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.
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