July 27-28th, Glasgow

After bidding farewell to Cupar, I caught the early evening train to Glasgow. It's only about an hour's train ride but by the time I got off at Glasgow Queen Street, I was very tired. It had been such an emotional few days with the Gathering and then seeing Cupar and wishing that the family had left some kind of record behind. The train ride was, as always, lovely though. I passed along rivers with white sailboats and green, green hills.

Up until a few years ago I had no ties in Glasgow. My stepmother had been born there and lived there until she was 12 but that was all. And my encounters with Glaswegians hadn't been the best, except during 9/11 when dh and I visited Pollock House while we were waiting for the time to go to the airport to fly home. But a few years ago a genealogist that I'd hired to obtain some of the Campbell family records had uncovered a living second cousin (same great grandparents). She gave me her address in Glasgow and I wrote to her, enclosing an old family photo that had been a mystery to me. Enid wrote back and told me that was her great grandmother's ruby wedding anniversary and identified the great aunts and great uncles and cousins in the photo. It was wonderful so, when I decided to go to Scotland, I e-mail'd her and asked if we could meet face-to-face. She said yes so I detoured to Glasgow on my way up to the West Highlands. Wasn't much of a detour as the West Highland train goes from Glasgow and my BritRail pass, once again, proved wonderful.

So here I was on a Monday evening, arrived in a city I'd not really been in before--so what else is new--trying to find my hotel in Sauciehall Street which supposedly was "not far" from

Glasgow Queen Street station. I didn't want to take a taxi because I was low on cash. So I approached a fellow at the station and asked him where "sauce-ee-hall" street was. He looked at my quizzically at first and then said "Sockeeall"? (said very quickly as if he had marbles in his mouth). "Down that way two blocks, turn right." Oh,

okay, Sockeeall. Once again dragging my baggage, I trudged off. Down two blocks, street name is not Sockeeall. Ask someone else who also has marbles in his mouth. "Go two blocks, turn right." Oh okay. At this point I needed a bit of levity and this statue provided it. I giggled and thought that any city that had that kind of humor was okay with me.

Another two blocks and I thought I'd check with one more person. More garbling but I was going in the right direction and, after six more blocks, I did indeed find Sauciehall. The hotel address was 900, I was at 100. Oh great, 800 addresses to go. So I once again gripped my rollaway with a by-now aching hand and off I went. Ten minutes later I arrived at the hotel. Which had stairs up to the entrance, no ramp (how DO people with wheelchairs manage in these old cities?) I heaved the bags up the stairs, and dragged myself over to the counter. I said that I was checking in and I sincerely hoped they had a lift (elevator) up to my room. The clerk smiled sympathetically and said, yes, they had a lift. Oh bliss!

And when I got into the room the bathroom also actually had a tub!!! (The past four nights I've only had a shower and golly was I aching.) Small problem--the cold tap for the bath didn't work. I didn't feel like phoning down to the desk at 9:30 as I'd already unpacked so I pondered a moment and noticed that the shower had a separate tap arrangement. BUT the shower's water would flow into the tub.... Yep, that worked and I finally had the soak I'd been longing for. Clean, my muscles happy at last. I crawled into bed with my book ("Brat Farrar" by Josephine Tey--wonderful) and had a lovely night.

The next morning I set off to meet Enid at her house. She'd given me very good bus directions and we had a great time together. She told me about my great aunt (her grandmother)

and what a loving family they'd been. I never knew any great aunts on my paternal grandfather's side. I wish my dad could have heard that (well, he probably did hear it if he was listening in on the other side) but he knows them all now. After visiting together and having lunch, Enid took me by taxi to Kelvingrove Art Gallery on the grounds of the University of Glasgow. As we entered the foyer, an organist was playing--you can see him on the upper level in this photo. And the museum was very busy with families; so nice to see young children being exposed to art. Kelvingrove also currently has a large Doctor Who exhibit. I am not a Doctor Who fan (sorry) so we visited exhibits of the works of Scottish colourists, the Glasgow school and Charles Rennie Mackintosh, who designed in the Art Nouveau style. I was very attracted to his furniture--quite beautiful. Very clean, long lines with stained glass inserts from time to time.

We had a bowl of soup and I took a photo of her to remember this lovely day then we rode the bus back into the main part of Glasgow and Enid went home and I meandered around Sauciehall arcade, looking at shops. Then I went to a pub and had a good dinner, went back to the hotel, decided against another bath and went to bed. It would be an early morning tomorrow.

The Gathering

What was The Gathering and why did I want to go to it? Well, it was a two-day event, July 25-26, 2009, held in Edinburgh. It was advertised as the largest gathering of the clansmen and women from all over the world. It was also part of Homecoming Scotland 2009 celebrating the 250th birthday of Robbie Burns, Scotland's famous poet. I can't remember how I came across the advertisement in May but once I read about it, I decided it was something that I wanted to see.

My maiden name is Campbell, that's my main clan but I also have Wightons, Youngs, Butters, Mackenzies and McLellans, etc., in my family tree. My paternal grandparents came from Dundee, with my grandfather's dad coming from Dingwall in the central Highlands and my grandmother's mom coming from Cupar in the Kingdom of Fife. We had gone to Dingwall in 2001 and had some very special moments, finding the family gravesite, and even being able to walk in the house where my gggps had brought their large family up. I tear up when I hear the pipes and "Scotland the Brave" and I couldn't possibly have spent a summer here in the UK without going to Scotland.

Anyway, as the time went on toward The Gathering I learned a bit more about it. It was going to be huge. They expected (and say that they got) about 40,000 people to converge on Holyrood Park. There would be a march of the clans up the Royal Mile on Saturday night. A special programme that would highlight the history of Scotland. Highland Games. Clan tents.

And pipe bands from around the world. So I registered for it, received my Passport and on the morning of July 24th, got on the train in Highbridge and headed off to Edinburgh.

I have to say that the BritRail pass, and upgrading it to first class, was well worth the investment. I had my choice of when and how to travel to Edinburgh. And traveling in first class, I was served a nice breakfast, given The Times to read, had my own charger plug for my Blackberry. And as we traveled across England, I was especially thankful for being in the coach as the train was packed and people were actually sitting in the passageways between trains.

However, when I arrived in Edinburgh it was to pouring rain and in the midst of a garbage strike. Not the greatest of beginnings, especially as I had misunderstood the distance between where I would be staying and Holyrood Park. It wasn't that far but FROM Holyrood TO the University of Edinburgh/Pollock Hall residences was all uphill. Not fun in the pouring rain and carrying a backpack and dragging a rollaway. So I got a taxi. The residences were your typical student residence rooms with single bed, chair, miniscule loo and shower. But it was out of the rain and I really didn't care. I'd only be sleeping there anyway. After dumping my stuff, I went back downstairs (and why do I always get the third floor of a building with no elevator?) and stared out at the rain, wondering what to do now.

A man with a kilt soon came to stand beside me and we started chatting. Turned out that he was a Campbell as well. Ian Campbell from Australia. So we were soon deep in conversation about genealogy and we decided we'd go back down to Holyrood, check out the preparations for tomorrow and then walk up the Royal Mile and find something to eat. Which we did. We ate at the Royal McGregor pub on the Royal Mile. Salmon and new potatoes. Yum. Then Ian went off to find something for his camera and I walked back to the residences. Without my luggage, the walk wasn't that difficult. By the end of the day, though, I'd walked over 20,000 steps, or 10 miles.

Saturday morning was sunny and I met a large group of Canadians lined up outside the residence cafeteria waiting for breakfast to start. Most of the people up that early were actually participating in the Gathering; they were pipers and Highland dancers. So many people in kilts and tartan, but almost all of them with "colonial" accents. I met people from Ontario, from B.C., both places I've lived in, and they were all having a great time. After a very good buffet breakfast, I walked back down to Holyrood Park.

The new Parliament buildings across from the Park. I wasn't sure what the symbolism was supposed to be as it seemed to be lots of angles and boxes. But I have since checked out the website for the buildings and realize that I only saw a very small portion of what is an amazing building. If you're interested in architecture, check out http://www.scottish.parliament.uk/vli/holyrood/index.htm

I then went through the gate and into the event. It was like a giant country fair with tents and a stadium, a grandstand and booths with people selling food and souvenirs. As I familiarized myself with it, I encountered:

Robbie Burns chatting up a piper, presenting her with a rose. Do you know that saying "my love is like a red, red, rose"? Well Robbie wrote that except of course he wrote "my luve...." You should read some of his poetry. It's great. Don't worry if you don't understand it all though :) Just enjoy reading it; I get the feeling he enjoyed writing it.

And then I saw the pipers practicing and chatting. I was so pleased to see a pipe band from Hamilton, where I lived for over 13 years. This photo's for you too Jean.

This is the stone put, part of the Highland Games "heavy section".

What Scots wear under their kilts (at least for the stone put).

They finished that part of the competition and then I could hear the pipes and drums starting. The security people herded us to the side and on came the bands. It was all quite soul stirring and yes I cried. The next few photos (I've got loads more but this gives the flavour) will be of the parade and a glimpse of Charles and Camilla.

One of Charles' many titles is Duke of Rothesay. It was the traditional title of the heir to the Scottish throne. Since Scotland and England (and Wales and Northern Ireland) all form one "country", Charles has inherited this title. So much of Scotland's history is the story of conflicts with England, referred to in many ways during The Gathering, so it was ironic that Charles was there. He gave a low-key speech though and no one booed him, unlike folks booing the Campbells as we marched up the Royal Mile later that night. But that's for the next blog. Camilla didn't say anything just smiled and received flowers.

The sight of the Canadian pipers marching and Canadian flags flying sent me for the tissues again. I may be of Scottish heritage but my parents and I were all born on Canadian soil. So I was proud to see the Canadian flags and cheered along with many others. You see, those of us who have Scots blood in us, our ancestors came to Canada (and other colonies) either because they were driven out (the Clearances) or because they felt that Canada offered a better life for them and for their families. I'm not 100% sure why my grandparents came. I know they weren't "driven out" of Scotland because by the time they came, in the early 1900s, Scotland had settled down politically. My cousin Enid, whom I met the following week in Glasgow, said her grandmother (my grandfather's sister) told her that her brother Donald had just announced casually one day at dinner in around 1904 that he was going to Canada. He was the first of the three brothers to leave. Two of his younger brothers later went to the US after fighting in the Great War while the youngest died in the Great War. Grandfather went and then sent for my grandmother; they got married in Montreal. They only went back once, just after the Great War. Although life was a bit better in Canada, they still never had much money in their lives, certainly not enough to go back despite family deaths and weddings. I am so much more blessed. Even my dad only went back to Scotland twice. Once with his parents as a small boy and once when I was living in England and he was in his mid 60s. I thought of how interested he'd have been in all of this.

After the pipe bands, I went to the Campbell clan tent to see if anything was going on. About 70 or so clans had tents with representatives there to greet people, answer questions, talk about their various clan associations in North America, Australia, New Zealand. The Campbell tent was actually rather quiet. I chatted to a man who was the president of the North America Clan Campbell Association and was surprised to learn that he didn't even know where his Campbell ancestors had come from. They'd come over around the Revolutionary War and hadn't kept records. So I felt a bit smug that I, at least, KNEW where my Campbells had come from as far back as the late 1700s. And I shared with a few people there how I'd pieced my information together over 15 years.

I noticed a tall blonde woman coming and going and looking a bit officious so wondered if she was a PR person or something. I never thought that she was the Duchess of Argyll, the Duke's wife. The Duke is the chief of Clan Campbell. Here's a photo with the Duchess on the right. He's the youngest clan chief and actually quite nice. I spoke with him the next day about his interest in elephant polo. Yep, elephant polo; polo played on elephants. He plays it in Thailand and Cambodia (or is it Laos?) Yes, I know it sounds like one of those weird "upper class sports" and of course it is. But it is in the spirit of trying to save the elephants there. He explained it to me in some detail, which was nice of him. I don't think he'll invite for the weekend to Inverary Castle but he was quite charming. I looked the family up later on the Inverary Castle (where they live) website and his wife is actually English, one of the Cadburys of chocolate fame. So I would have to like her, wouldn't I, as Cadbury fruit 'n nut bars are a favorite at our house. But I wouldn't tell her that. I doubt she would appreciate the colonial sense of humour :)

Here's a photo of the Duke and Duchess with the presidents of the various Clan

Campbell associations. You'll notice the kilt tartans are a little different on several. I hope they were all approved by the Duke because he's a bit of a stickler for wearing "proper" tartans and not some of the newer colours and patterns that claim to be Campbell. I was very careful, therefore, went I went to buy my tartan shawl for the Royal Mile march to get the "right" one. I didn't get the Argyll, however, because my family didn't come from Argyll, they came from the central Highland area and the Campbells there have their own castle and tartan. Cawdor Castle. Sound familiar? Think Macbeth and you've got it.

I will now close this blog as it's getting too difficult to drag all the photos down to their proper place. The next one will be a continuation of Saturday, the march on the Royal Mile.

Another cycle ride

After our trip back into medieval times at Wells on Monday, Tuesday was quietly "modern" (it also pelted with rain). We went into Weston so I could get a couple of pairs of trousers so that when one pair is damp, I can wear the other. Actually bought some waterproof trousers; now watch it be sunny. Actually this may have worked as yesterday WAS sunny and so is today. Oh and Tuesday night we went to see the new Harry Potter movie about the Half Blood Prince. It was good but I will need to sit down with the earlier HP movies so I can get the thread. I'd only seen the first one before this one. And despite my daughter's earnest recommendations [blush] I've never read the books.

Yesterday I did a lot of exercising. I walked into town, then back. Walked the dogs to the field of clover and watched them gambolling around then walked them back. Did 45 minutes with a Leslie DVD including strengthening.

Then when Sheila came home she and Dave suggested we cycle over to West Huntspill and Pawlett, two villages about 7 miles away. Only a bit of it was on roads thank goodness, the rest was on quiet country lanes lined with tall hedgerows. So beautiful and peaceful. I didn't bring my "big" camera so here are some photos courtesy of Blackberry.

This pump used to supply the village of West Huntspill with all of its water. Most of the houses we cycled past are fairly recently built; post WWII anyway. Like the nifty white socks? I bought them 7 to a pack at Marks & Spencer. My feet had been freezing before this. Aahhh, warmth now.

And speaking of WWII, do you know what this is? I would have cycled past it obliviously but Sheila pointed it out. It's a pillbox. Used for anti-invasion. West Huntspill is not that far away from the estuary so I suppose it would have been constructed so that the Home Guard could protect the countryside if the Nazis came up the river? Or perhaps there used to be an airfield somewhere around here; they were also used near airfields. Ah yes, just checked Google and there was one in Weston. Several miles away but the countryside around here would have keenly felt the danger during the war.

In this photo we see what the pillbox was actually defending. It's a Barrage Balloon Shed and we had now actually cycled into the country lanes around the village of Pawlett. If you don't know what a barrage balloon was, you'll have to go research it ;) I'm not going to tell you EVERYTHING [laughing]. But as for this shed, according to the website http://worldwar2airfields.fotopic .net (but I took this photo, it's not from that Website), "The Bellman barrage balloon shed at Pawlett was operated by the Royal Aircraft Establishment (RAE) and used from 1940 in the development of barrage balloon cable cutting experiments. Royal Aircraft Establishment aircraft flying from RAF Exeter and later from RAF Culmhead took part in these experiments. The barrage balloons were kept fully inflated and thus required a shed of considerable size for storage purposes." Again, I wouldn't have noticed it if Sheila and Dave hadn't pointed it out. Modern history. Apparently there's a barrage balloon shed in a Foyle's War episode that we've seen. I'll have to review that again.

This day though, rural England snoozes on much as it has done for centuries thanks to those brave folks back in the 1930s and 1940s that said "We shall fight them everywhere".

My Alberta friends might think this is rather short wheat? Not having much acquaintance with wheat fields growing up in Montreal and now in the Southwest, I don't know.

Sheep again. There's an advantage to doing a daily blog rather than showing folks a huge photo album. I can post multiple sheep photos and, unless you're reading days at a time, you won't say "Oh another sheep photo." There was also a lovely herd of Friesian cows but we were cycling downhill and I couldn't stop. I had to ask Dave and Sheila if Friesians were dairy or beef. They're dairy. Learn something every day.

We passed several riders in the lanes so I finally hopped off my bike and took a quick photo. As they passed me by I said "I hope you don't mind, I'm an American" in case they thought I was with Secret Service or something. And the fellow smiled and said "Ah, that will be £15,000 or I'll sue you--that's what they do in America, isn't it?" He was laughing as he said it and they both wished me a good holiday here. Whew.

Today, as I said, it's sunny again so I am going to go put on a t-shirt (yay! no blue jacket!!) and take the dogs for a walk.

Wells Cathedral

Yesterday afternoon we went to Wells. You might wonder the distances of these places we are going to--Glastonbury, Brent Knoll, Wells. They're all within about 5-20 miles of Burnham but on these country roads/lanes, it takes about 25-30 minutes to get to each. Like Glastonbury, I went to Wells 31 years ago. I have a couple of old Kodak prints of a street in the town and the outside of the Cathedral. But I'm perplexed to admit that, once I was inside the Cathedral, I didn't remember ever seeing it before. Menopause or did we not go inside for some reason?? Whatever, I took enough photos yesterday that, barring some technological catastrophe, I won't forget this visit. I've picked some out to put on this blog; I took over 60 photos in all, just can't put them all on or I'd run out of room.

The town (called a small city in Wikipedia and in the local publications, it seems a town to me) of Wells is named for its three wells. One is in the market place and two are in the Bishop's Palace. As we walked up the street toward the Cathedral, water was gushing down the drains beside the sidewalk (for once it wasn't raining). There is so much water that they have to open the sluices from time to time to let it run off. Wells has been a sacred site--because of the water--since Roman times and the first church was built here in about 700 AD. The present Cathedral was built between 1180-1239.

The entrance to the Cathedral grounds. You enter through this gate, called The Penniless Porch because the bishops used to allow beggars to ask for alms here. Nice of them, eh? There was a busker standing just to the side of the porch (out of photo range) singing "Welcome to the Hotel California" in a mock American voice. She was fairly good but not as good as the Eagles. But I wouldn't have wanted the Eagles there in full voice; it would have jarred the peace of the area. Her solo singing was just enough to give a bit of, oh what's that term in painting where a painter puts something in to give it some oomph???

Looking at the front of the Cathedral from across the Green. The statues were originally have been painted and gilded. What a sight that would have been; it's breathtaking as it is.

A close-up of what I would think is the main door although there are so many doors to the Cathedral it's hard to tell. Imagine all the masons working on the statues and niches!

Once we were inside, there was a £3-00 fee to take photographs. Which of course I paid and then made every pence count :)

This is the nave of the Cathedral. Those arches are called scissor-arches and would have been built between 1200-1230. The vaulted ceilings are painted but the painted design was only revealed again in 1844-45 when the whitewash that had been put on the ceiling was cleaned off. More repairs were carried out in 1985. We met a young maintenance man as we wandered around and he told us that there are hidden stairs where he goes up and walks across the very top of the cathedral, above the ceiling. Wow!!

As I admired the arches and the figures of Mary, on Jesus' right and John the Beloved, on his left, a white-haired canon in a gown and collar (a canon is a priest in the Church of England who is responsible for administering a Cathedral) started talking to me. In the case of Wells, there would be many canons. This particular canon, Canon Watson, had also served at Canterbury Cathedral, a Cathedral I've not yet been to but, after seeing Wells again, am sorely tempted to visit. He asked me if I'd like to see an interesting view of the status of St. John.

Canon Watson took me down the aisle to the left of this photo (you can't see the aisle in the photo above but it's a lot like this one)

to show me a view of the statue.

He had particularly noticed it one day and was meaning to take a photo of it. But perhaps I might be interested??

I took one--had to use the zoom to the nth degree and I was shooting upward so I'm afraid there's a bit of shake to the photo; should have brought my tripod. He immediately gave me his card and his Internet address; could I send him a copy of the photo? Hah, there's this priest in his late 60s spending his time meditating and helping people in an ancient cathedral appreciate its age and beauty and we're doing Internet. What a world!! He asked me if I'd send them to him when I got back to Santa Fe but thanks to Sheila's computer and my portable USB, he's getting them this morning. I do wonder how many tourists he's asked for that same view and how many he's received. Probably several :)

I also took a few other shots looking up into the arches--so beautiful. Smooth and how on earth did they carve that limestone all those centuries ago so perfectly???

And the stained glass is magnificent. I have further shots of more of those windows coming up in a bit.

But first, there's the clock. Canon Watson told me about it and later, when we knew the hour would be striking, we came back to hear him describe it more. The original works, c1392, still in working order (Seiko are you listening?), are on loan to the Science Museum in London. The present works were installed in 1880. The parts that you see in this photo are original (meaning c1392) although repainted in the 17th and 18th centuries. It's the second oldest clock. The oldest is in Salisbury Cathedral. Golly I could do a whole holiday just visiting cathedrals. Canon Watson told me that he reckoned that the little guy who falls off his horse during the joust (I took photos, that's the blurry part because I was snapping like mad to catch the 1-minute action) on the hour had fallen off 6 million times in 300 years. It's always the same guy, you think he'd learn.

No, not this guy. This is the guy that starts it all off on the hour; he sits to the right of the clock, up a bit higher. He strikes the bell with his hammer and the knights go into the joust.

The knights.

Things get a bit frantic, the knight gets knocked off and they go offstage to await the next hour. As the Canon said, that poor knight would be quite a liability on the National Health. The Canon ended his little talk with a beautiful prayer for peace and tranquility. I wish I'd asked him where it was from. I'll ask him in my e-mail today!

That's one thing we could forget, as tourists, snapping photos and rushing through. This is a house of worship. People come here daily to pray, on Sundays for their services. Beautiful music is sung here; we heard a few minutes of the choir practicing. Although much of it is ancient, there are touches everywhere--embroidered chair pads, flowers, altar pieces--that are modern, that have been brought to the Cathedral by members who consider this to be their church much as we consider our chapels and mosques to be "our" churches. They feel it as much a part of them as the ancient stonemasons who originally built it. A faith and a tradition, a reverence, continuing. A stability that outlasts we tourists' hurried, if admiring, glances. Something I'm pondering about, stability.

Outside the Cathedral, there is another clock that is operated by the same works. It was finished c1475 and the knights stike the quarter hour.

Halfway through this, are you still with me? If you're feeling slightly dazzled and overwhelmed, imagine how I felt. I went through all of this in about an hour and a half--about as long, if not a slightly shorter length of time--that it's taking me to create this blog. But I am enjoying putting this blog together; it extends the experience for me.

But I'll try to go a bit more quickly now as the morning's almost gone and I know some of you in Eastern Daylight Time will be awake soon and curious to see this--at least I hope you are.

This is the Quire, the oldest part of the present Cathedral, c1335.

Just some of the stained glass windows. One could spend hours looking at the stained glass. They tell stories that 14th century people would have enjoyed "reading" as much as we enjoy reading from our books. Pictures instead of words. Of course with TV, we've returned to pictures, pictures with sound.

Chapter House steps, so worn from centuries of feet that you have to be very careful walking up.

View out of one of the windows in the Chapter House.

As we were leaving the inside of the Cathedral, the inscription on this tablet--there are so many tablets and tombs and such--caught my eye. "As a pastor husband father brother friend he was most sincerely and justly beloved. Reader, thou too shalt shortly die. What is thy hope?" What, indeed? To have people say the same of me would be one.

We had "tea" (I had a scone with cream and jam) and then we walked through another archway off the square (in the first photo) to see the Bishop's Palace. This is the drawbridge over the "moat." But once we were through the gate we learned it would be another £5-50 to tour the Palace so we decided we'd save that for another day. We hope to be back again before I leave.



Two views of the moat. I lay on my stomach to get the second shot. Idylllic, isn't it? Three hours just isn't enough to really benefit from all we could learn from this. Next time I come I won't take as many photos--I'll just come for the peace.

Hey Jude

As I was walking past The Railway pub Saturday night I heard the live band singing "Hey Jude." So I stopped in and watched people with their arms lifted high, swaying to the music. A lot of those people might not even have been born when Hey Jude came out. Well, the darkness is kind, maybe they were :)

Anyway, I'm in a kind of "Hey Jude" mood this morning. It was a very wet weekend. Took the dogs out yesterday afternoon as it seemed the skies might clear but ten minutes into the walk it came pouring down again. I looked for a shelter--we were down by the pond, watching folks race their little motorized boats--but there wasn't any except for overhanging trees. They provided a bit of shelter and then the rain stopped. So I set off at a fast pace, hoping both the dogs and I would dry off. It started raining again about 5 minutes from home. I had mostly dried, dogs hadn't and they had a nice bath last night when we got home.

Earlier in the day I'd gone to church in Weston. There was also a huge T4 concert going on by the beach. Probably about 30000 people descended upon the town, I didn't recognize any of the names. My rock concert days ended about 6 years after the Beatles split up. All I noticed about yesterday was the chock-a-block traffic, that two of our speakers were late because they'd been stuck on the M-5 motorway for 2 hours, and I was glad that I was in the place I was in and not down on the beach.

But this morning I feel nostalgic and so I'm posting these lyrics that keep rolling around in my head:

Take a sad song and make it better....
And anytime you feel the pain,
hey jude, refrain,
Dont carry the world upon your shoulders.
For well you know that its a fool who plays it cool
By making his world a little colder.

I'm off to make my world a little warmer, starting with a 45-minute workout with Leslie Sansone. Get those endorphins moving and chase the blues away. The sun is actually shining, the sky is blue. Hope it stays that way, Sheila and I are off to Wells to see the cathedral (a real one, not a tin one) this afternoon.

Swine flu

The English media--and probably the government--is making a huge fuss about swine flu. Dire prognostications of how many people will die from it. And there was a headline on the Daily Mail tabloid cover about British tourists possibly being stopped from travelling at the airport. Aaggh! Sheila and I quickly bought the paper, concerned that our trip to Portugal might be in jeopardy. The article actually verges on "yellow journalism"--exaggerations about how Britain is the most infected country (ummm, no, the statistics that are printed in that very article about other countries belie that) and that it's actually only being discussed that there will be screening at the airports. For now. I must admit it has me a bit concerned. I'm drinking my herbal tea, taking my vitamins, walking a lot and all that. But there are no guarantees. So we just proceed along and hope for the best.

As I was walking in Burnham today I heard the church bells ringing joyously. It has been so long since I've heard bells rung like that. So I thought that it must be a wedding and headed for St. Andrews. Sure enough there was. I'll post the photos I took over the wall later as they're on the Blackberry again. It looked to be a lovely wedding, the groom and his followers in top hats and tails, the bride in a strapless (brrrrr!) white gown with a train that she was having difficulties with on the grass. The guests in summery dresses, many with pretty hats. It's been ages since I've been to a wedding.

Last night's meal out at the Indian restaurant was terrific. We laughed a lot over old TV sitcoms that we remembered (Skippy the Bush Kangaroo, My Favorite Martian, George, the series about a St. Bernard in Switzerland--funny how many series were shown on both sides of the pond.) Then we went to karaoke night at the Somerset & Dorset pub. I was so, so tempted and I would have if someone would have gone up with me. The last karaoke I did was about 15 years ago in Hamilton, where Jean and another woman and I sang "It's my party and I'll cry if I want to." Remember that, Jean? Hilarious. I actually stayed out until midnight last night!!! And then couldn't get to sleep until 2.

We're out again tonight but I'll make it an early one as I'm going to church early--have a ride that's leaving at 8:15. So I'll come home at around 11 and try to be asleep by 12.

Rain, rain, rain

Well, hopefully not in Portugal ;) This morning as I once again woke up to rain pelting (no longer pattering) against the window, my thoughts did turn to sunny Portugal. It will be a nice break even if I'll be going back a few weeks later to more sun in Arizona/New Mexico. We don't have an ocean there.


Yesterday morning I went into "the shops" in Burnham. Burnham is a small village with only one real High Street of shopping. Many of the shops are actually charity shops, kind of like Deseret or Goodwill or Sally Ann. When I first arrived last week, I was surprised to see so many and thought that the Brits really are the masters of recycling. But Sheila told me that actually, the reason there are so many charity shops is that other shops can't afford the rent. The council charges the charity shops less so they can afford to be there. So there is a shop for the RSPCA, a shop for the cancer society, for the local hospitals, etc.... And they all sell secondhand stuff. My friends who love scavenging flea markets would be in heaven. I actually thought of looking for another dress but I really don't need one. I brought one dress and one skirt, which are perfectly sufficient for Church. I'll bring the skirt up with me to the Hebrides in case I get asked to country dance at a ceilidh.


My main shopping mission yesterday was to pick up things for dinner last night. Shopping is a daily experience; I actually shop like this back home as well. I picked the habit up when I lived in England 33 years ago and it stuck. Equipped with my shopping bag and list I tackled the supermarket and was successful with everything except for the meat. They didn't have pig's liver so went back to the High Street to the butcher for that. And I did have to search a bit for custard. Custard on pie--how many of you reading this have ever had it? It's lovely; English custard is not like the custard we might have had as children. It's not solid, it's creamy, like cream actually. But with a vanilla taste. And not as rich.


Can you tell I didn't do anything terribly exciting yesterday and am drivelling on? Well, actually I did do something that was quite "exciting"--as in at times heart-in-throat--Sheila and I bicycled back to Brent and went for a walk in the fields there. As I've said in the past, I'm only just getting back to bicycling. I do like it though; much more than I did when I had the mountain bike in Richland and in Las Vegas. This bike

is either easier to handle than my mountain bike or I'm in better shape. Hope it's the latter! Anyway, I like bicycling but admit that I am very nervous on the roads. To get to Brent, we had to cycle across a few roads, around roundabouts and ride on a path right beside the A370, which is a "dual carriageway" (minor highway). One side lorries and cars speeding past, the other brambly hedges and a ditch. I knew which way I wanted to fall if it happened. Which it didn't, thank goodness. It was exhilarating and scary at the same time.

Once we arrived in Brent and locked our bicycles, we went for a tramp through a field, wanting to get to the Edithmead "cathedral." The rain, which had been merely spitting, now started to pour. We walked along the rhyne (ditch full of water) for probably .75 mile and came to another fence with a stile. On the other side in the field were cows--no, I think they were bulls.

Those specks in the photo above. It's not a very good photo I'm afraid. First it was pouring rain and second I only had my Blackberry phone camera. And third I haven't put any of these photos through my photo program on my Macbook athat would enhance them. It's quite time consuming to do a really good photo layout as my Macbook isn't connected to the Internet right now. So all work that I do on it has to be downloaded to a USB then I move it over to Sheila's computer, which is a PC and I have to reformat. . .and so on. Today's blog is just not that fancy. I'm writing it on Sheila's computer and just uploading the photos from Yahoo, where I sent them from the Blackberry. Sometime, when I have a connection with my Macbook again, I'll go through these blogs and fix up the photos. For now, you'll just have to use your imagination. There ARE bulls in that photo. With horns.

Anyway, back to us standing on one side of the fence with the bulls looking at us speculatively from the other side. I am a city girl, I don't know a whole lot about cows/bulls/calves. As in--do they charge people who are walking quietly along a footpath? If they charge do you run or lie down?? Sheila didn't seem to know either and as it was raining so hard anyway, this is what we did,

walked back to where we'd left the bikes at the bottom of the Tor. And cycled to the "cathedral" instead.

Some cathedral, hmmm? It is a Mission Chapel and actually considered a tourist spot because there aren't many tin tabernacles left in England. Courtesy of the website, www.tintabernacles.com, this is their story: "The mission halls, chapels and churches were built economically and quickly to service the needs of small groups of worshippers from about the 1870s onwards. Often referred to as 'Tin Tabernacles' they were built as temporary accommodation and the vast majority of them have already disappeared. Many were built as prefabricated kits bought from builders merchants. They were quite often dismantled and moved to new locations so one building may have served several communities." Your piece of information for today.

Today probably won't be any more exciting. It's 11:00 a.m. and I am going to put my rain cape on and go back into town to see if they can tell me why my mobile phone isn't working. Yep, £15.- and I can't even call locally. I had to use my Blackberry phone yesterday and, at a $1.00 a minute, it's not conducive to long conversations. Then Sheila and I are going into the larger town of Weston. I've finished one of my books and only have two more. They won't get me through the evenings in Scotland next weekend so I'll look around Smiths. Come to think of it though, those charity shops in Burnham have secondhand books....