Boxing Day
Posted by Rick - 26/12/07 at 11:12:41 pm
The day after Christmas (Boxing Day) we had a lovely breakfast of leftover Christmas sausages, eggs and toast. It was yet another delicious meal put in front of us by Jenny, but this morning we were a bit melancholy because our visit with the Mear family was coming to an end. We knew we had another week to our holiday, and we had no doubt we would have fun, but we were going to miss Chris, David, and Jenny. I joked with Jenny that she had spoiled us so much that the rest of our trip would be down hill by comparison.
That wasn’t the case on Boxing Day afternoon though. Jan swung by around 10 a.m. and we loaded our luggage into the boot of her car, and we headed of to destinations unknown… well, to us. Jan had a day planned for us. All we knew was that we were going to be shown Essex. We thought that meant we were going for a short drive to the near-by forest. It ends up Essex is much bigger than that, and Jan showed us a great day.
Our first stop was at Rod Stewart’s house for tea. Well, not really. We stopped in this little wooded area, and walked out to take in the view. Rod’s house just happen to be there. So, I shook my arse in the general direction of his manse while singing “Do you think I’m sexy” but he never came out to compliment me on my moves. Probably too busy making another crap standards compilation.
As Rod didn’t invite us in for a tour we decided to move on, hoping back in the car for the brief trip to Greensted where the oldest wooden building in Europe stands. The building also claims to be the oldest wooden church in the world. St. Cedd, a Saxon-trained at the Celtic monastery on Lindisfarne, began his religious work in the area around 654 A.D., and a church was probably started shortly thereafter. The building was added to over the next several centuries, but the oldest part—the nave—was probably built around the time of the Battle of Hastings. One of the most interesting things we saw was the grave site of a crusader, who was probably a local who was seen as a hero. Regular services are still held in the church to this day. This was just the sort of thing we like, and it was very nice of Jan to take us here!
Next we made our way toward Chelmsford. The idea was to stop in Chelmsford for lunch, but when we got there Sarah and I were still too full from our sausagey breakfast. We wandered around the town, admiring the pargeting on the homes, and checking out the village ducks.
But Jan had other plans for us, and so we hopped back in her vehicle and headed to our next destination. I found Jan’s road map in the back seat and tried to figure out where we were headed based on the road signs, in case she dropped us off in the middle of nowhere and took our luggage—not that Jan was capable of such a thing. I decided we were going to Maldon next, and it ended up I was correct.
Maldon is an adorable little seaside community on the Blackwater estuary on the east coast of England. We didn’t completely explore the town, but we did walk down the high street on our way to the docks. Along the water there is a walk path, that hugs the shore. People, young and old, stroll along the water; some with their dogs or children in prams. There are places to get food, and a little human-made pond for people to play with their radio-controlled boats.
As soon as we arrived near the docks, we saw huge crowds of people gathered. Some were watching dancers while others were gawking at a Bentley parked to attract attention. We wandered around, taking in the sites around the docks, before strolling down to the point where there is a statue of a crusader.It was a beautiful day, and it was a lot of fun to watch all the people enjoying their Boxing Day outings.
We eventually made our way back to the car and headed off in search of lunch, which we found at a newer pub that was designed to look old. There we had a nice pub lunch before Jan dropped us off at the tube in search of our hotel.
This is where our day went down hill.
Tired from our long, fun day we dragged our luggage to one of the many hotels that line Sussex Garden Road near Paddington station. We easily found the hotel—The Normandie—we had booked on travelstay.com before we left the states, but quickly wished we were mistaken. It took the man at the counter a while to find our resevations, but he eventually caught on and we paid for the full 5 nights we expected to stay. We schlepped our luggage—which was getting heavier by the minute—up a flight of stairs, turned the key in the door and then tried to put on our best faces. Online the place had been described as being recently renovated, and even in the lobby there was a brochure touting the fresh new look. What we found was a dingy room with wallpaper peeling in the corners, mold in the shower, broken furniture, roach traps under the beds, and used soap bars in the sink. The place lived up to its name, if you first think of the French beach that was the site of the D-day invasion. We put on our best faces, because we weren’t sure what to do. Neither of us wanted to stay in this dump, but it was already 9 p.m. on Boxing Day.
We decided we needed a drink and a place to think, so we left our bags, and walked around the corner hoping to find the pub we had been in on Saturday with Tait. That place, and most others, were closed so we ended up in the Windsor Castle pub. The pub was open, but was it ever tacky. When we walked in we were greeted by a old, little man who made fun of us for being American. Funny thing was, the entire place was populated by Americans. We ordered a couple of pints and made our decision. We were going to check out of the dumpy Normandie, and check into one of the myriad places on the same street, figuring any place would be better than the place were our bags were. On the way back to get our stuff and check out, we stopped by one of the places where the reception area looked nice. We asked a couple going in what the rooms were like and they referred to the place as “posh” so we went in and asked to look at a few rooms—we had learned our lesson on booking sight-unseen. The rooms were eccentric and interesting, each with a theme. They were also almost double what we had paid at the dumpy Normandie (yes, I hope to Google bomb them), but we decided it was worth it. We paid for a room for the next two nights and then went back to the Normandie to claim our things and check out. At the dumpy Normandie the man behind the counter at first refused to give us a refund claiming we had used the room already (giving me an idea of their usual clientele, and insulting me and Sarah at the same time) and therefore at least owed him for one night. I argued that the place did not live up to its online description (or the brochure on his desk) and that I demanded a full refund. He called his boss, chatted in a language I did not understand, and then told me that if I wanted a full refund I would have to come back the next day to speak with the boss. I snickered at him and said that I would not be returning and that I would get my money back through the issuer of my credit card. As much as I wanted to lay into this guy, he was not the slumlord, and yelling at him wouldn’t help anything. We walked the block or so to our new hotel, unpacked our bags in our cozy tiny room. The rooms had names rather than numbers, and we had decided on “White Days, Soul Nights” over “Indian Summer” or “Cosmic Girl.” After we had settled in, I walked to the corner store to get a few take away pints of Guinness.
It was a difficult end to an otherwise great day, but, as predicted, nothing could compare to the hospitality that Jenny provided. We were just glad to be out of the dumpy Normandie.
Note: Essexjan also published her photos.
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