By Rick
December 31, 2007

[This entry is the last of a series. One may wish to start at the beginning.]

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.

By Rick
December 30, 2007

[This entry is part of a series. One may wish to start at the beginning.]

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

By Rick
December 29, 2007

[This entry is part of a series. One may wish to start at the beginning.]

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