Speaking of the farm, all the animals and the farmers seem to be settling in to their various roles. The llamas know their routine and the sheep theirs. At first we had to plan how we were going to trick the llamas into going to the barn when we wanted. Now we can get them to go to the catch in the barn without uttering a word. For good or for bad the sheep are quite easily attracted to us as well. They are all motivated by food—and specifically the knowledge that we bring it to them—but we don’t care if it gets them to do what we want. This is especially good for us now that the weather has started to get colder.

For the most part caring for the animals takes between ten and forty-five minutes a day of either of our time. In the morning after the dogs are fed, one of us walks down to the cabin and gets grain to give to the llamas. As soon as the animals see us enter the Magic Food Cabin^TM they gather as near as they can. When we eventually come out they walk the fence line to meet the food bringer at the gate. I usually put the metal coffee can full of grain under my sweatshirt or jacket to buy myself a few seconds and to help keep prying noses and mouths from getting a sneak taste.

The sheep are pushier even though they don’t get a daily ration like the llamas—who are still growing boys…err…geldings. I have to bop the sheep lightly on their foreheads with my fist to deter them, and they still persist. Once I manage to get into the paddock, I take a direct route to the gate that closes the catch. The llamas, knowing the procedure, make their way into the catch and leave it to me to attempt to keep the sheep at bay.

Once the llamas are isolated from the sheep, I give them each their allotment of grain in their individual feeding buckets, which we’ve mounted on separate walls of the barn. If the llamas weren’t isolated the sheep would stand on their hind legs and attempt to get to the grain with their noses or by knocking the feeder off the wall. This is exactly what they do when the llamas are done with their breakfast, and I have re-opened the gate to the catch. They push through the opening before the llamas can get out and while I am still opening the gate.

Lately, I have adjusted the process by throwing a bale of hay over the fence before I enter the paddock with the grain. The more aggressive sheep—Zinnia, Manta and Aretha—will still try to crash the llama’s breakfast, but it is still easier than when the six of them work together.

Once everyone is occupied with their breakfasts, I check on their water supply. Until recently we used a hose and a Coleman cooler for their water, but we knew this method wouldn’t work for the winter. A few weeks ago, on the advice of the president of the Hooved Animal Sanctuary in Chelsea, Vermont, we ordered a heated bucket that also has a thermostat. Now the water will not freeze, and the bucket will only turn on when the temperature falls below 35°F (1.7°C). The cord is tucked under the bucket and I was able to feed it under the barn to plug it in to an electrical outlet. The cord also has a spiral of wire around it to deter the animals from chewing on it. I made some small modifications to the barn so that the cord will not be an enticement for the curious crew.

After the water, I do a quick sweeping of the barn’s floor. On the advice of Marian White, we decided to use stall mats instead of straw bedding. Straw bedding makes for dirtier fleeces, and more work when it comes time to cleaning the fiber before it is processed. Some people simply throw more and more straw on the barn floor and then wait until mud season to muck all of the manure and straw in one back-breaking chore. Since we are shooting for clean fleeces that we don’t have to clean as much once it has been shorn, we prefer to sweep the barn every few days and take the manure to a pile just outside the paddock. The pile will make excellent compost for our gardens and pastures. Luckily, llamas prefer to do their business outside of the barn in a community pile. Every few days or so the piles can be removed with a shovel and wheelbarrow. One of the great things about llama manure is that it can be applied directly to a garden even during the growing season as it will not burn like other high-nitrogen manures. We figure if we don’t sell enough fiber we can go into the llama poo business.

At this point, during the warmer months, I normally open the gate to the upper pastures and allow the animals to graze; however, with our nascent pasture already a bit weak, we gave it the winter off starting in late September. In the spring we will begin to use the temporary fencing to allocate strips of grazing areas, and the animals’ manure will help enrich the soil and build a better pasture over time. Each week we move the fencing around to give the animals a fresh area to nosh. In the fall we would normally apply some outside source of manure (cow’s) to fertilize the soil, but we did that this past summer before the livestock arrived, so we’ll do that again next autumn.

As I make my way out of the paddock, I tick off the various completed chores in my head, and check that the electric fence is on—and strong—while I lock the paddock gate behind me. If the voltage has dropped for some reason, I check the fence to see if a plant is leaning against it, or if some other animal has broken a wire.

In the evenings, one of us goes down to the barn and checks on the animals again before leaving them for the night. If we hadn’t cleaned the barn in the morning, we do it at this time. Overall, the chores are rather invigorating, and I personally find that I can work through the things I have on my mind while doing them, making the time pass quickly.

This past weekend, we administered the deworming shots to the llamas by ourselves, which was interesting. We have had some experience giving shots to our dog Mickey, but it isn’t nearly the same. Llamas are pure muscle, and finding a fold of skin loose enough to administer the shot subcutaneously was difficult. Ultimately, I ended up pulling at the animals’ fiber to give me enough room to insert the needle, while Sarah calmed each animal and attempted to keep them still.

I think we are doing okay, so far. Now, if we can all survive the winter. Wish us luck.

It’s a funny thing when Rick and I start brainstorming about the projects we want to take on. Our ideas have a way of growing and expanding.

After our first winter living in Tunbridge, we decided that we really wanted to have a garage (so that we would not have to dig/chisel out our cars every time we had a snow/ice event). But why pay for just a garage when, by adding a rental unit on the second floor, we can make back the construction cost? So while we’re at it we asked Dick Robson to design in the perfect apartment for a law-school student, and asked George White & Company to build it. Rick hatched a brilliant scheme to document the project, so you too can follow along with the progress on the construction cam .

Of course one major building project was not enough for us. Oh no. When we cleared the invasive white pine trees from the front of our property, we had in mind that it was not only to improve the driveway but also to provide a sense of open space and an area for a big garden. Keeping land open in the self-reforesting climate of Vermont is no easy task, nor is converting the thin, acidic soil into a medium to support vegetables. So we started thinking of solutions to both of these problems. What would be the most economical, environmentally friendly way to keep the land open and improve the soil? Why, animals of course, specifically sheep. (Besides, I’ve become enamored of knitting and having wool producers would be an added benefit.) Fortunately we met Marian White of Land & Lamb and she introduced us to her Navajo-Churro sheep , a rare breed that is diminutive and hearty. We’ve raised rare and heirloom vegetables, so why not sheep while we’re at it?

Before getting our sheep, we realized we need to provide shelter and protection for them, so we enlisted the help of our friend Justin Ferro to build a small pole barn to shield the flock from summer sun and winter winds. We’ve also contracted with Gordon Barnaby of the Corner Rail Fence Company to install an electric fence for us. But, after further research, we weren’t sure if an electric fence would be enough protection for the sheep. Sure, it would keep them in the pasture, but would it keep predators out?

While we’re at it, we decided to enlist the help of a proven guard species: llamas. Llamas have demonstrated their ability to intimidate and literally stamp out livestock predators. They are naturally curious and instinctively move towards anything "new" or threatening. Their large size is a deterrent to coyotes, dogs, foxes, and even bear. Several shepherds I’ve talked to also said that their guard llama(s) move the flock into the barn at night, or herd them to different grazing areas during the day. And unlike sheep dogs who require months of training, llamas work purely on natural instinct. It took several weeks of searching before we found the right llamas for our situation, but thanks to Don and Sue Mellen of Autumn Mountain Farm , we found two males (Guinness and Kuzco ) who we think will be excellent guards for our starter flock. (They have excellent fleece to boot!)

When we moved to Vermont it took a while to find a small, well-built house on good property. It took longer for us to both find jobs that we enjoy. Now we’re looking forward to our new roles as landlords and farmers. There is a lot to learn, and sometimes we feel overwhelmed by all of the changes. But we moved here not just to escape city life, but to have new adventures.

Today was one of the most exhausting New Year’s Eve I can remember, and we didn’t even attend a party. Well, not including the spontaneous one we created with Chris and David the night before.

Instead we spent the entire day returning home from our excellent adventure in England. We slept in as long as we calculated we could safely do without missing our flight. We fantasized about some change in the rules that would allow us to stay for as long as we wanted if we missed our flight, but decided we missed the dogs, and should head on home.

Contemplating how thankful we were that we packed lightly, we each took a pull bag and one to sling our our shoulder, checked out of the Pavilion, and dragged our slightly hung-over bodies to the Edgware Road tube stop a few blocks away. We stopped briefly at a chemist shop and purchased some Nytol to help me sleep on the flight.

We each got a tube ticket for Heathrow, and found a place to wait on the platform. After switching trains, we settled in to our seats on a packed train to the airport. The trip seemed to take forever, and we were starting to wonder if perhaps we should have splurged on the express. We were in no hurry to leave the country, but we could think of better places to be.

Checking in with Virgin was a breeze, and going through security was much less frustrating than our domestic experiences. After running through the duty free shop to avoid being overwhelmed by the perfume stench, we found a pair of seats and began the waiting process. For all our whinging, we had arrived quite early. Our flight had not even been listed yet, so we each took turns stretching our legs and looking around before deciding to kill time in an airport pub over a few pints and snacks.

When our flight finally was listed on the departures board, we walked a long way to the assigned gate where we were randomly selected to have our carry-on bags checked. The security personnel were courteous and respectful, and we were on our way after only a few minutes. Sitting outside the gate before the boarding process started we saw a man with a Pittsburgh Steelers jacket on, and I called “Go Steelers!” to him. He smiled politely and I thought I remembered the guy. While at the drink machine I spoke with his daughter and asked if they had been in Cambridge the Sunday before Christmas and she said they had. I told her that my wife was the one who had shouted “Go Steelers” at the sight of her father’s jacket that day, and she laughed. She returned to her family and relayed the story to her dad, who looked over and smiled.

It wasn’t too long before we boarded the crowded flight to Boston. We took our seats and waited, listening to various Americans stowing their luggage—and teenagers arguing over who got the window. We whispered to each other about our fantasy to stay in England.

Having popped my Nytol dose a few minutes before boarding, I adjusted my earplugs and read the sport page, hoping to sleep the whole way to Boston. I ended up being groggy and cranky, but thanks to much less turbulence than the previous flight, I wasn’t nearly as anxious. I realized we were on the same plane as our flight over when I tried to use the same dodgy entertainment unit in the headset. Naturally, the damned thing waited until I was on the last clue in Who Wants to Be a Millionaire!

Trying to sleep was impossible. Because the flight was going west the flight attendants were preparing people for the time change by constantly feeding and watering the cattle … errr … people.

Eventually we landed in Boston, got off the plane, went through customs, picked up our bags, and made our way to the area where we were to catch the Dartmouth Coach back to Lebanon, New Hampshire. It ended up we had missed the last bus by about 15-20 minutes, but we were on schedule for the bus we had planned to catch, which arrived about 40 minutes later.

The bus was quiet and dark. We set up the laptop to watch The Big Lebowski. The bus was playing a Will Smith movie, The Pursuit of Happyness, of which neither of us had heard. As I glanced up occasionally it looked like a slow-moving tale, and one that had significantly fewer special effects as most of Will Smith’s films.

The bus rumbled on in the dark, and the battery on the laptop pooped out on us a few minutes before our film ended, but not long before we pulled into the bus station. Sarah sorted out our stowed luggage while I walked to the truck and cleared it of snow. The vehicle was already warm as I picked up Sarah and we embarked on the last leg of our journey home.

It was nearly half ten when we pulled up our steep drive and entered the house for the first time in a fortnight. We had been invited to two parties in Vermont this New Year’s Eve, but the long travel day coupled with jet lag kept us from going to either event. We turned the heat up, unpacked some of our stuff, and cuddled on the couch where I drifted in and out of sleep.

Sarah woke me shortly before midnight. I poured us each a snort of scotch from the gift set Sarah had given me for Christmas; and as Dick Clark and friends counted out 2007 we toasted the new year, and each other, before making our way to our bed.

When we woke we were glad we had been talked into the full English breakfast buffet when we checked in the night before. We stuffed ourselves knowing we would not be eating until later when we met up with David and Chris. After breakfast, we grabbed our bags and walked the few short blocks to the Reading train station. A short wait and we were on the train back to London.

We arrived at Paddington Station a bit earlier than we expected, so we made our way to a coffee shop around the corner from the Pavilion, where we had booked the same room we had two days prior. At the coffee shop we sipped our drinks and shared a pastry while finishing up the last of the post cards.

We were at the hotel only long enough to drop our bags, and use the loo, before making our way to the Tate Modern. On the way to the museum we stopped for a pint at one of my favourite pubs, the Blackfriar. The place seems to be more of a tourist spot than anyone’s local, but the building is unusual, the decor is lovely, and the beer is good, and in warmer months than December one can sit outside in the garden and watch London rush past.

No time for such nonsense today as we still had plans to see lots and lots of art. We walked along the river and crossed via the Wobbly Bridge, cautiously making our way around the giant spider, and the throngs of tourists. Inside the place was a madhouse. We found a floor map brochure and made our way to the closest floor with free art, using the stairs to avoid the lift queues.

A former power station, the Tate Modern has huge spaces, which is probably a good thing when it is busy like it was. Sarah and I did our best to stay in the same room together so as not to get lost, but allowed ourselves the freedom to explore pieces on our own. It was very odd to be in an art museum and have it buzzing so, but the vibe was eventually something of an art itself, and when I wasn’t looking at the interesting (and sometimes odd) art works, I found myself watching the visitors. I heard so many languages, but rarely English. If you had asked me earlier if I would want to go to a huge museum knowing it would be packed, I would have said no. I’m glad I wasn’t asked.

We wandered for hours, looking at sculptures, paintings, video, and more; pretty sure we had seen everything available to us. I wish I had taken notes. With a dinner date at the Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese coming up, we decided to drag our hungry selves away from all the culture, and go meet Chris and David.

We got turned around a few times, but eventually found the famous, and well-hidden, alleyway pub… which was dark … as in closed. We had checked the hours and they had Sunday hours listed, but perhaps their Fleet Street location and it being the Sunday before New Year’s Eve changed things. We stood outside the alleyway waiting for the Mears, and in the short time before they arrived, we noticed many people make their way toward the door only to return to the street with looks of disappointment on their faces. We hope we can visit the Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese the next trip.

When the guys arrived we passed on what we knew, and then moved on, looking for food and drink. There wasn’t much open, so when we found a Thai place we jumped inside before they changed their schedule too. Dinner was delicious and we got a chance to catch up. It had only been a few days since we last saw Chris and David, but we missed them.

After dinner we followed Chris’ lead and found a slightly-posh place near the theaters, where Sarah was dismayed to learn they weren’t “making cocktails” at that time. My guess was because it was a busy theatre crowd, but no further explanation was necessary. Four pints please! And thus, without a word of discussion, began our pub tour.

After the posh West End pub we wove our way over to Covent Garden and had our next shout at a touristy little spot called The Salisbury. Being crowded, we stayed for one round and moved on again. Where, I do not remember. Not because I was drunk, but because I couldn’t keep track of where we were in the maze that is London. I do know that we finally ended up a cool, small, pub in SoHo, near Piccadilly Circus, named Glasshouse Stores, which served Sam Smith’s! Sarah and I each had oatmeal stouts to start, and eventually tried this cherry flavoured Sammie Smith’s that tasted just like cherry cola (C-O-L-A cola), which I didn’t particularly like, and could see how easily one could get drunk off of it.

When the last shout announcement went out, we staggered out of the pub and started making our way to the Tube. We were stumbling through the crowd and dragging our heals because we knew it was the last time we’d see Chris and David for a while. At the station we said our goodbyes as a busker sang “Fearless” by Pink Floyd.

We survived the Tube ride home, despite the movement of the carriage, and made our way back to our hotel room where we drank lots of water and watched some telly until the room stopped spinning enough that we could sleep.

Next: Tube, Tarmac, Tour Bus & Truck

When we went to bed last night the wind was howling and rain was beating against the windows. We were concerned we wouldn’t have good weather for our trip to Glastonbury; however, when we got up the sun was shining and the sky was a beautiful blue.

I went down stairs to rouse the sleeping, and loudly snoring Tait, which is how I learned the poor sod had been up half the night watching a film. I am not sure he could sleep well on the floor and so stayed up until he crashed. It was very nice of him to let us stay in his bed, but now I was feeling guilty.

Once we were all up, and had a quick cup of tea, we made our way to the train station, where we easily caught a fast train to Basingstoke. Waiting there was Tait’s girlfriend Paula, who was serving as our guide. We made introductions, hopped into her comfortable car, and I began to drift off in the back seat.

Our first stop was Stonehenge. I had toured it previously (with Tait, no less) but Sarah had not seen it, so Paula and Tait were kind enough to stop. The place is a bit of a zoo with tour buses, and they charge to get within 20 meters, so we decided to park the car and scurry across the highway to steal a peak and a photo without shelling out money. Sarah snapped a few photos of Stonehenge—as well as the sheep lounging around nearby—and then we all dashed back across the highway to continue on our way.

Not having had time for breakfast, we decided to make lunch our first priority once we reached Glatonbury. Most of the shops in the village of Glastonbury serve a community of spiritually-minded people and the like-minded tourist who flock there. Swing a cat and you’ll bump into a crystals shop. Same with cafes. We quickly found a quirky little bistro-ish place where we had a lovely lunch and espresso. The place was filled with paintings of musicians—pop icons and jazz greats. It would have been a fine place to sit and have a cup of one’s favourite beverage. And, perhaps, have a proper first chat with Paula. Up until lunch, I had only really seen the back of her head. She has wonderful hair, by the way. However, as luck would have it, there was a toddler nearby who had trained his mother to give him anything he wanted as long as he pointed at said item, and screeched as loud as his little lungs would allow. Lunch, therefore, was delicious, and brief.

After lunch we wandered around town for a bit, peeking in at the abbey, and browsed some of the many shops. Tait would pop into every music shop he saw, and purchase something at each stop. He is a dedicated—if not obsessive (in a good way)—lover of music. Consuming as much as time allows. We were glad to hear he is taking up the bass.

Many of the shops in town are tucked down tiny walkways between ancient buildings, which makes shopping a bit like solving a labyrinth. Sometimes you are rewarded, and such was the case when Tait found a beautiful angel harpist statuette for Paula. While they were finishing up in that shop, I wandered into the courtyard to window shop and snap a photo of Nicolas Cage who I had seen when we entered. He had a cap on and was walking with a cane and a distinct limp. When we went by him the first time he was posing with a lesbian couple—in matching rainbow sweaters—we had seen in the cafe earlier. They had asked him to take a photo with them. He smiled, and obliged. When I turned around again, he appeared to be signing something for another person. At this point I knew I wasn’t going to intrude, so I set my camera on zoom and pretended to be photographing something else. What I ended up with was a dark picture of Mr. Cage (and his wife?) glaring at me from 20 feet away. I was trying to be respectful, I swear!

Neither Tait nor Paula were interested in walking up the Tor, so they dropped us off near an entrance and said they would be back in thirty minutes. Sarah and I climbed the steep steps that wind up the Tor, stepping aside occasionally to let those descending pass. It was a much shorter climb than I had anticipated, but significantly breezier at the top than we expected. We circumambulated St. Michael’s Tower at the top of the Tor, and it took all our energy to move forward when the wind was in our face, and every muscle we had to keep from being blown off our feet when the wind was at our back! The wind brought a chill and after a short while we returned to the spot where we had been dropped off, and took in the view of the Tor as the sun began to set behind it.

Paula and Tait picked us up and we went back to the village. Sarah wanted to buy some local sheep’s cheese, but we ended up with a local cow’s milk cheddar. On the way back to the car we stopped in a pub for a pint, where Sarah and Paula talked about how to ideally record an instrument like the harp.

As soon we finished our beverages we hopped in the car and headed back to Basingstoke to catch a train back to Reading. The ride back was mostly in the dark, but we were still able to make out Stonehenge in the shadows as we passed. The train ride to Reading was short, so we made a bee-line for an (Australian) bar to catch the Arsenal match. When we arrived the Gunners were down 0-1. I went to the loo, which was down in the bowels of the places. While there I heard a huge cheer. Not knowing the bar patron’s allegiances, I wasn’t sure who had scored, so I chanted to myself “Come-on Arsenal.” When I got back to the pub, a quick glance at the giant telly screen showed that Arsenal had, in fact, scored the equaliser! They went on to score three more goals to beat Everton 4-1.

When the match was over, Sarah, Tait and I popped over to the local Pizza Express for a late bite to eat. The pizza was delicious, but damn if it wasn’t the most expensive pizza dinner I have ever had!

Stuffed, and tired, we made the long walk back to Tait’s to pick up our things and call a taxi. We had decided to stay in Reading that night—and based on a suggestion by Tait—we stayed at the Novotel near the train station. After staying in a cramped London hotel, this place was a luxury (shower and tub, Internet, etc.), and cost twenty quid a night less. Plus, the stay included a full English breakfast buffet in the morning! Sarah had a soak in the tub, I had a relaxing shower, and we both slept very well. We highly recommend this French hotel chain, and will seek them out wherever we travel.

Next: One for the Tarmac

The Friday morning of our last weekend in England started pretty much the way the night before had finished—looking for food. We awoke hungry for food and eager to get out of the city for a few days. The night before, while wandering about in search of food, we had seen a middle eastern place near Edgware Road that also offered variations on the full English breakfast. We decided to try our luck. We were the only diners and we very much enjoyed the generous portions, which we knew would keep us until dinner.

Once fed, we went back to the hotel to gather our belongings and walk the few blocks to Paddington Station to catch a train to Reading where we were meeting Mr. Tait. We had decided it was cheaper to check out of the hotel and book ourselves back in for Sunday in order to save money. After schlepping our luggage to the station, we bought our tickets and waited for our departure platform to be sorted. Sarah wandered over to a vendor’s booth and bought a Paddington Bear pin, while I watched pigeons and train schedules.

The train was on time, and we ended up on a “fast” train that had us at our destination in just under thirty minutes. When we arrived we called Tait to see if he could pick us up. He suggested we grab a taxi at the the station as we were at the further—from his place—of the two train stations in Reading. We easily found a car to hire and arrived at Tait’s shortly thereafter, where we had a cup of tea and enjoyed him showing off his delicious-sounding stereo.

We ended up going on a long walk, up and around the main streets of Reading as Tait showed us some sites. We made our way to the ruins of the Abbey before ducking into the Hobgoblin for a pint. We stopped at a butchers, a Halal market, a microbrew/retaurant for a mini keg, and at an amazing coffee place for an espresso before making our way back to Tait’s. Once at Tait’s we tapped the keg and relaxed while he made a delicious curry dinner; the recipe from a cookbook I had bought him seven years earlier! The meal was a spicy and tender chicken dish that went well with the Pale Ale we were drinking.

After dinner we watched Ross Noble on Tait’s laptop and laughed our asses off. There were times I was laughing so hard I didn’t dare take a sip of beer for fear of having it come out my nose—and let’s face it, that’s a waste. When the video was over, Tait broke out the backgammon board and I broke Tait’s spirit by beating him 3-1 in a best of five competition. I spotted him the first game and then beat him harder than a man really should beat someone who is putting you up and just fed you a tasty meal. But he needed to be taken down a peg, and it was all for fun.

Tired, full, with a bit of a buzz, and wanting to be rested for the next day’s roadtrip, Sarah and I went upstairs to sleep, while Tait stayed up to watch a movie.

Next: Magical Mystery Tor

Our first night away from the comforts of the Mear home was a hard adjustment, but we woke up ready to explore. The first part of the day was to wander around Oxford Circus and check out the insanity of post-holiday sales, and wow was today mad. We thought it was crazy when people were out doing their last-minute Christmas shopping, but this was much worse. Each store had signs advertising up to 70% off, and it made me wonder why anyone even bothers with shopping until after Christmas. We only braved the crowds in Liberty because we had planned to pick up a holiday ornament as a memento of spending our 2007 Christmas in England, and it seemed appropriate. The tough part was finding something we could bring back with us that wouldn’t end up as broken glass at the bottom our our luggage. We found a couple of cute little unbreakable items which were small, pretty and only cost a couple of quid.

Afterwards, we looked for a place to eat and decide to sate our desire for tapas by having lunch at a local La Tasca. The place was deserted when we arrived, and we settled in for a lovely meal. The menu was a bit overwhelming, so we ordered a pre-set sampling meal that had half vegetarian and half meat items. We also ordered wine, and after the meal a couple of glasses of sweet Muscatel. It was difficult to move after that large lunch, but the wine helped reinvigorate us for the crowds still out on the sidewalk.

We decided to head back to the hotel to drop off the ornaments we bought and the heavy backpack I was carrying. The latter was because we had the laptop with us to check-in with Tait about our plans to go to Reading to see him the next day. All day we had trouble finding anyplace with free wi-fi so we had to go to the local Apple store to check email, and firm up plans for the next few days. The lack of free wi-fi in the UK surprises me.

We dropped our stuff and got ready for the rest of our long evening of doing touristy stuff. We took the Tube to Embankment, walked across the Jubilee bridge, and took in the beauty of the Thames at night. It was a clear night and places like the London Eye, Parliament, and St. Paul’s were brightly lit and glowing in the rippling river which was at high tide. We wander along the river, past the London Eye and eventually crossed over on the Westminster Bridge just as Big Ben was about to chime five o’clock.

We continued down the other side of the river. We were still early for our London Walks meetup so we decided to head over to Covent Garden and grab some sweets and use the loo before the walk.

When people ask me what to do when they go to London, I always suggest they go on a London Walk (even more than one). They are a ton of fun, educational, and often times involve drink. The walk we chose—Apparitions, Alleyways & Ales—was no exception. We met up with our guide, Adam, at the appointed time, and off we went to explore the darker side of London with occasional stops to grab a pint. At least one of the pubs we stopped in was down an alley, and we would never had stumbled on this particular spot. We started at the Embankment Tube stop, made our way through the theatre district and eventually ended up in St. James’ Park, where there was a lovely view of Buckingham Palace. Adam informed us that all walks end between a pub and a tube stop so that people can make up their own mind as to whether they want to go home or grab a pint. We stopped briefly at the near-by pub to use the loo, and since it was mostly abandoned (being in a business area) we decided to head back toward home.

We were also a bit hungry so we wandered around the area surrounding the hotel hoping to find something open. We knew the Windsor Castle was open (they serve Thai food, of all things), but we thought the place was tacky—and the manager rude—the last time we were there. Running out of sit down options, we stopped by the local corner store and bought a cheese and onion pastie and a bag of crisps, and took them back to our hotel room to nosh while watching some telly.

Next: Ready for Reading

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.

Next: Apparitions, Alleyways, Ales & Appetites

If we thought we were being spoiled by Jenny with her Chinese food cooking and overall generosity for the week, she out did herself on Christmas. As I mentioned in the previous installment, we stayed up quite late the night before drinking and generally making merry, so when we heard Jenny yell “David!” on Christmas morning, we decided we had better get up and not make Jenny wait to open her presents.

When we got downstairs, Jenny had already put out some delicious mini breakfast baps, eggrolls, and had coffee ready, so all we had to do was fall into the couch and wait while Santa Jenny handed out gifts from under the tree. After opening gifts we enjoyed more tea and coffee and relaxed under dinner.

Jenny had dinner on the table by around 1 o’clock, and wow did she ever prepare a feast! There was a turkey draped in bacon that was so juicy, despite not being brined. She said she got the idea from Gordon Ramsey. All I know is it was juicy and delicious. The rest of the meal was made up of what I understand to be the traditional English Christmas dishes. We had Brussels sprouts, steamed carrots, fried parsnips, delicious roasted potatoes, cranberry relish, and three kinds of sausages—one of which was wrapped in bacon!

Before we sat down to stuff ourselves with this amazing culinary display, we pulled crackers, put on our paper crowns, and read the lame jokes. A real English Christmas.

After dinner, we waddled out of the dining room to plop ourselves in front of the telly to catch Queen Elizabeth’s Christmas message—her 50th, and the first in high definition. The Queen had barely finished her speech when Jenny called us back to the table for dessert… errr… pudding, which was made up of Christmas Pudding, trifle and an assortment of fresh fruits, including mango, papaya and pineapple.

After puddings we again made our way to telly room to watch universally recognized tradition holiday films like Finding Nemo and Shrek 2. By the way, one of the differences I noticed about Christmas in America and Christmas in England is that Americans are more likely to have traditional films we watch for the holiday. Think Miracle on 34th Street, It’s a Wonderful Life, White Christmas, A Christmas Story, etc. While the Brits seem to be nostalgic about Christmas music. And the British Christmas music is more likely to be pop music than American holiday sounds. When I think of Christmas songs, I am likely to think of standards like “White Christmas,” “Winter Wonderland,” “Little Drummer Boy,” etc. The pop Christmas songs I hear in England are songs that may have been played in America the year they were released, but rarely are played after. Songs like “Last Christmas” by Wham!, “Wonderful Christmas Time” by Paul McCartney, and Band Aid’s “Do They Know It’s Christmas.” The latter seemed to drop off American airwaves almost immediately after Live Aid in 1985. Anyway, just an observation. I still never heard Santa’s Super Sleigh though.

After watching the aforementioned Christmas classic films, Sarah, Chris and I took a long walk around the neighbourhood to walk off dinner and pudding. We must have walked for an hour or so, but still felt full when we returned. Before we left we knew that there was still another course of food, but when we were told there was cheese, we envisaged a cheese plate and some crackers. What we returned to was a whole new meal. There were 8 different kinds of cheeses, a deli meat platter, crackers (the edible kind), bread, chutneys, bread sauce, olives, onions, pickles, celery, carrots, and port wine. We told ourselves we wouldn’t eat much, but it is impossible to get away with not eating when Jenny is in charge! Besides it was cheese! So it didn’t take too much convincing to get us to over indulge.

At this point I had to loosen my belt and have a lie down. We retired for the final time of the evening to the television room to watch the Red Dwarf marathon before I excused myself to go to bed. Sarah, Chris and David popped open a bottle of champagne and had a few glasses before finally saying goodnight to Christmas. One of the best Christmas’ ever.

Next: Boxing Day (Adventures with Essexjan)

For the first time since arriving in England we took it easy today. No shopping, no site-seeing. Mostly we hung out drinking tea, talking, watching Christmas-related shows on the telly, and occasionally slipping away to wrap holiday gifts. A nice, lazy, Christmas Eve.

In the late afternoon Jenny surprised us with another scrumptious meal. Sarah had told Jenny how her favourite meat was lamb and so there it was. Jenny is amazing!

After supper Sarah and I watched our traditional holiday film, About a Boy. Not exactly a Christmas film, but with some elements that we think display Christmas spirit. David joined us and seemed to enjoy our silly little tradition. Once the film had ended, Jenny, David, Sarah and I played Upwords. It was the first time I had played, and while it seems familiar to Scrabble fans like me, it is a game that requires a different way of thinking. Jenny and David competed with each other while politely watching while Sarah and I struggled. It was still good fun to relax and play a good board game.

While we were playing games, Chris was off practicing for the night’s gig… playing organ at midnight mass at St. Mary’s Church in Walthstow. He came back after rehearsal to pick up Sarah and I so we could join him for the jam.

It was short drive to the church, and we arrived well before the worshipers, so Sarah and I wandered around the ancient place, checking out the architecture and the burial stones. The only people around when we arrived were the Vicar, deacons, and another gentlemen—who later was revealed to be the new archdeacon … and a West Ham supporter. People were polite at that news, but it may have been because it was Christmas. There was at least one guy, sitting behind us, wearing an Arsenal jacket. I was polite when I met him (before the West Ham announcement, naturally) while I wandered around before the service. He asked if I was a regular, and I replied that I was visiting from the States and there to support Chris, the organist. He asked me where I was from in the States, and when I replied Vermont, we said “ah, yes. That’s in the west, correct?” I politely corrected him, we conversed a little more before parting ways.

Sarah, who had gone outside to wait for our friend to arrive, returned a few minutes later with Jan in tow. Jan took a few photos of Chris and then joined us in a pew nearest the organ.

The service was somewhat familiar to me, but still different enough that I kept my mouth shut most of the time. Even with the karaoke screens and monitors everywhere displaying the words to songs didn’t really help. Songs that I thought I knew had completely different words than I recalled from my childhood.

The vicar was nice, and funny. At the beginning of the service he made some announcements. He said that Jesus didn’t want us to hold it, and directed people to where the loos were located. He said that there was a carpeted area with toys if the kids or adults needed a lie down. He reminded people to turn off their mobiles saying that at midnight they would start beeping with text wishes from family and friends hoping to be the first to wish a happy Christmas; and that some of these people would no doubt have been indulging in a bit of holiday cheer.

We came for Chris’ organ playing though, and we were not disappointed. He rocked the house! The organ sounded great and Chris made it sing. Sending people home with Toccata from Widor’s fifth organ symphony.

Once the service was over the four of us wandered around the village near the church. We said goodbye to Jan and headed back to Chris’ place where we ended up staying up until 4 a.m. drinking scotch whisky and singing songs while David played guitar.

Next: Happy Christmas … pass the sausages.