Another treasury on Etsy!

Hey! I'm in another treasury on Etsy!

How cool is that?? It's amethyst goodness this time; just in time for February birthdays...

Etsy is going apace for me. I've been doing a lot of work on getting pieces made, tho not as much as I'd like. Unfortunately, a lot more time looking for any kind of work at all out there in tech land. :(

Temporarily, I've had to give up the cool studio. But it is only temporary. I still have (for a tiny fee) the use of the torch, and I have been scurrying around in the basement like an ant getting my self reorganized to do everything else. Maybe the "bench" will be ready today??

Etsy Treasury time!

How very cool! I made it into my first Etsy Treasury! It's Etsy Treasury West, and mmm. Peaches and cream. Go there! Do! It's easy...

Etsy is coming along apace for me. There are so many goodies there, an embarrassment of riches. One has to DO something to get noticed with all the super lovely things there. Hey. Plug time!

Etsy Treasury West
felicitouscreations - my Etsy site.
And don't forget: Strawberries and Cream, my very first Etsy treasury!

Yay me! Yay Etsy.

Is there life after London?

Oooh. Good question. IS there life after London?? Well, I have managed to create a flickr account where I posted the (thousands!) of pictures from my trip. Believe it or not, I went through them all BEFORE I posted, and culled thousands more... I had so much fun. 2 weeks after I got back, I was definitely ready to go back. Too bad I'm completely out of money. Anyone out there with a big box of money they don't want?

Hah. Didn't think so. Oh well. I participated in a (very) impromptu jewelery fair. Some (ok, quite a bit) of trepidation and a great deal of education was involved. Alas, not much selling. Still, it provided a big jump start to organizing my pieces, and getting them "sale worthy". Since then, I've added the pics to my flickr site, AND I've started a little store on Etsy! Hurray for me. I've been making loads of new pieces; the amethyst necklace below is pretty fresh. I got the stones at a bead fair after I got back. The chainmaille bracelet is in the same style as the gold-filled one I've been wearing for quite a while, but with thicker, smaller rings, and narrower.

Well, and it's tax prep season. That's not really life, more like hell. Really, if I were not COMPLETELY out of money, I'd go back in a flash.

One nice thing I started after I got back is the very nice line of saw-pierced earrings. I've got a load of designs, many of which I drew after I returned.

I had made quite a few of my early ones into practice pieces in copper. This last set I made into very thin earrings and pendants in sterling silver. Very labour intensive, but very, very pretty. Some of them have quite the Craftsman flavour. Well, I DID spend a lot of time in the V&A and the BL...

Some of the copper practice pieces are also destined to become items, but first I have to do some very boring paper work, and also create a little system to put sales in. I'll be sorry later if I don't do that pretty soon.

Last hurrah

Well, last meal and pint at the Devonshire Arms. Wouldn't you know it. A burly, heavily drunk Polish lout, who had no English, was hitting up everyone in the pub, male or female, attempting to communicate in horrendous pidgeon. Finally his son (with equally execrable English, but not nearly as polluted) managed to get him out the door. Dragging him. Your one was on the bar, and thankfully refused him more drink. He remarked later that an affectionate drunk and a belligerent drunk were not very far removed, and I agreed with him completely.

My little excitement for the evening. Or so I thought. Back in my room, I meet my temporary roommates - three giddy Swedish college girls with no room manners whatsoever, but quite friendly and basically harmless. I go to do my internet thing. Can't register for tomorrow's flight. Eek. Bank accounts - all quiet on the western front. Blog. updated. All set for the morning.

Says I.

At 3 am, the 3 giddy girls giggled their way in. Trying to be quiet, but I heard them laughing and singing in the halls. Then coming in and trying so hard to be quiet. Sleep was hopeless in any case, because the particular bed I had been given had all its bolts showing through. Or that's what it felt like. I laughed and said I wasn't asleep. So then they giggled away out loud for another while. By and by, everyone got to sleep. I got to sleep.

At 6:30 am, the fire alarm went off. Oh, it made a mighty din (or is that djinn?). My three Swedish girls were highly confused and very, very asleep. One's phone alarm had gone off about a half hour before, and that had woken me, so my brain functioned enough to say "that's the fire alarm and we must all leave the building NOW". We did. Spectacle of full house of semi-comatose hostellers staggering down the stairs and out into the street in various states of disrepair. I remembered to grab my wallet and my key, and I did manage to pull on a pair of trousers and find a sweater jacket, but of course all my electronic gear was in my laptop bag, locked away.

A few others out there had brought out their cameras with them when they exited, and were taking pictures of the fire engines and firemen doing their thing. More entertainingly, they were taking pictures of all the hostellers milling out on the street at what still felt like the middle of the night. In addition to the fire alarm, the hostel staff had also gone through the building pounding on every door and shouting "fire alarm - leave the building!". Despite that, at the end, I saw a couple of heads poking out of upstairs windows, looking around, clearly wondering what was going on. Some people can sleep through anything. Probably still quite drunk. If her mates hadn't been there, the girl above me would have. We had to shake her to get her out of bed. She couldn't figure out the whole dressing thing, so she just wrapped her self slowly in the army blanket we are all supplied with and made her way out in that.

We were eventually let back in the building. Either a false alarm, or the firemen figured out what the problem was. I got to the room and found all three girls sitting forlornly on the floor outside the room. Apparently, I was the only one who had remembered my pass key. Everyone remembers different things. Actually, I remembered where everything was, but decided that I didn't have time to locate them all. So I did not go for the laptop bag or the boots. Though I probably should have.

After all that fol de rol, there was no way I was going to go back to sleep again, so I got up and took my laptop down to try and check in online for my flight. No dice. eek squared. So I decided to check out as soon as I had finished packing and try to sort things out at the airport. I did. But of course, I was there way too early, and so sat in stages at Heathrow. Stage 1: wait till I could check my bag in. Stage 2: go through security and wait till my flight gate was assigned and up on the board. Stage 3: wait till my flight boarded. Not auspicious in general, considering what my usual luck on returning flights usually is.

But once all that business was done, the flight went splendidly. I have another chance-met companion as a seat mate; Paula, wife of programmer, home-schooler, art tour guide in Italy, likes science fiction, and is an excellent conversationalist to boot. Other seat-mate; Andrew, a web-programmer from England (photograph of plane wing courtesy of him). Excellent! Extra bonus? An awesome flight attendant - Chris Vinall. Now that REALLY makes a change!!

I am currently sitting in the Seattle airport, waiting for my flight to San Francisco. And then to bed.

Nearly home

Today, the time changes - now "fall back" to daylight saving time. It is raining (alas, just as the forecaster said it would). Ben, the man who minds this hostel, very kindly organized a ride for me to the train station in St. Austell with Andy who does the brunt of the cleaning. Last worry gone. The hostel experience has been most satisfactory. If I were travelling alone again, I don't think I would hesitate to consider the hostel route first.

Hey ho. Vacation nearly done. I've now been on the train since 1:45 pm. It is nearly 4:00 pm. We are in Exeter St Davids, having passed through much excellent Cornish and Devonshirean landscape. Apple trees bursting with fruit, Dexter cows placidly grazing their way through the fields. Sheep, ducks, geese, hens, rivers, lakes, and other assorted fine landscape features.

On my way to London, where I will close out all the loose ends of this most excellent vacation.

Over and out.

Walking and dreaming in Cornwall

The weather forecaster is currently batting 100%. The day is supposed to be cloudy. It is. I decided to have a walk around a bit of the coastline, as it was not expected to rain, and the soil had dried out a little bit since the rains of Thursday. There is a pretty long walk that circles around through Mevagissey, but since I'd been to Mevagissey, and had no particular desire to make that a destination again, I decided to head Gorran Haven way instead, and stop more frequently for photos, food, and sketching. I walked down the lane to Hemmick Beach. Lovely. Windy. Some very fine ominous looking rocks just off the coast. There is definitely some fractal action happening here. The cliff sides also were peppered with holes, cavelets, inlets. I could see some particularly favoured bits of coastline becoming the hangout for a gang of smugglers. In fact, my whole time in Cornwall was fueling my imagination with romantic stories (mostly gothic) set in ye olden times. Blustery weather, weather-beaten houses and people, sailing boats, remote ominous looking stately houses. Narrow roads and narrower paths marked out by generations of sheep and cattle herders. The sky lowering over all, pressing down upon the insignificant little people, bending forward in the incessant, unfailing wind. Walking back at night, the wind worries through the trees and grasses, wailing and wuthering. The houses are stout, and you can't hear the weather through the windows and walls mostly. But as soon as you step outside, down comes the sky on you.

I did one sketch at Hemmick Beach; then the wind got to me. So onto the "Cornwall Path". Up and over the beach on a steepish path that fortunately was not too muddy. My poor boots are finally getting a beating. Between the daily walks to the bus stop, the rain and the mud, they are looking distinctly the worse for wear. The view very quickly becomes spectacular. I cross paths with a gent of undeterminable age walking sturdily with his dog, wellies and a stout stick. Clearly a native. Though one never knows. My foreignness sticks out here like a thumb, albeit not a terribly sore one.

After one larger livestock gate, I met up close and personal with a small group of horses; about five. They were standing in the narrow path looking at me with a most intelligent gaze, though that is surely anthropomorphising. Lovely fellows. I told them so, as well. This must be pretty fresh pasturage, as on the other side of the fence, there were a pack of cows quite close. When I got within spitting distance of the horses, your one on the path switched his tail and sauntered off to the side with his group. I have to say I am glad I did not have to scramble off the path around the horse, as the path was not only narrow but quite close to the edge of the cliff. I took a number of pictures of them, and one of them came out tolerably.

Through a number of cattle gates, the path I am following swings up and over, near the edge of the cliff. Goodness. That is higher than I usually like to be. The view is beyond spectacular, and I can barely keep my camera still enough to take pictures; the wind is blowing now without surcease. I am taking pictures of the long views and the individual plants. I hope that some of them will come out, as I would very much like to make some sketches of this scenery; maybe even a watercolour. The path keeps on climbing. According to my map, I should be heading for Dodman Point, and Dodman Cross; the highest point on the Cornish headlands at 400 (feet? meters? must check...). Dodman Cross was erected by Pastor Martin to both commemorate all the sailors who perished off this notoriously perilous bit of the coastline, and also to provide some visual landmarks to sailors. Though it seems to me a lighthouse would be a more useful landmark - particularly if it had a light in it...

Be as that may. As I wend my way up the path, periodically avoiding massive cow pats, I head into areas of the path that are grown up on either side higher than my head with hedges (perhaps over stone walls) and hemming the little path in. Above, the increasingly overcast sky combines with the closing hedge to provide a most satisfactory feeling of dismal and desolate wildness. To complete the picture, I see between the opening of the lane a large house off in the hills. Probably a farm, but I am transported to some gothic novel, where the hero/heroine is struggling through the foul weather, slogging through mud and rain, and greeted by an ancient, semi-ruined old abbey. Or maybe castle or family home. They engage in suitably gothic activities, punctuated by howling wind and rain, incidental violence and lust, and fraught with anxiety and uncertainty. Great stuff!!

In due time (not nearly enough time for my fervid imagination to finish going wild) I do round the point. There is a very handy series of markers and plaques that are part of the National Trust system; wooden stakes with an acorn symbol that denote the scenic path, and metal enamelled plaques that name the region that you are entering/passing through/leaving. Dodman is marked by both. Dodman Cross is suitably grim. The clouds certainly help. There is a somewhat bleak inscription around the base of the cross. I hang out there for a bit, taking pictures and admiring the very long way down to the rocks. Onwards.

Once turning the point, the wind starts to ease off a bit, though as the path twists and turns about the hill, the wind will curl around and give me a bit of a spin. I pass through several fields (and cow gates) and see the wide sweeping arc of the cliff. Below, Vault Beach. In the distance, the harbour of Gorran Haven and my destination.

Gorran Haven is a bit bigger than Gorran Churchtown. Both are part of St. Gorran Parish, though the two are spread apart a bit. It reminds me a bit of Crosshaven, though I did not see any ramps or other devices to facilitate getting boats into the sea. There must be some other system. In Myrtleville, anyway, the ramp facilitated the sea spume into flying halfway up the hill to the Cork road on a stormy day; sometimes as much as a mile up the road. Although the weather was still cloudy and windy, there was no major sea activity going on. Not really winter yet, anyway. I came down the path into the village, passed by The Mermaid (a coffee and tea place), and started my usual yawing maneuver to locate Chute Lane, where the Llawnroc Inn was supposed to be located. I did in fact locate the Llawnroc, and located the ale of my choice there. The pub had an outside patio (for smokers and others) with a fine side view of a street full of picturesque houses. I am actually feeling quite warm after my jaunt over the hillside, and the pub (it being mid-day) is full of noisy, silly tourists. I opt for outside. My pint, a bite to eat, and my sketchbook. There is one other gent outside with his pint and a cigar. I sketch away in peace (and cold) for about a half an hour. Lovely. Every so once in a while, someone will come out to join the gent in the "leper's colony" as I hear him call the smoker's patio. Some trivial event occurs, and we get to chatting. Right! Here is the last chance-met companion of my journey, I think. His name is Gawain, I estimate he must be in his early to mid sixties, though he looks quite a bit older. Cornwall weather is not very friendly to face and figure. Certainly not in as good shape as Tony, that's for sure. A very nice fellow, though. Moderate liberal, two sons, married, doesn't smoke at home; enjoys his pint and cigar at the pub. He is mad about sports, follows all the games and variants. He is a business consultant, though in the direction of accounting rather than computer systems. Educated, literate, amusing. After I finish my sketch, he buys me a pint, and we engage in the conversation that all such chance-met companions must to establish their mutual credentials. Much like Peta.

Finally, it gets cold enough. I offer to buy him a pint (I've had enough! It is cold!!), and go inside. One of his sons arrives to collect him (clearly deputized by the wife), and that is that. I finish my pint in a leisurely way, and chat with the "second shift" of drinkers. Ah, just like the good old days...

It is starting to get a bit dark before I finally wend my way back to the hostel. I have a couple of worrisome moments, as I turn the wrong way twice on my way out of town. The usual "Felicity has no internal GPS" issue. How come I had no difficulties at all with directions in the country, and I get into a new city/town, and I immediately lose all sense of direction? In any case, before the light starts to fade entirely, I have found the first set of cross-meadow footpaths, and am back on familiar territory. By the time I reached the last narrow road to Boswinger, it was quite dark. I had my last deja vous moment, as I was transported back in time to the last bus to Crosshaven dropping me off at the crossroads, and walking down the road in the pitch dark to the house I was staying in in Myrtleville. Old times.

Heligan Gardens

Today started a bit cloudy, with minuscule drops of rain. This all cleared up by 10 am-ish. This was good, because I spent the day at Heligan Gardens. Pronounced Hel-LI-gan, with the emphasis on "LI". Gorgeous gardens, no formal plant signage, though plenty of map signage to find your way about the grounds. The gardens are set out on the general principals of the layout when the gardens were at their peak - just prior to WW1. The owners of the estate, the Tremaynes, were a very wealthy family, who had a couple of estates, this being their primary. As many very wealthy families of the day, they had found or purchased plants from all over the world, and had turned Heligan into a botanical showplace. During and after the war, they seemingly completely lost heart in keeping the gardens going, and first let the house as a hospital for wounded soldiers, then for general use as a staging ground for soldiers heading out to Normandy. After the war, the house was leased out, and the gardens left go to the wild. Some 75 years later, the group of people that were to end up restoring most of the garden to its original state started clearing the grounds. This all began in about 1991. The very old trees and shrubs were left, and any plantings that were original and still alive were pruned. I signed up for the guided tour of the formal grounds. Graham, our guide, was amusing and most informative. He described the wilderness state that the entire property had come to, with the brambles 10 feet high, and only rotted remains beneath of glass houses, pleasure rooms, grottos, tools, pretty much everything.

Now, the gardens are a great pleasure to see, with the Victorian vegetable gardens, the massive rhododendrons (which would be in spectacular bloom in spring and summer), the restored melon house, bee boles, vine house, and a host of others. In the spirit of keeping the best, but also creating a dynamic, living and working self-sustaining grounds, the staff have added a saw-mill, live-stock, and are working on forestry. Part of the research that had to be done to bring the gardens back to the pre-1900 state was to figure out what the original varietals would have been. After a somewhat rocky start (finance-wise), the gardens have taken off. Much of the produce used and sold in the cafe and shop are from the gardens. Graham said that the general consensus of the staff was that the flavour of the old vegetable varietals was much tastier, with better texture than the modern varietals. With the exception of the peas.

My big bonus of the day was meeting another "singleton" lady - Peta - who (as it turns out) is mostly my age, with mostly the same interests as myself. Art, fashion (well, the jewelery part anyway), literature, beads, people. In any case, we hit it off immediately, and when I suggested that I needed to start thinking about getting out to my bus stop, she suggested we could spend the afternoon seeing more of the garden, and perhaps have dinner. What's not to like?? Chance-met companions can be ever so much more diverting than pre-arranged; something like surprise gifts. So we cavorted about the garden; first with the organized tour, then through the grounds. Peta enjoys random encounters (oh, and I don't?) - she will engage anyone in conversation, including the lady at the grocery store to inquire about the comparative qualities of the bottled water. Hah! Good fun. The rest of the afternoon we spent in Mevagissey (which the next day's chance met companion described as "Sin City"), where the sun did not desert us; the weather continued mild, sunny and perfect through the night. A leather goods store, a knick-knack store, and (whoops!) a bead store. No book stores. I had already declared my addiction; and was firmly led away from the only bookstore we passed. Pfff. I'm sure it wouldn't have been any good at all... Not to mention a walk around a picture perfect harbour, complete with lighthouse. Afterwards, into St. Austell to meet up with two chance-met acquaintances of hers, from her B&B, for dinner at the local pub. Mussels in wine sauce, VERY nice bread, wine, and an extremely noisy hen party. Note to self: do we have hen parties in the States? Am I missing something?? Frankly, even if we do, I think not!! And, yes, she drove me back to the hostel in the evening; returning before the witching hour of 10:30.

Altogether a MOST satisfying and enjoyable day.

Eden Project

Today promised rain from the beginning of the day (a promise that was realized fully before the end of the day). I had already decided that today would be my trip to the Eden Project. On the whole, I'd say that was the best way to spend the day. Most of the activities I'd like to engage in whilst in Cornwall are outside tramping. Today was not the day for that. Cold and blustery and overcast from daybreak. The walk to the bus stop was not so bad, and the buses came pretty rapidly on the way over. Coming back? phew. Now that WAS just like good old Ireland. The rain drove at me like freezing little missiles. The jacket barely kept out the rain. My jeans were drenched before I got back. Also, I had to wait a full hour before the 526 to Gorran Churchtown arrived. Still...

The Eden Project was fantastic! Well, anyone who knows me already knows that I am very fond of gardens. In fact, I adore gardens in direct contrast with my disability to actually grow things. I love botanical gardens - I have started collecting them. So far, The Arboretum (San Francisco) UC Botanical Garden (Berkeley), Rose Garden (Berkeley), Hortus Botanicus (Leiden), Kew Royal Botanical Garden (London), University Botanic Garden of Cambridge (and many more whose names escape me) and now The Eden Project. The Eden Project is sort of a cross between a botanical garden on drugs and a gigantic working kitchen garden - with an attitude! Of course, the first thing you see are the very high profile biome domes of the rainforest and mediterranean climates. These are on all of the literature for the Eden Project, as well as their website. They do not disappoint. What you don't really realize from the website images, is how much space the Project uses, and how Japanese garden-y it all is. There are many little areas that are complete in themselves. You can walk from area to area, and each one has its own distinct flavor. This is true even in the biomes, but I thought it was especially true in the outside areas. There is a "wild Cornwall" that will even have a hillside that is its own area. I think part of this comes from the whole concept of the Project. The Eden Project as a whole has a vision. But various groups of people within the project have their own sub projects they have engaged in. This gives (to some extent) a slightly different flavor to each of the areas. A dry stone wall in the wild Cornwall area that has surprising little slate or metal sculptures incorporated within the wall. A hemp field that has a spiderweb like fence woven of hemp into various curious geometric shapes. A set of bacchanalian sculptures in the wine grape area. A dahlia garden - gorgeous! They were all still blooming, and perfectly. I have never seen such healthy specimens. Also, there were certainly some flavors of dahlia I have never seen before as well. I could go back a few times and never see everything. Of course, that was true of Kew as well. That is the sad part of this vacation for me. Even though I have had five weeks, and have tried to concentrate on things, I have wished in several instances to go back, and I've had to curtail that. Well, it was either repeat trips to the British Library or Kew or the V & A, and now the Eden Project...

I finally decided at 2pm that I was starving (!) and went back to the rainforest biome to eat. mmmm. Cornish pork pie with mashed potatoes (with some sort of seed in it; I should figure out what, they were delicious), red cabbage and carrots. And gravy. A tart. tea. yum.

Over lunch I was thinking at myself in my customary fashion. I do the question and answer, interrogatory style of thinking, frequently, where one part of my brain is interrogating another part of my brain. This time it was the usual question: "What was the best thing you saw?". The answering part of my brain said: "I can't answer that unless you allow me to say at least what were the ten best things I saw.". The questioning side agreed to that.

Right. So not in any particular order:
1. The construction of the biomes
2. The giant heart-shaped palm with semi-translucent leaves that showed a marble-like pattern
3. The bacchanalian statues
4. The switch-backs in the open air gardens
5. The dahlia garden
6. The waterfall in the rainforest biome
7. The "WEEE" man
8. The giant bee sculpture
9. The bamboo house
10. Do I really have to choose? It was all great.

Well, coming back to the hostel, I did get very cold and wet. However the shop in Gorran Churchtown was open today, and I got tea and milk and an apple. I am sitting at a table, with light and a place to plug in my laptop. I had my tea and apple here while I tip-typed away. I am dry if not entirely warm. I can hear the wind "wuthering" outside while the rain beats down. I have my various toys all surrounding me; laptop, camera, notebooks, sketchbooks, pens, pencils. I can leave everything sitting here unattended while I pop off to go get things from the kitchen or go to the bathroom. All the people at the hostel for the last few days have been couples or pairs - all older folk (not feckless 18), one couple quite a bit older from Denmark doing a semi-walking tour of the Cornish coast.

Tomorrow I will either go on an extended walking tour of the area, or I shall go to the Lost Gardens of Heligan. I'll wait to see if the promised brilliant weather materializes.

I've been reading a curious little pamphlet that Leigh Touhy (of the Devonshire Arms) gave me before I left for Cornwall. I have no clue why he had it; it is a series of aphorisms composed by W.H.Auden, published by an odd group called Antaeus, and it's sort of self-contradictory. Auden is bouncing between a fairly cynical socialist perspective, and what appears to be a born-again Christian perspective. Well, if you had met Leigh, you would understand what I am talking about. An excellent fellow. Great craic in the bar. But Auden? I did ask him, and he said someone had given it to him some time ago, he hadn't gotten around to reading it, and he thought I might like it. And he thought it was time to pass it on. Well, I am liking it, and reading it.

To Cornwall on the train and by bus

I am tootling down the countryside on the London to Penzance train. The sky is blue, the sun is shining, the business manager dude is nattering away to his presumably long-suffering IT manager elsewhere, and I don't really care, because I still have 5 days left of my vacation.

Extra bonus? If I do not have internet access, I won't have any last little RenCenter or PTCRA work dribbling in through my email.

I'm on my way (at last) to Cornwall and the Eden Project. I expect some issues with connecting transport from St Austell to the hostel. It's about 9 miles, as far as I can tell. There is a bus (the 526) from St Austell (hopefully leaving from the train station!) that goes to Mevagissey. And through to Gorran Haven. And - theoretically - there is some way of hopping off somewhere near there and being close to the hostel. Boswitch. Or some such. I have it all written down. Yeah. I did look it up, and it's Boswinger. Boswinger. Better remember that

So here we pass through some flat (Surrey? Sussex?) countryside somewhere west of London. That's grand. No pictures yet. That will be happening. I had a look at the guide book again, and it looks like Lizard Point might be a pleasant (more than pleasant) to stroll around. I have already acknowledged a dozen times over that I can't possibly visit all the places in London, let alone in England, that I am interested in. So I must stop trying to add bits. I've been pretty successful so far cutting myself back and going back to the places I am interested in that I have been to.

Yesterday was funny day. Coming back from Cork to London almost felt like coming home. I don't know if that is funny or somewhat scary. Maybe not "home" in Piccadilly per se, but home like relaxed, I know what I'm doing, where I'm going sort of "home". The last time I felt like that was after living in Cork for about a year. I wonder if Tony would ever consider moving to or near London. I sincerely doubt it. I was sitting on the train from Heathrow listening to some woman rambling on about how the place she was staying was so appalling, she couldn't have her parents there, and what was she going to do, and how was she going to pay her bills and how could she round up enough money to move to another flat, that she had to do these things. In fact, she never stopped talking to your man.

Cork was actually a bit dreary this trip. Wet and depressed, pretty much all around.

I think the woman on the tannoy who keeps saying "buffy" is actually saying "buffet"...

Later.

I did eventually arrive at the hostel in Boswinger. There was some truth in the note in the guide to England that remarked that the hostel was remote and difficult to get to. At least the weather was good; because the backpack feature of my bag was not particularly useful. Perhaps it would have been had I not had so much other stuff I was schlepping around. The next time I decide to use the bag as a backpack, perhaps I should actually test drive the pack full...

In any case, I arrived at the hostel not too much the worse for wear. The countryside is nearly unspoiled. There is actually a village called Boswinger, but as far as I can tell, there is nothing there but a slightly greater concentration of houses/farms and a Methodist church. There is a nearby larger village (or perhaps two?) - Gorran Churchtown, which has a church (big surprise) and a shop/post office and a moribund pub. Hmpf. Also the bus stops there. The other is Gorran Haven, where the bus also stops, and by all accounts there are pubs (and presumably shops). Looking out over the houses, fields, farms, and sea, I am reminded of Ireland 30 years ago. Mind you, I think the structures in Cornwall are a little better maintained. Or just maintained. The thing that always struck me about Irish building practices (for the last 500 to a 1000 years), is that they only got one chance to build the structure. Whatever happened after that was up to the weather and whatever skill the builder had. I have never seen so many ruined bits of old buildings. Some got built upon, some just gradually became one with the land again...

This does not really seem to be the case with constructions in Cornwall. Not a lot of ruins, or ruinous houses. Although the ravages of the weather and time are present (as in the state of the Gorran Parish Church), the buildings are all being used, and usable. The roads are just as narrow and terrifying to walk on. Mind you, the Cornish drivers (at least the ones during the day) seem to be somewhat less random than their Irish counterparts.

I like the hostel very much. It's quiet (possibly because of the time of year - late October). It is, in fact, remote. It is very well maintained. It is attractive. It is clean. The room is comfortable. The beds, although bunk beds, are much less like army cots. I do like the duvets much better than the army blankets...

Cambridge and other parts

A little catch-up here. The last week or so has been almost entirely "internet free". I left my hostel bed (after three weeks it was feeling positively like home!) and went to spend a pleasant few days with Dervilla in the King's Cross area, then a few pleasant (rainy) days in Cork.

I did pay my farewell respects to the British Library. Oh, I'd really like to take that library home with me. Aside from the obvious aspect of lack of permission, I fear the shipping would be quite beyond my means. I did mention the fact that I would quite like to have the library myself to one of the young ladies working there, and she allowed as how she rather liked the library herself, and that they would be keeping it. Oh well.

I strolled the canal that runs down the back of Camden Town and parts. In the morning, it is very pleasant, with dog walkers and bicyclists. Dervilla and I walked back via the canal Sunday evening, and it was quite a different story. Camden Market is a trip! Quite the walk back in time, but without the walk back in time prices...

Cambridge

In and around strolling the canal and Camden and attempted library acquisition, I took the train to Cambridge for the day. The weather held fair for the day and I had a lovely visit with Dervilla's sister Erina and her husband. In and around lunch at The Eagle, I strolled through Cambridge's delightful Botanical Garden, in and out of Trinity College, the backside of King's College, and the Fitzwilliam Museum - a gem!

I paid a (smallish) fee to stroll through the hallowed grounds of Trinity. There were only a few places that I was able to go; one of those places was definitively not the lawn. Goodness. The perfect lawn. Of course, no-one is permitted to walk on the lawn. It is quite obvious to me that this law is observed entirely and strictly. There are no worn bits, no bits of litter, no doggy contributions. It has been mowed in perfect alternating stripes. One could stand for hours and just admire the grass...

But on. It was very easy to trip over my feet walking about Cambridge (more so than usual, anyway), because I kept looking up - at the marvelous, over-the-top Gothic spires, gargoyles, statuary and other assorted architectural furbelows. Gracious. Here is a town to go to school in.

After lunch, a short guided tour of King's College. This included a stroll down to the Cam to view the punters, down the back side to Queen's College, and past the Mathematical Bridge. This bears the excellently historical urban legend that it was originally designed and built by Isaak Newton without bolts. In any case, it was not available to cross by such plebs as myself.

I finished up my Cambridge day with a quick (for me) dash through the Fitzwilliam Musuem. The highlights were: a splendid little armory, an entire room full of floral still-life paintings, and an excellent special exhibit of Georgian gold ("Gold of Colchis").

Camden Town and Camden Market

Well, you don't really need me to rave about how trendy, how charming, how popular Camden Town and market are... So I won't. They were. That was fun!

Dervilla and I also strolled through Regent Park that day, rounding out my visit to London to perfection.

I'm coming back to London. That's all I can say.

Cork

I flew off to Cork to spend a (very little) time visiting with the rest of the family. A very pleasant reunion! It rained most of the time (no surprises there), but I was comfortably ensconced in their house in Glanmire. I blogged Cork extensively before, but that blog (Goliard Dream) has long since vanished into the Great Blogyard in the Sky...

Back to London over night. Today; off to Cornwall. Pictures will be taken. Internet may or may not be present. We shall see.

(mostly) Parks of London

Hamstead Heath and Highgate

The weather has gone back to being mild blue-skied autumn weather. Very nice for me. I've gone and caught a little cold - not surprising living with a varied assortment of souls in different states of repair. So, out of the museums and into the fresh air!

Hamstead Heath is the most "natural" of the parks of London; it is also a ways out. Past Camden Town. The wind was blowing through the trees, a sussurus of a sound. It was the middle of a working day, so the park was quite unpopulated; dog walkers and runners.

On the other side of Hamstead Heath is Highgate, and Highgate cemetary. Passing through Highgate on the way to the cemetary I found a charming church, St. Anne's. Like pubs, there are churches everywhere. All old, all charming.

Highgate Cemetary is, of course, where Karl Marx is buried. Also George Elliot, but her grave does not get quite so much press. I did find them both. I am settling for a picture of his grave, because I could not determine which his desk at the British Library would have been (well, it would have been the old reading room, anyway). And even if I had, there are no pictures permitted in the library.

Highgate Cemetary was nearly deserted when I visited. It was very, very quiet and peaceful. Long green-arched paths lined with doors and stones and urns and obelisks. Very peaceful indeed. And memorial benches conveniently placed at intervals so one can sit and hang out with the dead.

Buckingham Palace and Surrounds

Buckingham Palace. Right, like Trafalgar Square and the Tower of London, it must be seen. I saw it. Very impressive. Well, the Queen is not to home right now (she's at Windsor Palace), so very quiet there. Still, very impressive. I particularly liked the Lion and Unicorn statues on two plinths of the outer gates. There were a number of disappointed people milling about, because there was to be no changing of the guard today.

Never mind, I was not there to watch the guard being changed, I was there to take pictures of places and visit parks. So I was happy to take some pictures of the palace, and find - huzzah! A statue of Willingdone. WITH his marmorial tallowscoop. Picture included, of course. An extra bonus? The accompanying statue liberally dripping with bird droppings AND the pigeon...

Wellington Arch and the Cavalry

Me and things that can be climbed. I walked through the Wellington Arch. That was fine. As you pass through, however, you see a little sign that invites you (for a fee. It's London, after all...) to climb to the top and see the sights. So I did.

I saw: the Queen's tennis court, a thousand small people, the London Eye, the palace, all the statues, the Queen's Gate, Hyde Park, buses, cars, guards, many things. Then I hung out for a while, as the cavalry was due any hot second. Well, any hot minute.

Right on schedule, they paraded through. I photographed them! Just for the record, it was the night guard being changed; an hour later, they paraded back the other way, in their day uniforms. A fine sight, if somewhat anachronistic.

Hyde Park

Hyde Park is an excellent institution, as are all the green spaces in London. London is actually quite blessed with open green spaces that are in regular use. Considering how busy and crowded a lot of London appears to be, it is no harm at all. Before I visited Buckingham Palace, I passed through Green Park - so called because there are no flowers there at all. There is a story that the Queen of one of the Georges was so annoyed that he would pick the flowers from the park to give to his latest paramour, that she ordered all the flowers in the park to be uprooted. It didn't do her much good (in that her King persisted in paramours), but it did give the park its name, and a nice salacious story to go with it.

Hyde Park is the largest, most visited, and quite the loveliest park in London proper. There is a rose garden. There is a jungle. There are fountains and statues. There are vast vistas of lawn with trees peppered about. There are concessions and benches and lamps and lawn chairs. There is the Serpentine with ducks and swans. There are innumerable walks and paths. Altogether a fine thing. Incidentally, English roses are just as pretty as American roses...

Soane Museum

I did not entirely spend the time outside. I did also visit the Soane Museum; a sterling example of a private home turned museum. There is no photography there, or I would have peppered this journal with my pictures. Library, paintings, Roman relics, and some very fine architectural models (he was a renowned architect in his day). It was worth going around a couple of times, but I arrived near closing, and they can't let the next batch of people in till the previous batch are leaving.

Ah well. I got the book...