DAY TWO HUNDRED THIRTY SEVEN - the last of the Fawltys

Spent another morning sorting, Becky on another beach run. (Yeah, I’m envious, too!) In the afternoon we went down the couple blocks to town and did the whole Weymouth shops thing - charity and otherwise. It was a lot of fun to have someone to do those kinds of things with. A lot of my experience on this sojourn has been by myself – which I’m fine with, it’s just that sometimes it’s really good to have a friend!

 Had to be home in time to dress for my last Fawlty Towers dinner that begins at 6:30 – that’s okay because pretty much every shop in town (including the national chains) are dark and empty by 5:30. Becky got to witness (and that’s a perfect term for it) the whole Richmoor Hotel Fawlty Towers thing. You’ll have to ask her what she thought – I’m guessing she’ll say, ‘Cheesy!’ Funny, because if you go by what the news articles say, you’d think the performance was headed for London. (See below.) It was also the VERY last time I will deliver some steaming hot fried food to a table or get gunk on my fingers from picking up a dirty plate or get reproached for having done something wrong. Awesome - well done! 

DIGITAL SPY – Feb 11

A struggling hotel has introduced Fawlty Towers theme weekends, taking inspiration from the '70s sitcom.

Hit by the recession, manager Lorraine Godwin - who plays the part of nagging wife Sybil Fawlty - enlisted the help of her son Tom to play Spanish waiter Manuel and boyfriend Andy Hillier as Basil.

Godwin, 51, said: "Andy is so good at playing Basil [that] I think if a producer comes here and sees him in action, he could end up in the West End. "Basil will often pick on people but [the guests] love it."

Those staying at the Richmoor Hotel in Weymouth, Dorset are treated to Basil's insults as well as staff messing up their food orders, searching for an escaped rat and moving a fake corpse.

Godwin added: "When Manuel's rat turns up in the cheese and biscuits, we've had women screaming. Luckily, it's not a real rat."

The themed weekends have been a success for the hotel, and the establishment is planning to hold them more often.

“Fawlty Towers is here in Weymouth” TripAdviser 10 April 2012

The only thing going for this pitiful hotel is the location. There isn't a proper space for parking the car. Customer service skills is zero. Rooms are a joke. Entertainment is for the living dead. The bar prices are not cheap as they claim. The only slightly good thing is the food which is served in a cheap basement conversion. I have never complained about accommodation but on this occasion i just couldnt ignore it. I will never be going back to this hotel even if they payed me. And i would not recommend it to my worst enemy! Pay a bit more and get a decent place to stay. [See what I’m saying – this is dated almost a year before ‘we’/they began doing Fawlty Towers, and they STILL went ahead with it! Crazy!]

  

GroupON  12 Feb 2013

The Richmoor Hotel  Doffing its cap to the traditions of the English seaside, The Richmoor Hotel surveys the blue swathes of Weymouth Bay from its Esplanade position and delights its guests with live entertainment such as its 'Faulty' Towers nights

Doffing its cap to the traditions of the English seaside The Richmoor Hotelsurveys the blue swathes of Weymouth Bay from its Esplanade position and delights its guests with live entertainment such as its 'Faulty' Towers nights. 

The Hotel

Retaining its original Georgian style, this refurbished seafront hotel spreads an array of modern amenities over four floors. Stately canopies welcome guests in to the hotel, where home-cooked fare is whizzed up by chefs in Shelley's Restaurant and a well-stocked traditional bar keeps glasses topped up. Located close to the beach, guests can kick back on the lounge's comfy sofas after days filled with seaside wanderings.

The Entertainment

Quiet evenings will be perked up with belly-shaking laughter and live entertainment, as three-course meals are served up by the 'Faulty' Towers gang. The themed skits will be performed by much-loved characters, and take place on each night of the stay.

Hotel Address

The Richmoor Hotel, 146 The Esplanade, Weymouth, Dorset, DT4 7NP

Buying Options

Stay for two

In a double or twin en-suite with full English breakfast each morning and a three-course dinner each night

·        £89 for a two night stay (Up to 56% off)

·        £149 for a three night stay (Up to 50% off)

Reviews

 TripAdvisor (116 Reviews)

The Richmoor Hotel earned an encouraging 3.5/5 stars from TripAdvisor users. While some encountered a wait for service, the majority of reviewers found personnel helpful. The comfortable rooms, seaside setting, flavoursome cuisine and calm public areas attracted further praise.

 This is Dorset 9 Feb 2013

A Weymouth hotel has taken inspiration from a well-loved TV show to create a ‘Fawlty’ experience.

The Richmoor Hotel on the Esplanade has been booking in the laughs and cooking up a storm by taking inspiration from TV show Fawlty Towers.

Guests have been treated to a hotel stay and dining experience with a little something different – from a ‘health inspector’ talking to ‘Basil’ about the state of his hotel, to ‘Sybil’ and ‘Polly’ trying to keep everything running smoothly and ‘Manuel’ trying to find his escaped pet rat.

The skits are all part of a light-hearted weekend break or dining experience. The ‘staff’ said they took inspiration from moments and characters of the popular show and ‘ran away’ with them.

The Echo was shown one of the scenarios the staff performed where they got one diner, Nick Bourne, to pretend to be a health inspector and ‘Basil’ and ‘Sybil’ tried to sort everything out – while diners clapped and laughed along.

Owner of the hotel Loraine Godwin, who plays ‘Sybil,’ said that visitors and guests loved the idea and people had left comments saying what a great time they had.

She said: “It’s hard work but it’s such fun.”

She said she had been thinking about doing a theme weekend for years when a friend put her in touch with Andy Hillier, from Bristol, and the pair chatted about it.

Mrs Godwin said her friend told her Mr Hillier was a ‘real John Cleese character’ and that if he ever ‘let loose’ in a hotel it would be like Fawlty Towers.

Mrs Godwin said: “He can be very over the top.”

Mr Hillier joked he was ‘press ganged’ into playing ‘Basil,’ and said it was great fun interacting with the guests and other ‘characters.’ He said: “It takes on a life of its own – people expect the outrageous.”

He added: “People love to have fun.”

Audience participation is actively encouraged and a sense of humour is a must.

The pair, who are now a couple, said they had only done a few themed weekends but they had gone well and everyone had enjoyed themselves.

 DAILY STAR 11 Feb 2013

A HOTEL which began holding Fawlty Towers weekends in a bid to beat the recession is being deluged with bookings.

Comedy  fan Lorraine Godwin came up with the idea after struggling to get guests to stay at her seaside establishment.

She plays Sybil Fawlty while boyfriend Andy Hillier takes the star role of Basil and her son Tom is put-upon waiter Manuel.

With the help of friends they put on skits based on classic episodes of the sitcom  at The Richmoor in Weymouth, Dorset.

And the 27-room hotel is now booked up weeks in advance as fans of the show flock to the resort. Lorraine, 51, said: “I’m a massive fan of the show."

[I wonder what Loraine did to get this posted?!]

Ez a legvacakabb szálloda

Posted by Hirszerkesztő/AMT on 2013 február 16 - 5:11

Szándékosan udvariatlanok és gorombák a vendégekkel, mégis remekül fut a szekér.

Sikeresen működik az a brit szálloda, ahol a személyzet szándékosan pokrócként viszonyul a vendégekhez és meglehetősen gorombán bánik velük, ám emiatt a világ talán legvidámabb szállójával szolgál.

A Weymouthban lévő Richmoor Hotel tulajdonosnője, Lorraine Godwin természetesen a Waczak szálló (Fawlty Towers) című brit vígjátéksorozatból vette az ötletet. A személyzet igyekszik minél hűbben igazodni az eredetihez annak másolásában. Godwin fia alakítja Manuelt, az angolul alig tudó spanyol pincért, akivel mostohán bánik mostohája, nevezetesen a nő élettársa, gyakran csépeli – ám csak viccből.

A játék interaktív, a személyzet bevonja a vendégeket, akiknek nemigen vannak normális elvárásai a kiszolgálást illetően, mivel tudják hova mentek “vendégségbe”, sőt, éppen azért mentek oda. Nem csalódnak. Rendeléseiket rendre összekeverik, a menedzser – a tulajdonosnő párja – állandóan beleköt a vendégekbe, bosszantja őket, ám nem bánják ezt, sőt, kifejezetten igénylik és szeretik.

Az estek fénypontja a patkány, amely Manuelé, és amely sajtok és sütemények közül bukkan elő. A patkány nem igazi, a női sikolyok viszont igen – adta hírül a brit Metro újság.

And this all the way from Hungary – when, oh, when will this ball stop rolling – and where?!

 And you thought you had escaped from all this Fawlty Towers folderol – aha!

Talked to Leah in preparation of our visit next week. Oliver was intent on speaking with me – seems he needed to tell me something very important: he has come down with chicken pox!  For fun!!

 Photos_

1- Basil and Manuel – John Cleese and Andrew Sachs (German-born British dude acting Spanish) Did you know John Cleese, now 73, is 6’5” tall?!

2- Basil and Manuel – Andy and Tom

3- The whole Fawlty cast (just found this photo online – I knew it had been taken (I WAS there!) but I’d never seen it.

DAY TWO HUNDRED THIRTY SIX - scientific discoveries

In the morning, Becky took a run along the beach, while I lazed around and did some things I needed to do – brr, too cold for my liking. After breakfast – we skipped the ‘full English’ variety – we had the ‘opportunity’ of changing out our room. (It had not been changed for us the night before – don’t know about Beck, but I didn’t care.) Loraine said, ‘no, you won’t!’ But I convinced her it would actually be fun for us – an experience. After that, and more ‘sorting,’ we finally got out the door around 16:00 (military time, you know) for our day’s walk on the beach – we were on the search for fossils, here at the Jurassic Coast. (We actually found some – petrified oysters {gryphea dilatata – also known as devil’s toenails, we discovered later, from a friend – more about John Dadds later} in the mucky clay. Who knows – maybe there’s a petrified pearl inside!)

We went several miles east, down the beach. Too bad we got such a late start because eventually we went up from the beach to the grassy cliffs above, where our walk began to be an actual hike – where also, after not too long, we unfortunately began to lose the light  . . . AND the wind was blustery and cold. (Funny how winter never did catch up with me until several weeks before Becky arrived. Then, the day we left it was one of those days I’d been bragging about to her – where all you needed to keep warm was a hoodie jacket!) Darn it, we had just begun a fantastic adventure – the surrounding terrain looked every bit as much like the moors as you could imagine! I guess I’ve read plum too many English romance novels_

In the evening I participated in 20 minutes of Polly before my favorite Sunday School teacher, Paul Dadds, picked Becky and me up to have dinner at his and his wife, Carole’s, home for dinner – also Sisters Woods and Boman. They had just gotten back from a day trip to London to pick up Sister Wood’s visa at the British consulate (she’s from Preston, you may recall) so she can FINALLY get to Idaho where she has supposed to have been all along. As for Sister Boman, I will be seeing her at my front door sometime this summer when she returns to her studies at BYU. 

This is one of only a very few times in all the months I've been here in England that I've been invited to a proper English home for dinner. The meal was delicious - everything very tasteful. Got to know Carole as I never had before: another awesome friend. She has been devoting a great deal of care and time with Paul’s parents – especially his mother as she has in the last few years developed Alzheimer’s. A very difficult situation:  they are working with these stalwart, long-time members of the branch to try and convince them that a care home is the best choice for everybody – tough for all parties concerned.

As they are both artistic – and never been able to have children –Paul and Carole have been able to develop some really interesting hobbies. For one, they showed us the miniature house they’ve been working on for years now. (It is a three-story house set in the Victorian period, so fantastical I can hardly describe it – down to the minutest detail. For example, Paul, who is a graphic designer by profession, has made guild-framed pictures for the wall that have the images of Carole’s great grandparents – no larger than a third of an inch. The furnishings, the people’s clothing, as well as the accessories for the people AND the home, all are miraculous. I could have studied the interior rooms for hours. It was astonishing!) Also Paul showed me his awesome stamp collection – my favorites were the British stamps. (Good thing I don’t go for THAT anymore – stamp collecting – the cost can add up FAST!

That good boy, Jack – he gave us his bed for the next two nights (pretty generous) while he took the couch – till guests leave on Sunday afternoon and we move into the largest room, space-wise, the hotel has – on the ground floor, the one with the bath, where I will get all my stuff sorted before heading up to Birmingham – and from there, ultimately home.

Photos_

1- devil’s toenails – pearls, anyone?!

2- the first and ONLY time I ever saw this_

DAY TWO HUNDRED THIRTY FIVE - home to mouth of the River Wey

The three of us – in Malcolm’s rental car – picked up his brother, Stuart, at Heathrow around 10, and took off immediately for home – Weymouth.  With me and Becky in the back, it was a perfect place to observe a little sibling interaction. (Till the day we die, it never goes away, you know – even when the players are all grown up.) Stuart, who is the younger of the two, gently – and subtly – teased/harassedpoor old Malcolm on a regular basis along the way as we drove. (It was when we were alone together, later, that Malcolm revealed that though he was the older brother, both Stuart and his dad had teased and belittled him {As smart as he is, Malcolm struggled, and struggles, with some definite learning disabilities.} quite shamelessly through his growing up years. Oh, those triangles – I know how they work, and they are deadly! Made me very sad for him, because he is an awfully good guy. You would think treatment like that would cause you to turn out to be NOT such a nice person.) That said – and I learned it subsequently – Stuart was a pretty amazing gent himself. (A reminder that both Malcolm and Stuart are Scottish, with wonderful brogues.) He married an American and has been living in Connecticut for years. He is a retired college professor, I believe. He was very well-spoken and interesting.

One potty stop, a little look at Dorchester as we drove through on the way home, the having dropped Stuart off at Malc’s home, our local guide took me and Becky to a place he  had been wanting to take me for weeks – a little country hamlet called Little Bredy (said like Breedy), much like stepping back in time. (With the exception of those who live there {maybe six or seven families} automobiles are prohibited from driving down the sloped lane into the area, to help keep the magic.) It was lovely:  fields and old farm cottages in the rolling Dorcet countryside – its own little community, with its own church and everything. There was an old, enormous manor home, as well – still lived in by the lord of the manor (most of the property remained in the hands of the family) – though we could not trespass close enough to see it well. Malcolm told me that the branch used to come here for outings – back in the day when times were simpler, life was kinder – before he was divorced and kids grew up. (Little Bredy was all very much like the old feudal system I studied in my History of England class back at BYU before coming across the pond – very much like out of the past. Cool!)

As we neared our hotel destination, I asked Malcolm if he would please drop us off near the bird preserve, where, with Jennifer, I finally had had a chance to make use of my binoculars! From there we began our walk home – Becky’s first introduction to my seaside home, Weymouth – first stop to Aldi, my all-time favorite grocery/everything store (Can you believe they actually have Aldis in Tennessee where Becky lives . . . AND it’s the very same store?! She just never goes there because it is too far away to make it convenient. I first came across it in Independence, Missouri, introduced by Jenny, and now I’ve been there in Amsterdam, as well. Boo – regrettably, we do NOT have them in Utah!)  – to get us some provisions for the next couple of days that weren’t fried or full of fat. Then, having dropped our bags off at the Richmoor, we took a little evening stroll through town in the waning light. (Didn’t buy anything, of course, because, as Becky soon learned, the shops/stores had closed for HOURS!)

For that one night we got to stay on the topmost floor of the hotel, in the room of my chosing – because of its incredible view of the ocean. (Of course, as you know – if you’ve done something similar­ – it’s dark when you arrive and by the next morning you want to get out and about, and honestly don’t spend much time sitting around admiring the view! Oh, well, such is life! It’s the thought that counts – right?!) We stayed up WAY too late babbling away, just like a coupla tweeners at a sleep-over.

[Oh, man, I remember running back and forth a million times that night – between our hotel room on the 3^rd floor (four floors up, if you’re counting American style!) to the main floor, down the flight of stairs into the private areas/heart of operations of the hotel, through the kitchen, then into the Godwin house, up two more flights of stairs to my bedroom over there, and then back again! We kept needing different little things . Boy, I sure did get my exercise that night!

On one of these excursions I had run to get my binoculars:  Becky had been peering out at the black sea (what you could see of it) and suddenly exclaimed, ‘I think that’s plankton out there – see? There on the crest of the wave? It’s glowing! I’m sure that’s what it is – Ray and I have seen it before!’ I passed Loraine in her lounge, vegging – something I hardly EVER saw her do – and as I ran past, I told her what Becky had discovered. ‘Nah, sorry – it’s the lasers. It’s green, right?’ Yeah . . . it is. As I dashed back, wheezing through the door, as I had just broken the sound barrier hurrying to get back to have a gander at this proposed phenomenon, Becky said sheepishly, ‘sorry, it’s gone.’  Well, great! It seemed the city had invested in laser lights to produce a magical night show on the sea during this past summer’s Olympics – when sailing had been the event in the local harbours and drawn in the crowds.  I had seen the towers, but never made the connection. Haha – the joke’s on us.]

Photos_

1- Dorchester - a gorgous medeviel town (close, within our branch's boundaries); Becky will attest to the fact that this site is in no way unusual in England - in fact, quite common
2- In front of one of the cottages in Little Bredy; (Connell told us that existing homes that have thatched roofs have lost the option of doing away with them or not, and are now required by local law to maintain them – no matter the expense {they do disintegrate over time due to the elements} – due to policies of British heritage. How about that?!) I know we look a little dodgy– chalk it up to Malcolm taking our picture before giving adequate warning

3- the Lord of the manor’s church, to which all the peasants were invited – the way it was (still in operation)

4- where the streamlet runs through the rock arch and cascades down along its course (you can barely see the arch just above us on the left) - these are a perfect example of exactly why when people say, 'here' let me get you in this one.' Thank you, no, I just don't fancy being in every single picture. I just really happy to get a shot of what it is - and that's it!

5- view from the other side, with a different perspective

6- mystery of the plankton solved!

DAY TWO HUNDRED THIRTY FOUR - how Plan A became Plan B and then reverted back again

During the most recent Singles Convention in Weymouth I made a new friend in Connell, a single man who lives outside of London in a suburb called Guildford (the ‘d’ is silent), who had said he’d be very happy to take me and Becky around when we came to town. Great – that’d be awesome! We corresponded a teeny bit for several weeks, but then as the date approached, I never heard from him. Boo! In the meantime Malcolm’s brother was coming from America for a family wedding and he was travelling to London to pick him up – a day later than Becky was arriving, wouldn’t you know?!

Not having heard from Connell, I talked to Malcolm about what he thought about coming down earlier the morning of the day he was coming to London (to stay the night in anticipation of his brother’s early arrival the following morning) and spending the day with us – in other words, taking over as tour guide:  he was game! I had chosen the hotel I did as it was where Malcolm was staying (and had previously) – a known factor. (It was a ways outside of London, near the airport actually, but I went for it as I had gotten such a good deal – plus Becky and I could drop our luggage off very soon after connecting at the airport and get on our way into town. My original plan had been for us to have half a day that first day, the night and then the next day before travelling back to Weymouth late afternoon/early evening – probably by train. But after discovering Malcolm could give us a ride back home if we were still around, we opted to stay over a second night.

Back to the day before – moments before I left from the hotel to catch the coach for London, I happened to check my emails, one last time, and wouldn’t you know it – there was an email from Connell, saying sorry for the miscommunication, had just found my email, etc., ‘very much planning on showing you guys around.’ Great - as I had just barely given up and made arrangements with Malcolm! (Would have much preferred Connell’s company as London is his stomping grounds, and also I’d had many opportunities already to spend time with Malcolm.) I called Connell on the way to London, confessing my regret, that as I had not heard from him we had lined someone else up to escort us about. He said, ‘okay – well, how about if I come in early and we get some breakfast together?’ (before Malcolm was to arrive later in the morning.) ‘Sure, let’s plan on that!’

Had a nice comfortable overnight rest at the Comfort Hotel, with the morning expectation of connecting with Malcolm there sometime between eleven or twelve – but first breakfast with Connell. Good thing he gave us a call saying he was on his way, because it was earlier than we had anticipated and we hadn’t even begun getting dressed. For once, hurrah for traffic delay! In the meantime we got a call from Malcolm, saying he’d been in a ‘crash-up’ the night before, that his lovely pink Honda was out of commission. He was fine but would have to rent a car to get up to London, and therefore, wouldn’t be arriving till early evening. Hhm. ‘Hello, Connell, this is Debbie. Remember how you offered to show us around London? Well, how would TODAY work?!’ (How about that? We had now come full circle!)

So when Connell arrived, we did NOT go out to breakfast, but sat in our room, and Becky and I shared the vittles we’d brought with us – cereal and milk, fruit and juice. (Those Florences – they are ALWAYS prepared!) And Connell was available – AND willing – to give us his day – just hadn’t come prepared with the right shoes or coat or gloves or hat – so our first stop, once we got going, was to the charity shops! (I know, I know – it was a sacrifice, but I went there anyway! What’re gonna do? :) We had studied the map of London and had more ideas about what we might like to see –plus Connell went down the list of possibilities, as he knew them. (‘Yes, we’d both seen the Tower of London, Big Ben and West Minster Abbey.’ Becky had been to England 15 years previously when she and her husband had picked up the first of their four missionary offspring – Ray Jr, from the Birmingham England Mission.)

Besides all we could cram into a single day, I said there were a couple things I REALLY wanted to see and share with Becky – to take in a bit of London’s lovely English gardens/parks (pretty open on possibilities there) and secondly, to enjoy the splendor of St Paul’s Cathedral (very specific in this instance). It is wondrous to behold – besides it’s always fun to imagine the bird lady of Mary Poppins’ fame standing on the Cathedral steps, feeding the pigeons. A couple of other things we considered – though they never did happen – were taking a barge ride down the Thames (but then you mostly only get to see sites that are right along the river) and visiting Greenwich (pronounced Grenich), home of Greenwich Mean Time and the Meridian Line – where time begins and ends for the known world.

After loaning Connell my long-sleeved shirt and scarf (never did get them back), we were off in Connell’s car for the outskirts of London . . . AND outer wear for him from the charity shops. We parked the car in a carpark in Wimbledon. (Ever heard of that place?!) You should have seen that Connell whip us around the Underground – oh man, your head would have been spinning! (At one point Becky misplaced her day pass and, even though she explained her situation till she was blue in her face had to purchase a new one. Ugh!) We could not have done and seen all the fantastic things we did without the expertise of our personal escort, Connell - a perfect, and patient, companion for our day of exploration.

Of eight royal parks and gardens situated throughout London­, covering over 1975 hectares (whatever the heck those are!), St James’s Park is the main one we strolled through today – us and a LOT of other people, plus plenty of water fowl. Those peripatetic Canada geese seem to be found everywhere, all over the world – definitely here! As lovely as a park can be in the winter, I was completely surprised to find that the elements of my own Cannon Hill Park, very near my old lodgings in Birmingham, that I frequented often, was every bit as stupendous as the renowned London examples we walked through today (we also took a look in Hyde Park, known for its Speakers Corner, where early Mormon missionaries took advantage of that location’s acknowledged invitation to stand and state ones’ beliefs).

We also DID find our way to St Paul’s Cathedral. Oh, man, what a mouth-dropping edifice – inside and out! The incredible thing was that we showed up 10 minutes before a performance of their evensong service was about to begin (evening Anglican service of Bible readings and prayers prescribed in the Book of Common Prayer). How fortunate was that?! We were directed into the furthest choir seats, if we wished – from where we were privy to an astonishing view and sound. 

At another point during our wanderings, we suddenly found ourselves close to the Thames (pronounced Tems), as it winds through London, near one of its many smaller bridges. (Why not take advantage of that?!) We walked up some steps and onto the smaller suspension bridge, to peer down over the side. Pretty spectacular – the river, especially right there in the middle of one enormous teaming city. Towards the end of the day, after innumerable transfers on the Underground to bring us back to where we started – all credit to Connell – we found the car and began ambling our way back towards the hotel. In one London neighborhood/borough (said burə) called Southall – known by its epithet, ‘Little India’ – the high street led us through row after row of Asian eating establishments. I said, ‘Say, this looks promising – how about if we eat here! I’ve been wanting Indian food for the longest time.’ Screetch! I surmised that the restaurant with the most customers would be the best indication that theirs had the most authentic, sumptuous food. (‘Course all you fire-breathers out there will say, ‘hah, how can anything be considered authentic if you dumb-down the heat?!’)

Having parked and started out by foot on our quest for the perfect dinner, we walked past one place that had all kinds of colorful Indian sweets on display behind glass counters. (I had never had Indian sweets before – hadn’t really ever even SEEN them before.) I suggested, ‘how about if we go in and just have a wee look.’ Turned out serendipitously to be ‘The RIGHT PLACE!’ though there were only two diners inside. Oh, my gosh, personal attention to the max (which the owner kept reminding us we would NOT have gotten at the other, more commercial places). In fact, Dilip (rhymes with ‘Felipe’), the extremely friendly owner, kept bringing out small servings for us to sample, to get an assessment on our ‘heat’ tolerance, plus treated us to a number of full servings of some of his specialties. (He even sat down and talked with us while we enjoyed his food – at one point got on a diatribe about Indians and Pakistanis, and we began to wonder if there would ever be an end to his explosion of emotion) Before leaving, as I went to sample some of the sweets, and purchase several, Dilip (who joked about his marriage during dinner, and I could never tell if his remarks were said in jest, good-natured like, or meant flippantly, realistically) said teasingly while I was up at the counter by myself that he would be happy for me to be his sixth girlfriend. I’ll never know what part of the things he joked about he intended seriously – or not.

Back in ‘Comfort’ we said goodbye – and thanks! – to Connell (during our time together he said he would be happy to show me some sites in France before I left for home – an unbelievable offer at the time, but, believe it or not, with the time I have left in England rapidly ticking down, I can’t honestly imagine fitting such a trip in – sad!), went up to our room and then checked in with Malcolm to make sure he had arrived okay – he had. One amazing thing about those two days of convivial felicity was that it did no more than sprinkle just a bit and the temperature was even halfway decent. (Wish, oh, wish you could all have been there with us, but . . . it is not yet the end of the world!)

[It dawned on me much later that if Becky hadn’t come to visit me in England, I would never have had this awesome opportunity to revisit London during my present sojourn!]

Photos_

  1- Happy 5^th birthday to ‘my Charlotte’ – Chloe’s artwork on its way to the post box       (pic on desktop)

  2- After the crash-up - with Malc, the perpetrator ('Hello, insurance adjuster?)

  3- bundled-up Connell - in my long-sleeve puce knit shirt (covered up), the cotton woven shirt he arrived in, Becky’s hoodie, a charity shop jacket, my scarf, and the lovely thrift beret Becky and I had to talk him into (looks like it was made for him, doesn’t it?!)

  4- St James’ Park – as seen in a more brilliant season

  5- spring visitors to the gardens

  6- St Paul’s Cathedral exterior – amidst the London skyline

  7-8 St Paul’s interiors (the first showing into the iconic dome - the other down the )

  9- evensong at St Paul’s (we are sitting next to the girl in the photo – the youngest members of the choir can be seen in the center)

10- bridge over the River Thames – the London Eye (huge Ferris wheel built to commemorate the millennial year – gives spectacular views of London, as you can imagine – 25 mile vista, for approximately 15 minutes) to the left – the Tower (of London) to the far right

11- three friends – same location 
12- Tube mates (with exhausted commuter)

DAY TWO HUNDRED THIRTY THREE - to London, to London, to visit the Queen (but first – the National Express)

Left from the hotel for the coach ride I had arranged a couple days before – National Express (much like Greyhound Bus lines, these travel between specific points, north, east, south and west – mine was headed for Heathrow airport) – a little less than 30 minutes before its scheduled departure at 9am. It was reassuring to see that a number of persons were also there waiting at the designated spot near the Pavilion when I got there. The majority of us were part of the ‘pipe and slippers’ brigade. Unlike the first time I came to Weymouth on the Super Bus – for the singles convention in November – I had the proper confirmation print-out. (Happily you learn things as you go along.) The travel time was to be 4 hours 40 minutes – Becky was arriving at noon and I wouldn’t be there until 2, but that was the earliest it went that day. I supposed it was all the stops that would turn an average 3-hour drive into almost 5. (It wasn’t until we were invited to disembark for a 1.45-hour layover at the coach hub in Bournemouth, having travelled for less than 45 minutes, that the reason became apparent. What’re gonna do?!)

Our small group was pretty excited to be going on a trip, translated to mean everybody was being especially amicable and talkative, and just like always, as soon as someone heard me speak, the question was where was I from in the States? When I answered Utah, the driver himself, sitting in front of me, chimed in, ‘that’s where Salt Lake City is, right?  It’s known for two things, you know’ – the obvious one and . . . the salt flats. That second one surprised me – I thought it was going to be something different than that. I added, ‘and there’s one more, of course – the Osmonds!’ Everybody laughed at that – because, as I’ve said earlier, it’s true! Everybody in the UK seems to know the Osmonds. I said, ‘of the three, I was one – and it wasn’t the salt flats!’ The driver, who drives back and forth to London most days, mentioned he’d been seeing billboards, as well as the sides of buses, that said ‘The Mormons are Coming,’ and wondered if we were having a convention or something. I was pleased, and surprised myself somewhat, to have a ready answer to his query:  the Tony award-winning musical was to about to open in London – this very weekend, in fact.

Our first stop was Dorchester (said Dorch.ə.ster), lovely old country town, famous now for its association to the well-loved British author, Thomas Hardy. There we picked up several persons, one an Afro-Caribbean man, dressed cleanly in ordinary, work-a-day clothing – I will add that there was something different about him. He had about the same amount of luggage I had when I flew to England – two enormous luggage pieces and a good-sized carry-on. He brought the smaller one into the coach with him and seemed especially protective of it. The driver started gently at first, and then more forcefully, insisting that the man would also have to stow it with rest – that due to its size, if we were in an accident it was sure to become a dangerous projectile. It almost got to the point of being an uncomfortable scene – the driver saying we would not be able to continue our journey until the man complied. Always polite and calm, he eventually agreed, though reluctantly, taking what seemed like forever to extract his ‘important papers,’ as he called them. He sat on the opposite side from me, on the front row, kitty-corner from the driver, and was often on his cell phone for much of the first while.

For some reason for which I am unaware, I felt compassion towards this man – there was something especially dignified and regal about him – so that when we alighted in Bournemouth I offered to help him pull one of his larger cases into the station by the strap. If I hadn’t he would have been forced to leave part of his luggage unattended while he got the rest inside, and vice versa. And then in an unspoken agreement we each attended to the others’ belongings while the other went off briefly – me to the loo, him to get coffee. We chatted off and on a little during this interval. He was the one who helped me know exactly to which terminal Becky’s Delta flight would arrive – important because that was what determined which coach number you would take from this point.

When we boarded our connecting coach, he asked if I would mind if he sat next to me – I thought that promised, hopefully, to prove an interesting conversation. He had revealed in the course of our communication that he had lived in England for many years now, and was on this occasion headed back to Nigeria for a week’s visit. Astute as I am (that’s a joke), I said that I bet I could guess something about the contents of his suitcases. ‘Seeing as how you’re only going for a week – plus you’re a MAN, who are known typically to pack especially light – I’m going to guess that the majority of what you’re bringing is NOT for you, but for others.’ He chuckled and agreed – at which point the driver, immediately in front of us, having obviously been listening in – rather rudely, I thought, joined into our private conversation, and said, ‘it’s gold bars – that’s it. That’s what you people do.’ We ignored that prejudiced comment, and went right on chatting. At one point I asked him in what type of work he was, to which question he allotted he worked in a hospital.  I imagined him humbly going about his janitorial or other menial tasks, performing them to the maximum possible level.

When we got to Heathrow, once again I stayed with his luggage while he went to get a cart. We walked a ways together down the terminal corridor, until our paths diverged. As we parted we exchanged pleasantries – he wished me a lovely visit with my sister; I wished him a joyful homecoming. One of the last things he said to me as we went our separate ways, in a quiet aside, was that he was a surgeon there in Dorchester – shedding light on his reluctance to part with his smaller carry-on piece, as well as the probable contents of his other suitcases. I felt a bit in awe, plus somewhat sheepish for my own imaginings – and also experienced a renewal of the disdain I had felt towards others for their looks and actions towards this meek, unobtrusive  servant of the people.

Similar to the situation of meeting Andrew at Schiphol in Amsterdam, where neither of us was familiar enough to know exactly where to say to meet, for us sisters I guessed at the Delta check-in desk, Becky’s airline, as the best possible location – and, in the end, it was a perfect choice. (It turned out that Delta had more places to gather besides near the check-in desks, so we waited 50 feet from one another – separated by some paneling – for over 30 minutes. Silly!) She was travelling light – you go, Beck! –  so as soon as we connected – following a few big hugs and exclamations – we were ready to head out.

Following the usual pattern – asking many questions of many – we located and caught the Hoppa Hotel shuttle bus to the Comfort Hotel – the British contingency of Comfort Inn, smiling big all the while. (The cost was £4 each, for a ridiculously short ride. By the time we had finished going back and forth on it, our total ended up costing the two of us practically £25.) By the time we got settled in our room, we found it had gone 4 oclock. I kicked around the idea of us just staying in where it was warm, cozy and predictable (scaredy cat!), and then we decided, ‘what the heck, we’re here, let’s go for it!’ – meaning GO INTO LONDON, and all by our lonesomes! We had to wait for the Hoppa to come around again (another 4 quid each) to take us BACKwards to Heathrow where we could then catch the Underground (aka the Tube); specifically, the Piccadilly line – called so because it leads to Piccadilly Circus in the middle of the city – the only one that comes all the way out to Heathrow. (Some others include:  Bakerloo, Central, Circle, District, Hammersmith, Central, Jubilee, Northern, Victoria, and the Waterloo.) It was the one sure, quick connection to get us where we wanted to go. And we were happy for its reliability - plus it’s fun (I think!), and telling, in a big city to ride on public transportation.

At the tube station we picked up a map of the Underground –  it can easily be considered somewhat complicated (www.tfl.gov.uk/assets/downloads/standard-tube-map.pdf). I was pleased with my attempts at getting us around (mostly I’m a whimp) AND happy to have someone along to help make decisions, including making adequate sense of that CRAZY map! ( There are umpteen things to see and do about London, and they are scattered a fair distance apart. (You know we missed loads of things to enjoy, but, oh, well, we did it and that was good enough for us!) By this point, the day – and daylight – would soon be waning, so we needed to make the best use of our time. To make a long story short, we got off at the Piccadilly Circus exit and walked through the streets till we found Piccadilly Circus itself. (Just imagine, without my repeating it every other sentence, that it was two days of asking strangers a million direction questions!)

This large public space is similar to Times Square in New York, with lots of large neon-lighted structures. A ‘circus’ in Latin means circle and is a round open space at a street junction – in this case major roadways circumnavigate the space, sort of like a giant roundabout. We also came upon Trafalgar (all good Englishmen would drop the ‘r’) Square (another expanse, though not round this time ,with museums and government buildings surrounding it - a major tourist attraction I had been wanting to share with Becky (www.guardian.co.uk/uk/2009/may/29/trafalgar-square-fountains-reopen), one of the city’s most vibrant open spaces, full of many renowned features – Nelson’s Column with its beautiful fountains and four massive iconic lions; The National Gallery, with the adjoining National Portrait Gallery (one of my all-time favorite museums composed of portraiture alone, many of which you would recognize, having seen them in art books all your life (we chose NOT to visit museums at all on this trip – not Becky’s favorite thing to do, plus they do eat up a chunk of time), plus St Martin-in-the-Fields, a landmark church and London’s premiere concert venue.)

From here we walked along the Strand, an open street/walkway area, that eventually turned into the Mall – a long series of greenbelts, parks, etc. all which culminate into the extensive grounds of Buckingham Palace. We passed first near the gigantic Admiralty Arch that until last year housed government offices, now last year sold in a 125-year lease for redevelopment into a luxury hotel. On the way back we took a peak into the famous Kensington Gardens – as it was now dark. We could just barely see back through the glooming to a lake with water fowl. After a long day I was past feeling too brash, and thankfully so, as our guide informed us the next day that, by law, gardens and parks are off-limits after dark and by entering we could have landed ourselves in jail, or at the least risked the chance of getting arrested. What?!

Say ‘What?!’ again when I tell you where – of all the fine establishments, in one of the major capitals of the world – Becky and I chose to dine:  Pizza Hut! (You know, where I ate in Stratford upon Avon!) Well, at least we can claim it was Pizza Hut’s European cousin . . . And they didn’t even have their pizza buffet going for dinner – the whole reason I had pushed for it in the first place - but they DID have a salad bar. We were both really famished by then . . . and plus, we really LIKE pizza. (What can you say?!)

After our nice, satisfying, and ‘safe’ dinner, we meandered around some more, in the glow of the lights – contented to be together, proud to have gotten ourselves around in that magnificent metropolis, taking full advantage of this ‘once in a lifetime opportunity.’ As we were wandering about, enjoying the unique sights and sounds of the city at night, we came across a long stairway leading up towards some large statuary, to which curiosity drew us. When we reached the top the landscape became flat and we could see, not too far off in the distance, many bright lights and major buildings. This foray serendip-itously led us to Leicester (pronounced Lester) Square, center of London’s cinema industry and gateway to the theatre district – a perfect spot for people watching, and there were tons of college-age persons hanging about, having themselves a good time.

Eventually we found our way to the nearest Tube stop (they’re everywhere), went underground and figured out which of the lines to take to get us back to the Piccadilly line, landing us ultimately again at Heathrow, from whence we ‘hopped’ the Hoppa one last time, that took us safely and securely to the faithful ‘comfort’ of our waiting hotel – two contented and spent travelers.

When I looked back at the end of the day – that I got myself to London, found a decent, well-priced hotel, connected with Becky, and then took us into the heart of the city – and back again! – I felt a definite sense of pride. For me it was NO small accomplishment and . . . (also, for me) not easy. It took courage to do those things . . . and I am happy to report, it had all turned out brilliantly!

Photos_

  1- my fellow travellers
  2- shot of Weymouth Bay – while we waited

  3- the 035 – all aboard!
  4- Piccacilly Circus

  5- most famous of the Piccadilly Circus landmarks - statue of Eros

  6-7 Trafalga(r) Square
  8- what Trafalgar Square was like back when I first visited it - before governmental measures

  9- Admiralty Arch

10- Victoria Memorial in front of Buckingham Palace
11- waning light in the city

12- night life for the country girl

13-14 Leicester Square