me? Kath and Kim. I couldn’t believe it. Talk about the gods being cruel. When we got to the waiting room, I sat down and started journaling on my laptop. An older couple sat down next to me and looked up as the mother and daughter pair walked through the clear glass door. ‘Ugh! Look!’ said the wife to the husband. My ears pricked up and I glanced up without moving my head, my fingers still moving over the keys. ‘There goes Twiddledee and Twiddledum’. The husband chuckled and I couldn’t help grinning. Looks like they’ve made a bit of a name for themselves. Thankfully, I didn’t end up sitting next to them on the next leg of the trip. I managed to sleep and got to Perth in one piece.

It was all over.

01/08/07: The Lion King, Around London II and The 39 Steps

Wow. What a day. I’d walked out the last exam for this summer program and onto Suffolk Street thinking ‘Now what?’. I was actually quite lost. I’d bought a ticket home for tomorrow. In less than 24 hours, I was out of here. How does one go about spending their last day in London? Personally, I went walking back to my dorm room for a nap and a wee cry. As soon as I lay down on the bed, I realized that no matter how hard I tried, I just wasn’t going to fall asleep. So I may as well make the most of my last day there. I had half an hour. I knew that The Lion King was playing in half an hour. I got changed in a hurry, grabbed my bag and ran all the way to Russell Square Station. By the time I got to the theatre, I was puffed, sweaty, tired as anything (don’t forget this is following several days of late-night study sessions and exam stress), and ready to blow some serious money on a ticket. And my god did they make me pay through the nose. You’d think a matinee would be cheaper. It wasn’t. Mind you, the seat wasn’t too bad. The show though, was somewhat disappointing.

I couldn’t quite say what it was. After Wicked, The Lion King seemed pedestrian to be honest. Maybe it was my already melancholic temperament; maybe it was because I was tired; maybe it was because I was surrounded by kids (every single little girl I saw there was wearing pink – I jest not: the audience looked like it had been snowing fairy floss). But I found the whole thing a little too interpretive – you know, like interpretive dancing? Where people are waving their arms and hands around and you have to guess whether they’re trying to show the audience that they a) feel like a bird trying to break free of this gilded cage; b) feel like the turbulent ocean; c) feel like an octopus in an octopus’ garden in the sea; or d) have pins and needles?

Having seen the movie that many times, the script was unfortunately all too predictable and I knew what was going to happen in the end. Even the songs seemed a little boring. I couldn’t help but feel like I’d wasted my time and money going to see The Lion King. Especially when there were so many other shows on offer in London. Ah well.

By this time, it was 5pm and I’d arranged to meet Steve for one last drink before I leave tomorrow. So met him I did and Steve being Steve, took me around his favourite haunts of London again, just like what he did on my first days here. It felt like something out of an English Lit class: the rounding up, the full circle, the completion of a journey thing. Scary. I took lots of photos, and by the time Steve kissed me goodbye at the station, I was ready to have a bit of a cry. And I probably would have if not for the fact that I’d made plans to meet up with Manish to watch another play that night at 8 – The 39 Steps.

Now this! This was grand. Everyone else had made plans for tonight of course, and this being a last minute plan, Manish and I ended up being the only ones there. He’d managed to get us some brilliant seats, and the theatre was only tiny. And I mean, tiny. There were no aisles, just the seats and the stage. The whole time I was watching this, all I could think of was how much Marg and Em and Tam would have enjoyed this, and even some of the drama kids at school. The play is based on a novel, set pre-war. It takes you from a man’s apartment, to theatres, across England, to Scotland, and then some. And all this, with nothing but a cast of four, some amazing lighting and sound works, great mimes and voice changes. There were minimal props, and basically it was like one of those old radio soaps acted out. Ah it was truly something that had to be seen to be believed. There were scenes where there were about 6 characters on stage but only 3 cast members. It was brilliant. I thoroughly enjoyed every little minute of it.

There was actually a massive booze-up happening at the student accom that night, and several boys were waiting for Manish. But after the show, he and I stopped by HJ’s in Piccadilly Circus (or Burger King as they call it over there) and had a meal and chatted and watched the world go by outside. We talked about everything and anything for absolutely ages. It was strange because we hadn’t been particularly close at all during the last six weeks in London; but I couldn’t have thought of a better way to spend my last night in London.

28/07/07: British Museum IV

Seeing as I’d be leaving in just a few days, Rachel and I decided to meet up one last time. She came down from Cambridge despite being fluey and I walked up and met her at King’s Cross Station. From there, we decided to just take a walk and hang out. We walked for quite a bit and came across some very interesting signs. Like the ‘Goodenough College’ – clearly the school of choice for the working class of London; and the park where the sign read that no one can enter unless accompanied by a child under 12. Which of course meant that we ended up walking to Russell Square and buying our lunch from the Tesco nearby. Don’t get me wrong though. It was actually quite enjoyable. Eventually, we ended up going to the museum and checking out the African section, which I haven’t done yet. To be honest it was a little disappointing. As the country that raped and pillaged the globe in search of artifacts, I would have expected that the Brits would have amassed a more substantial exhibit from the continent that essentially gave birth to civilization. What they had on display seemed to be very recent ‘finds’ and even then, it was more like a contemporary art exhibition. I didn’t take many photos; just some of tribal head-dresses and carvings. I was pretty moved by the guns exhibit, where a few sculptures had been made entirely out of firearms. Of the 70million or so guns in the continent, not one of them has actually been made there apparently. Rachel and I left pretty early because she was ill, and I had to get my study notes ready for my exams. On the way, we stopped by a phone box because I hadn’t done the touristy thing of taking a photo with a phone box yet. I opened the door to step inside so that the photo would show the ridiculous amount of postcard advertisements for prostitutes pasted all over the inside of these boxes, but the stench that emanated from within as soon as I’d opened the door was like a brick wall falling on my head. Gross! The photos show a couple of shots from the front of the National Gallery. These were actually taken on a different day but were just put into this set because there were so few of them.

27/07/07: Spamalot

It was a Friday night, and I didn’t have anything planned. Every day for the last six weeks, I walked to and from the Notre Dame London Law Centre by going down Tottenham Court Road and Charing Cross Road; and every day I walked past The Palace, where Spamalot was playing. I’d hoped to take Chris there when he arrived, but since those plans were now ditched, I thought to myself, why not? Why not go by myself? So I did that spur-of-the-moment thing and walked into the box office and bought myself a ticket for that night’s performance.

And boy was I glad I did. It was thoroughly enjoyable. The only thing that got to me a little was how much I was enjoying these musicals, and how much I didn’t enjoy enjoying them by myself. Nothing reminds you of how alone you are like having a good time on your own. It’s just not the same. The play was great. The view was great. My seat was great. The songs were great. The actors were great. It was all wonderful. Except that there was not one there but a room full of strangers to share it with. What a shame.

Spamalot was essentially a musical version of Monty Pyton’s Search for the Holy Grail. No photos from this post unfortunately, but I did manage to find the official web site, but there is the official games site where you can catapult cows at the French knights (or at the English knights if you’re French).

Much fun was had.

23/07/07: Wicked

Tonight was one of those nights that I’d put up high on my list of favourite things. Maybe even next to ice cream and chocolate. And that’s pretty high up. Wicked is a stage musical that has to be seen. I’d describe it but it was quite indescribable. I’d write about it but it left me lost for words. I’d tell you to ‘picture this’ but it’s beyond imagination. I loved it okay? It was amazing, brilliant, smart, touching, everything you’d want in a stage musical and then some. I think what I really enjoyed about it was it’s originality. Although Mary Poppins was great, and it was great because you could sing along with those old songs from when you were a kid, Wicked had in it the element of surprise. Having not read the book, I was seeing the story for the very first time. And what a great way to remember your first time. Highly recommended. If it ever comes to Australia, I’d go see it.

23/07/07: British Museum III

Manish and Asma had arranged to visit the museum some time ago but one thing or another kept getting in the way. They invited me along tonight, so after uni I went back to my dorm room, had my lunch and did my stuff before meeting them there when they finished their classes.

Asma had wanted to see the Egyptian mummies and Manish wanted to see the ancient Greek and Roman exhibits. Having not seen those two rooms yet, I was pretty keen to tag along.

I think the thing that amazed me most about the old stuff from the middle east and stuff was how well preserved they were. Granted, they were mainly all pots and figurines, and to be honest, the dates and times and details were actually going in one eye and out the other; but if you just check out the photos, they’re incredibly fresh-looking.

Asma seemed quite taken in by all the little perfume bottles; and was amused that some of the pots and stuff can still be found in her grandparents’ place in Yemen. Not quite as old as we thought.

When we got to the mummies, we were surprised to see Manish sitting on a chair outside the room, very reluctant to come in. I asked if it was a cultural or religious thing, but eventually he came in. I think he was just put out by it all. Pretty amazing how much stuff the British Museum went and pillaged from other countries.

This was so much more astounding when we went and saw all the parts of the ancient ruins like the Parthenon that were pieced together in the museum. I mean, imagine a building so big that it can house another big building within it. Then imagine that at some point that latter big building was disassembled (well, ruined), and shipped hundreds of miles across land and sea and put back to pieces again.

Either way, I was too excited about going out to see Wicked tonight to pay any real attention to anything in the museum. So it was a lovely time spent with lovely people, but my mind was all on Wicked.

20/07/07: British Museum II

Not too much excitement here. Ash picked me up from school and, since he had not visited the museum on this trip, we decided to make a quick visit. Ash has a keen interest in Asian culture, religions and belief systems, so that was the area we visited. There weren’t that many photos taken. Both of us were tired, weary, and feeling somewhat melancholic what with it being Ash’s last day here tomorrow. We walked around the Asian exhibit – there didn’t seem to be much history behind a lot of the south-east Asian nations compared to the Chinese sections.

18/07/07: Wine and Cheese Night

The Notre Dame London Law Centre, as it is known, put on a wine and cheese night for its students tonight. It was organised by Professor Moens, who had espoused the meritorious benefits of said wine and cheese to every student’s body in the student body at every lecture leading up to this invaluable event. The wine, he detailed on several occasions, would be a fine example of Italian viti- and viniculture; the cheese – which will consist of four different varieties selected by himself, must be tasted to be believed.

It was quite amusing to see that on the day of the night, many people actually made the effort to dress up a bit. Several of the boys wore shirts and ties, and a couple of people volunteered to play on the grand piano to add to the feel of a wine and cheese night.

The wine was good – even aldehyde dehydrogenase deficient ol’ me took in a glass. Sure, the histamine reaction was pretty bad, but hey – I wasn’t going to let Professor Moens down was I? And the four cheeses were more than adequately smelly, which means that it must have been expensive and select. There weren’t any crackers to go with the cheese, no doubt because it would detract from the flavours of the cheese (à la Vlado’s in Richmond – boy was that a night to remember – ask Ying about it sometime…); but there were some crusty bread rolls with curls of butter available. And funnily enough, it was actually the crusty bread rolls that everyone pigged out on first!

Uneventful, not many photos taken, but enjoyable nonetheless.

17/07/07: Mary Poppins

If there is one thing that London could definitely offer me that Perth and even Melbourne can’t, it’s the theatres. And, being located in Bloomsbury, so damn close to the West End, I could not possibly let the opportunity to see these shows go by. So a ticket was bought for Mary Poppins. And ooh it was good. Damn good. No photos allowed during the shows, so there aren’t any evidence of the amazing spectacle, but ah, it was brilliant. The sets were mind-blowing, the cast were incredible, the music was nostalgic, the whole atmosphere was unforgettable.

The production is based on the Disney film rather than the books themselves, but did include certain aspects from the books that weren’t shown in the film; such as Mrs Corry, the personalities of the characters (Poppins being arrogant and the children being spoilt), and Poppins leaving when things got too tough. Well worth watching if it ever comes to town. A quick did-you-know: did you know that P L Travers, who wrote the original Mary Poppins books, is a Strayan*? Cool huh?

* not all us Strayans speak like this by the way. Oii know oii doint.

13/15/07 – 15/07/07: The Lakes District

Better planning involved in this weekend’s than there was during last weekend’s. A car had been booked – over the phone this time; adequate time was allocated to allow for the indubitably lengthy procedure which we’d have to endure to complete the paperwork and so on; bags were packed, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. Went to uni, then met up with Ash, walked to the car hire place, waited in line, and left with a car spot on 2pm. It took us about 4 to 5 hours to drive up to the Lakes District, and it was bucketing down with rain the entire way. But we made it there without any dramas, adventures or even anything remotely blog-worthy.

The Lakes District is quite a large area, and is popular for being the area where Beatrix Potter hung out and wrote her stories, and for being where Derwent pencils came from, even though lots of other famous writers got their inspiration from the area (like Wordsworth). You can read more about the Lakes District here.

The first thing that I noticed or realised was that we were actually on a mission to find what we’d left behind; something I always loathed tourists doing in my own home country down under. Why bother going all the way somewhere else if all you’re looking for is what you already had at home? Still, it was a strangely comforting sort of realisation, since it really compounded the fact that there are certain things that I like, and ‘getting away from it all’ was one of them. It helps to make one appreciate what we have at home anyway: the room to move, the fact that in WA, one could just drive out and camp out for the night without having to see another person for miles around. And the fact that it’s all natural.

Not so here. We drove and drove in search for somewhere to camp out for the night, but there was no such place. It was all very, very… well, done up. You know, specially made car parks, fenced-off walk ways, nice toilets and so on. In the end, we pulled over in a deserted car park and slept in the car for the night.

That was another thing we took for granted. There’s no room in the UK for sedans. Everyone drives itty bitty little cars. So there was much twisting and turning and maneuverings and even disassembling of the interior of the vehicle (no, I’m not kidding. Ash pulled out the back seat. Literally.) in order to find a comfortable sleeping position. It was not a comfortable night.

The next morning was just as rainy and cloudy. But we drove off again in search of a secluded camping spot, stopping by a town to buy some breakfast materials (eggs, bacon, tomtoes... saucepan).

And boy were we excited when we finally found a little turn off that led to a nice lake! Only to have our hopes brutally crushed when we saw, here, in the middle of nowhere, in a forest by a lake, where there was no one else around, no cars, not a sound of traffic, surrounded by nature and the sounds of birds chirping and rivers flowing and brooks-a-babbling, a ticket machine. Yes. A ticket machine. You had to pay to park. It was unbelievable.

Anyway. The rest of the day was very relaxing. We found a little nook along the lake, built a fire, enjoyed a nice bacon-n-eggs-n-tomatoes breakfast, drove around the towns of the lower lakes, tried to go sailing but the winds and rain blew that idea out of the water (ha ha); and would you believe it, actually found a camping spot somewhere off the road to Ickenthwaite. Wherever that may be. If it weren’t for the oak trees, you would think we were in Victoria or south western WA.

So we camped there that Saturday night, and went looking for another opportunity to sail on Sunday. But this time, there was no wind at all, so we couldn’t sail. So we headed for home. And as soon as we did, it started bucketing down again. It was strangely enjoyable driving through the pouring rain at 160kph. But the little Peugeot was doing about 4500 revs, and 5000 revs was in the red zone on the dial so I had to slow it. We made it back quite early actually, navigating through London traffic a lot easier having done it once before.

All in all, a fairly uneventful weekend in the Lakes District. Photos can be accessed here.

12/07/07: Legal London

As part of the London Summer Law Program, we were invited on a ‘Legal London’ tour. Which was quite informative. It basically involved being taken around the four inns of court. I won’t go into the details here. They can all be read on Wikipedia. And I’ve posted comments on all my photos anyway. So get the details there. Very elitist, very exclusive, very erudite, very not-me. The whole place eeked of snobbery and social class extremes. Reminded me of a lecturer at the law school I’m attending who pointedly said to me (don’t forget to use the nice thick Queen’s English accent) ‘let me guess, you like camping don’t you?’ to which I had replied ‘…uh yeah. I love camping’; and she: ‘yes see I thought as much. Anything less than five stars and 24 hour room service is camping to me’. Anyway. That’s all neither here nor there. A good little tour.

10/07/07: Regent’s Park

It was a lovely day today, which had been rare recently. After class, Ash collected me from uni and we walked to Regent’s Park. A truly lovely day: the sun was out, the sky was blue (well, London blue anyway), the clouds were fluffy, the birds were singing, and there were cute little duckies everywhere. We hired a row boat and rowed around the lake taking photos of this and that. Well. I sat there like the Queen of Sheba taking photos, Ash rowed me around the lake. Unlike most days, it wasn’t particularly crowded either. Nothing grand or exciting, just… nice you know? Check out the photos.

08/07/07: Nottingham & Sherwood Forest

Ash arrived from Perth yesterday, and today we decided that since both our mothers had regaled us with stories and photographs when we were younger of the wonderful times they had had at Nottingham and in Sherwood forest, it was going to be our excursion for today.

One really should have learnt by now that it’s times like these, when you’ve got some fond, cherished memory or some childish expectation of poignant settings that you’re actually going to end up with a crushing slap across the face followed by a dousing of icy cold water from the reality monster.

The slap hurt and the bucket of ice water was cold indeed.

The day started as it was going to progress and end. We had decided to start off early, booking a car online and tubing down to Marble Arch to pick it up. Only to find, when we got there, that the place doesn’t open until 10am. So we waited. Along with everyone else who was waiting. And when the place finally opened there was the queue. Which was long. And the wait was long. And I kid you not, Ash waited in line for 40 minutes. I couldn’t take it. I had to go outside to breathe. Finally, when we got to the counter, I handed over our booking number written in my diary. Only to be told it wasn’t on the records. I tried to stay calm, truly I did. Ash was remarkably patient, suggesting that we find an internet café to double check the details. So we did. And the details were fine. The company just needs 24 hours to process all online bookings. So far, 24 hours hadn’t elapsed. I sent the company an email telling them to cancel the booking and we returned to the place. Stood in line. Again. And waited. Again. And finally got to the counter. Again. Where we hired a car. Again. By the time we got out of there, it was midday (not kidding either! It was exactly noon when we drove out of there).

The drive to Nottinham was long and frustrating. The traffic out of London is enough to try any Saint’s patience. It took us about three hours to finally get to Nottingham, and when we did, it was severely disappointing. Nothing was opened on account of it being a Sunday, and Nottingham castle turned out to be one big touristy trap, completely refurbished and shining with a tea garden where you can enjoy scones and cakes.

Quite disturbed, we decided to head towards Sherwood Forest. But upon closer inspection of the map, we realised that it, too, wouldn’t be as we expected since it was completely fragmented, shown only as small patches of green on the map. There were wood plantations and industry galore in the region.

Ash’s mother had told him all about Major Oak, which she had seen when she was younger. We made that our destination, finding it in the early evening. Ash was quite pleased at finally seeing the old tree, but I nearly cried it was so sad. Though probably not as sad as the tree that was fenced off behind a sign telling of its precious old age chain-sawed to pieces. Major Oak was also fenced off, surrounded by a pool of tanbark and propped up with a circle of steel poles. It was so depressing. I know I’m anthrophomorphosising, but the poor old thing! Imagine being that old, only to be isolated from all the other trees in the forest, tanbark all around your feet instead of grass, screwed and punctured with steel bolts so that you could be propped up by heaps of cold posts. How pitiful.

The area was well maintained as a nice park more so than a forest. Many people were walking their dogs. We went off the path for a bit to explore the forest, but it was quite thin and, well, ‘managed’. We don’t really have climbable trees in Australia. Not big chunky oaks like they have here. We had so looked forward to coming to a nice English forest. But this? All the images of thick, bushy, leafy green forests where you could climb the trees and hide in the foliage… gone. Check out the photos. A couple of the shots say a lot about Nottingham and Sherwood.

Don't even get me started about the drive home.

30/06/07: Around London

After coming back from the museum, I took a walk down to the Thames with Jess, a girl I had met from uni. Just yesterday there was an attempted bombing just around the corner from uni, but no one seemed particularly fazed at all by any of it. The uni is actually called the Notre Dame London Law Centre, and it's quite centrally located next to Trafalgar Square. There were a couple of enjoyable moments, but you can read all about these under the photos. A good day had anyway.

30/06/07: British Museum Day I

It had been raining all week. And I was poor. So very poor. So I had to limit my outings to no-entry-fee locations. Like the British Museum! So on went my Gortex and out came the Kathmandu brollie and off I went. It was jam-packed. There are over a hundred rooms at the British Museum, and with my usual ‘Pffth! What’s a hundred rooms?!’ attitude, quite determined to see all of them, I started at room number one.

Two and a half hours later I got to room three. Absolutely knackered. I couldn’t quite figure out how that was possible. All I did was walk around and read up on the history of collecting, clocks, and Egyptian statues. Still. I guess what that essentially meant was that it would take me around 100+ hours to do the whole place. That’s about five days without sleep…

It was amazing how humongous some of those stone slabs were. And they’d somehow managed to drag them all back across the sea from Egypt and into this building. The photos don’t really capture the sheer size of some of these things. And I guess it just goes to show just how big the actual museum itself is as well.

My favourite of the day? The little seals! Not the pinniped kind, the signature kind. There was a small collection of casts and moulds used for making individual seals, and the itty bitty details were quite impressive.

Recommended. Well worth a visit. Details and photos here.

24/06/07: Apsley House and Wellington Arch

Apsley House was one of the few places around London where my free-entry card could be used. So, having discovered the hard way that I’m probably claustrophobic (the hard way encompassing my having to run out of a tube train because I couldn’t breathe only to find that the underground itself was not enough, and on top of that, that I couldn’t actually face the lifts, so having to run as fast as I could up 177 steps – It’s 177 even though the sign says 175 steps – at Russell Square Station and then the 193 steps at Covent Garden) I took a nice long walk from Tavistock Square to Apsley House today, which is at Hyde Park Corner. Hyde Park looked fairly ugly from the outside. There were panels up everywhere, overgrown grass and slushy gravel; so I walked along the outside perimeter of it rather than through it.

You can read about the history of Apsley House here. It’s basically famous because it’s the first Duke of Wellington’s House. It was certainly a grand old place. And I took some shots willy nilly until a couple of security guards chased me down to let me know in very slow, loud and clear English complete with missing articles and some pidgin sign language that there were ‘No photos allowed in here’.

There were some very handsome paintings in Apsely House, including ones by Correggio and van Dyck. The opulence that surrounded the place was a little overwhelming, especially walking through the ‘China Room’ where the fine china were housed. There were gold gilded dinnerware that commemorated every aspect of this man’s life. Quite scary actually. There were soup tureens there big enough for me to bathe in. And that’d be big even if I wasn’t that small! The detail and intricacies engraved and painted on some of these pieces of dinnerware were certainly awe inspiring. There was a tiny part of my artsy soul that cringed at the thought of someone smearing their boar’s head pie gravy and cutting roast fowl and tongue dinners all over a painting I had laboured for hours over.

I visited Wellington Arch, which was informative, but the wow-factor was missing somewhat. The view offered from the top of the arch left something to be desired, and the walk around the statues memorialising him in the garden made me somewhat uneasy. There was finally one statue that made some sense amongst all the hero-worshipping sculptures. An unknown soldier laying down, his trench-coat covering his shattered body, revealing only a small portion of his face. This is war. These are the people who need to be remembered. Mind you, this should not in any way take away from Wellington his achievements. From all that I’ve read about him, the man was a good and great man. But surely in amongst all those statutes, there’s room for the faceless soldiers?

A walk home in the rain through Hyde Park revealed that the panels that had been put up were there because Aerosmith was playing. There were scalpers everywhere. It was amazing that they were so blatantly yelling out to anyone and everyone who was passing buy ‘Buy or sell! Aerosmith tickets to buy or sell!’. A good day was had, but I did go back to my dorm room feeling a little… dunno. Disenchanted. Details are listed with the photos here.