• Jo May

From Ripon to Nipon

This trip could be called “Three Countries, Two Birthdays and An Anniversary”. Read more
  • Trip start
    August 20, 2025

    Flying JAL to Tokyo Haneda

    August 21 in Japan ⋅ ☁️ 32 °C

    Very comfortable flight, good leg room in economy. The food was very good too - unpretentious and tasty. They did not try to do bread or pastries. Hallelujah. Arrival at Haneda smooth. That’s the first time I been fingerprinted. Interesting.
    I watched Bridget Jones. Mad about the Boy. 3 stars from me but a veritable feast of talent made it a fun romp. Sally Phillips just about stole the show.
    We both watched A Complete Unknown. 4 stars, probably more. A great watch for baby boomers of a certain ilk ( ie folk type people & Dylan type people).
    Onwards to London tomorrow…
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  • Airplane Agonistes 2

    August 22 in Japan ⋅ ☁️ 29 °C

    The night in the Royal Park Haneda was very satisfactory - a good shower, ability to be horizontal (which is all the body wants after economy seats for 9 hours or so) and sweet solitude x 2. The Royal Park is in Terminal 3 so very easy to access once the inevitable customs/immigration/baggage claim things have been negotiated.
    Up at 6 straight to the airport, and onto our aircraft, an A350 configured with 3x3 seats. Ugh. We were in the middle 3 with me in the dreaded middle seat. On my other side I sat next to a ninja warrior who barely ate, slept with mask on and black hood over her head, and only visited the toilet ONCE in the 14 + hours we travelled aloft. I almost asked for her autograph! Meanwhile Graham & I were up and down like yo-yos, ate everything put in front of us, and were awake almost the whole way.
    Our pilot flew us over the arctic and after 14 or so hours we arrived in sunny Heathrow. As usual with the ramshackle way in which Heathrow is run, we arrived early and were kept on the tarmac for half an hour while a space was made for us to park. We took a London cab to our digs and were met by the fabulous “Winks”, aka Carrie, who welcomed us and provided everything we needed for a good breakfast, including the most brilliant cob loaf of artisan bread. We love the place!
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  • Day 1 London, lovely London

    August 23 in England ⋅ ☁️ 16 °C

    Our day in 14 photographs. Sending love to all.

  • Battersea Park

    August 24 in England ⋅ ☁️ 24 °C

    A certain level of fitness (or stupidity) is required of the traveller who does not have a car. Yesterday, a walk to a park, added up to over 10,000 steps - and that included a trip on the underground home because we were exhausted.
    Another day dawned; and another park beckoned. This time Battersea Park where we were supposed to go yesterday but turned away from it to explore other park-ish pleasures in Vauxhall.
    Graham had read in the Times that 20 minutes of green time changes your brainwaves for the better. Well we thought let’s get to beautiful big and very green Battersea Park for some “ Alpha wave” cognition. 11,000 steps later we are alpha-ed out. Battersea is a truly lovely place and today there were hundreds of people, nay probably thousands, taking in the green. We walked through tree lined paths to the London Peace Pagoda.
    This lovely monument was built by monks, nuns and others and it opened in May 1985. It is dedicated to the realisation of Universal Peace. I did not know that from 1947 to 2000 80 such pagodas were built around the world by a Japanese Buddhist community.
    I also should mention that we went inside the Battersea Power Station, now a high end shopping mall, cinema and eating place - and a stunning example of how to repurpose giant industrial architecture in inventive and historically sensitive ways. Nearby as part of the redevelopment was the unmistakable architectural oeuvre of Frank Gehry in the Prospect Place apartment complex. Stunning buildings that really make you look at them. I read that his style follows deconstructivist (aka weird) principles.
    Oh and we had an expensive and beautiful light lunch at Monterre. Stunning.
    Washing and generally relaxing this afternoon. Chris and Stuart joining us in London tomorrow - how exciting!
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  • And then we were four

    August 26 in England ⋅ ☁️ 20 °C

    The last two days have been a bit of a whirlwind. Yesterday morning we welcomed Chris and Stu at our garden flat as they started the UK leg of their holidays. Dripping Italian elan and having seen many wonders of the Italian world in their month in Rome, Florence, Ravenna and Bologna, they quickly began to acclimatise to the seedy charms of good old London. They know London well and I suspect, the city has the feel of a home away from home for them as for us. I call London “the mother ship” because this city really dominated the way Australia was configured from the earliest days of colonial expansion. We know the English as only former colonials (or servants) can.

    So, having stowed their bags, we had a nice walk in the late summer sun and took our lunch at the Portuguese restaurant Estrela just down the road. They left for their digs over by Farringdon once the apartment was ready, and we had decided to meet up for dinner at the Sir John Oldcastle Pub, a Waterstones pub. So good to have family, our own people, close by!

    Today we met at the British Museum. We had all been there before but I was especially wanting to look at the Sutton Hoo exhibition in Room 41. The Netflix film “The Dig” tells the remarkable story of this archeological find at Sutton Hoo in Suffolk, and it had peaked my interest. I wasn’t disappointed. I had read that the film had utilised all of the artefacts from the dig very carefully so that they got it right.

    The British Museum in summer is crazily busy. I vow never to visit at this time again. They need to institute timed tickets I am sorry to say.

    After our exertions there, we had a healthy and tasty lunch at Farmer J. Great food! Chris and Stu then took me to the extraordinary Liberty Department Store, while Graham went off to the pub for a quiet pint. Now this Tudor building holds all kinds of highly priced luxury goods. I was looking for Atkinson’s Amber Empire perfume but alas none there. As it was we bought nothing but it was tremendous to see how the other half shop!

    Tomorrow Graham and I have a tour of the “Palace of Westminster” aka parliament. Lots of bucket list items being ticked off on this trip.

    Go well everyone!
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  • To Westminster & Don’t Spare The Horses

    August 27 in England ⋅ ☁️ 19 °C

    Today we had booked the self guided tour of the “ Palace of Westminster” aka the Houses of Parliament. We thought that this would be best since we could stop and sit whenever we needed to without having to keep up with an in person guide. As it turned out the tour was fabulous with lots of extra information as well as the necessary stories and functions of the place, which are inexhaustible no doubt. Such huge personalities have strode the halls amid momentous events. After negotiating the security the tour starts in the ancient great hall. Here and in the next hall, St Stephen’s, we were allowed to take photos but not alas after that sadly when there was so much of interest to see. The robing rooms where the monarch of the day frocks up were impressive, but really the House of Lords was out of this world for gilded splendour. I felt more at home in the plainer House of Commons where the lusty debates take place.
    After the tour which took us about 90 minutes, we headed towards the Thames Embankment for lunch. We chose the Tattersall Castle, a former passenger ferry turned into a pub with amazing views. Fish and chips with a view of the river and the London Eye. Perfect!
    To round off the day I was keen to buy a book from one of the book shops in Charing Cross Road. We found “Any Amount of Books” at no. 56 and I bought a good biography of Nelly Ternan, Charles Dickens’ mistress, signed by the author no less, for 3 pounds 50. This turned out to be prophecy as well as purchase because after we got home Stu and Chris invited us to visit the Charles Dickens House Museum with them tomorrow. Of course we readily accepted! So that’s tomorrow sorted. As they say on the London underground: “See it. Say it. Sorted.”
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  • The best of times at the Dickens Museum

    August 28 in England ⋅ ☁️ 20 °C

    Today was Charles Dickens Museum day. After a short tube ride to Russell Square, we four met for coffee and then walked to the Charles Dickens Museum. The walk to the museum was longer than we expected, but led on by Stuart with Google maps, we made it in good time. On the way to the museum we passed the beautiful terracotta coloured building (now a hotel) where leading suffragette Emmeline Pankhurst lived for a time with her daughters. I was also intrigued to see a residential college called Goodenough College. For some reason the name tickled me as truth in advertising not usually seen in higher education!

    Charles Dickens is a colossus of English literature and his family’s house at 48 Doughty Street now the museum spoke to me of the warmth and creativity of this early part of his married life with Catherine and in his writing career. It was all before them.

    While living in this tall thin house of five or so floors, Dickens wrote The Pickwick Papers, Oliver Twist and Nicholas Nickleby and made a start on Barnaby Rudge. Not bad for just under three years! He made friends with William Charles Macready, Thomas Carlyle, and W. M. Thackeray. He also joined two important clubs: the Garrick and Athenaeum. And more importantly two of the couple’s ten children, Mary and Kate, were born there.

    The Dickens loved to entertain and that was well captured in the museum. There was also no doubt in the disposition of the rooms that Charles’s writing was at the centre. He was the breadwinner and after being catapulted into national fame he was a successful breadwinner. My favourite part of the museum was Dickens study with its magnificent desk where his pen flowed so freely and passionately. I mean wow!

    After the museum we headed to our separate homes away from home. The weather has been indecisive with some sunny patches, clouds, rain, winds etc etc. I was tired and just wanting to sit when I came home. The sun came out and I sat in the garden and then inside when the wind got up and read my book. This is such a heart warming place to be. I feel very blessed.
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  • Our night at the Proms

    August 29 in England ⋅ ⛅ 20 °C

    After a restful day catching up on chores (laundry etc) and generally relaxing, we went out at 5pm to have some dinner and then attend the BBC Proms at the Royal Albert Hall. The Proms is actually 60 days of special musical performances through the English summer. We had booked before leaving Australia for Khatia Buniatishvili playing Tchaikovsky’s beloved Piano Concerto No. 1 with the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra on its first visit to the Proms with Chief Conductor Jaime Martín. The MSO performed two Romantic classics: Dvořák’s Symphony No. 6 and Margaret Sutherland’s Haunted Hills. Now many years ago in my teens I had attended the last night of the Proms in Sydney at the Sydney Town Hall, but this Proms was a whole new level. Mother ship experience again.

    We took the tube to South Kensington where we found a great little Lebanese restaurant. We shared two dishes (Meze Plate for one and a serve of lamb kofta) which were so tasty. Time then to walk on the Royal Albert Hall. The inside of this place was familiar to us in Oz from seeing Royal Command performances on our TV. But coming upon the building from behind via winding streets was very special. It’s very impressive - a circular cake of a building in an angular world. The entry is set up like a clock face - doors 1 to 12, and ours was number 9. From our door entry we could see the gorgeous Albert Memorial across the way: this screams that Queen Victoria really was besotted with her German prince.

    We settled into our red velvet swivel seats with no arms and watched as the central well of the theatre filled with standing patrons, and many tiers above also filled until the auditorium was filled and finally the orchestra arrived, then the conductor and the concert got underway.
    Briefly.

    Then the shouting started. First we thought it was a part of Margaret Sutherland’s lament for Aboriginal Australians called “Haunted Hills” which seemed very avant garde and could well accommodate some angry recitative. But no it became apparent as the orchestra stopped, and the conductor looked askance that something was UP. Literally. In the high galleries Pro Palestinian protesters screamed that the MSO had blood on its hands - apparently since the acoustics from up above for us were not as good as they might be so we couldn’t make out what it was about. But those in the audience who could were not happy. Booing, return shouting, conductor leaving the stage, then 1st violinist. It took at least a full 10 minutes before order was restored.

    After the concert resumed “a capo” (from the top), with a new order of items, the shouting broke out again. Oh no we thought still none the wiser as to its meaning - but this time the staff acted very quickly and the band played on. Hallelujah. The orchestra, the conductor and our soloist all acted heroically and they played the concert of their lives it seemed to us. And the knowledgeable crowd responded in kind. At the concert’s end they clapped, they stomped, they called out. Many standing ovations later, we had a ravishingly beautiful piano encore. See her play the Marcello- Bach Adagio here
    https://share.google/gPcdzCH8l135wCwXV

    Oh Brush With Fame: saw Stephen Smith, now Australia’s High Commissioner at the concert, looking fabulous in the Silver Fox category that’s for sure!
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  • Leaving London

    September 1 in England ⋅ ⛅ 19 °C

    Today we said goodbye to lovely 322 South Lambeth Road at Stockwell. We were sad to leave this home away from home. For the last time we caught the tube at Stockwell on the Northern line that took us straight through to St Pancras where we would pick up our rental car. Everything went smoothly, aided by the lovely Giselle from Enterprise Car Rentals. We had been “upgraded” to a bigger car but Graham was keen to stick with the smaller one so we ended up with a Vauxhall Corsair in a very fetching gray.
    Aided by Google Maps we made our way out of London and two hours later - and only a couple of minor diversions, we landed at our motel for the night and the next, the Colchester Holiday Inn Express. From there we had a simply fabulous lunch at the Crown Inn - I had the two courses for 22 quid ( the yummiest salmon fish cakes I have ever had + fruit crumble with custard) and Graham had the one plus a pint.
    Later in the evening we had a downer when I discovered the second set of keys to 322 in the bottom of my bag. I felt so stupid! Mercifully Carey was happy with us sending them back by priority mail tomorrow morning. I love people like her who accept that sometimes we make mistakes. She is a star !!!⭐️
    Anyway tomorrow after we find a post office, we will tour the places my grandmother Esther Watson’s father (and his people - the Ellis family - before him) came from all around Colchester - Wivenhoe, Ardleigh, Brightlingsea, and St Osyth.
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  • If it’s raining it’s Essex

    September 3 in England ⋅ 🌧 19 °C

    The next day dawned grey and rainy, and we had one vital task before we tried to do some family history sleuthing. We went to the nearest Post Office at Ardleigh to send Wink back her second set of keys. It was a relief to get them on their way back to her. The UK has a similar priority paid post to us in Oz so we were pretty comfortable that they would get back to her safely (which they did the next day, thank heaven).

    Once that was done we were free to take up the task of exploring the countryside where my grandmother Esther Ellis’s people came from - namely Ardleigh, Wivenhoe (pronounced Wiv’nho not Wy-ven-ho btw), the mellifluously named Brightlingsea, and lastly St Osyth, all very close to Colchester, the first capital of Roman Britain.

    Seeing we were already in Ardleigh, and it was raining ☔️, we took refuge in tourism and had a good look at the magnificent St Mary’s the Virgin before examining the cemetery surrounding it. The church has portions from the 14th & 15th Centuries but was substantially rebuilt in the late 19th C. The record of rectors and vicars (what’s the difference I hear you ask, well a rector received the tithes of the congregation, a vicar did not) dates from an astonishing 1120. Inside this obviously working church, we were both impressed by its beauty and simplicity. Very peaceful and open with no one around, as it should be.

    Then to the cemetery when the rain eased. We looked at every headstone. This is a very strange activity and I found myself apologising for walking over dead folk and then reminding myself that they were actually dead and would not mind. We only found one Ellis, and we both realised that such an effort was essentially pointless because gravestones of any antiquity (before say 1850) were often blank, worn down by exposure to the elements. So my ancestors may have been there. I needed to access other records to find them.

    Even with this realisation, and the rain, we decided to stick to the plan and tour the other villages where the Ellis line lived. It would be easy to wax poetical about this area of Essex. Beautiful gentle rolling fields, still under cultivation, streams, forests, romantic seasides, beautiful villages and towns even under an angry sky. You can easily imagine why the Romans set up camp and capital there. But what made great grandfather Joseph Edward Ellis born in 1851 in Wivenhoe up stakes to go to Sydney Australia where he died in 1915, can only be imagined. How he must have missed this place! His mother Matilda (née Clarke) was born in St Osyth in 1827 in the shadow of a magnificent decaying priory.
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  • Broom Hall or Bust

    September 4 in England ⋅ 🌧 16 °C

    Because of the rain we abandoned all hope of getting into Colchester at all and just avowed that we would have to return!
    Today, after checking out, we therefore headed toward the Flatford Mill site painted so lovingly by Constable for a brief visit, but the rain was just too heavy. We had to let it go. Once again, for our next visit!

    Then it was on to Thetford in pursuit of the Watson line’s ancestral territory. Now Thetford is a fascinating town, once the sixth largest town in Norman Britain. It had a castle, a huge defensive mound, a priory, oodles of churches, and a charming central shopping precinct, with lots of friendly people. We loved our visit here where we surprised even ourselves by climbing the mound’s 100 steps to its amazing summit.

    We ended the day in Norfolk tomorrow to visit Shipdham where many Watsons lived and died. Then it’s on to Yorkshire afterwards where we can slow down for a week or so and catch our breath.

    I am reminded of the Jim Croce song about time in a bottle:

    “But there never seems to be enough time
    To do the things you want to do
    Once you find them.”
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  • A Day on the Road, then Ripon

    September 6 in England ⋅ ☁️ 19 °C

    “I remember the days on the road, tryna get somewhere
    All the time spent behind the wheel …” LRB 1976

    We have been well and enjoying our new temporary abode at Ripon. Getting here from our Colchester motel day before yesterday took all day - for two reasons. The first was a brief visit to Shipdham where many generations of Dad’s people lived. The church at Shipdham was very old (of course) and extraordinary for its lead and oak spire. A man who lived by the church gave me a copy of the local newsletter because it has the address of the Shipdham History Group. More on that later.

    Anyway we left Shipdham with the priceless knowledge of context that makes history research of any kind come alive. It is a sweet village in the middle of cultivated fields. We had been told by Google Maps that the journey to Ripon would take about 4 hours. Not so, because the A1/M1 narrowed to one lane in four places because of an accident but mainly it was due to road work. We arrived 6 hours later, not 4. Exhausted and pretty phased but very happy to be in Yorkshire.

    The next morning we needed to go shopping so we walked into town and went to the Tourist Information housed in the gorgeous Town Hall on Ripon’s huge central market square. We also found the Cathedral, as it emerged from the windy atmospheric streets of the town. Then it was home to wash clothes and generally recover from the road.

    Our Ripon accommodation is just about perfect in every way. Stylish, very new, spotless, well kitted out (crisp white sheets, white doona, white towels) and in a “very good” (middle class) part of the town. Now all this is fabulous- but there’s a slight sense of unease, of being controlled by the excellence of the decor and the fittings. I have a faint but present anxiety that I might break something or worse, stain something. Silly really but the comparison with Carey’s Stockwell Garden Flat where the place was not on show but there for comfort, convenience and interest, is striking. There I felt understood as a fallible human.

    We are in Bishopton, a road in Ripon that seems quite wealthy. I mean the houses are huge, with manicured lawns, and high fences. There is no graffiti, no garbage in the streets, many trees and birdsong. Cars are new, often top of the range. This suburb demonstrates an observable trait of the English, and this is their understandable anglophilia. They love being English and it shows in their love of tradition, their beautiful gardens and their enjoyment of village life. Just to illustrate, in this short street named Bishopton, the houses are often named. Here are some of these names:
    Bishopton Rise
    Bishopton Lodge
    Bishopton Cottage
    Bishopton Grove House
    And my favourite
    Bishopton Royd.
    Don’t get me wrong here. I too am an Anglophile!!
    Today was quiet, a walk, a jigsaw, a plan for our next few days, and simple home cooking. Tomorrow the Yorkshire Dales!
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  • Space, Endless Space

    September 8 in England ⋅ ⛅ 12 °C

    Driving in the Yorkshire Dales
    After years of watching Siegfried, James and Tristan in All Creatures Great and Small, it was stunning to see the Yorkshire Dales in their true natural beauty. The Dales are extraordinarily spacious. Human activity ( and there’s a lot of it) is nevertheless dwarfed by their sheer magnitude and grandeur. The “mountains” are mostly without trees, and much like the Australian variety, they are smooth, rounded and worn down.

    Our plan was to go to the Aysgarth Falls. The sign told that these falls were created from alternating layers of hard limestone and soft shale. The River Ure has worn away the shale making “steps” in the river over which the water cascades. There are three main falls - upper, middle and lower. The walk to the first two is gentle so we did those, leaving the more challenging lower falls walk to others. It was a lovely day for walking and the sun even graced us with its presence for most of it. I hope that the pictures might give you a hint of their beauty.

    After Aysgarth (which sounds like a place in Middle Earth doesn’t it?), we drove on to Sedbergh, supposedly a book town, on the far edge of the Dales in Cumbria. There at 3pm we had a fabulous pub lunch of steak and ale pie with lots of vegetables and gravy. A perfect meal for walkers, even modest ones like us. We managed to go to one bookstore but Hay-on-Wye this place is not. I found a very small book of A. E. Housman’s poetry, a second edition hard cover but at 42 quid I thought that they were asking too much.

    The drive home was gorgeous and we managed a few more photos and a video of the Howgill Fells. Wikipedia tells us that the name Howgill derives from the Old Norse word “haugr” meaning a hill or barrow, plus gil meaning a narrow valley. There a couple of “Marilyns” among the Howgills, that is, mountains over 600 metres. They are simply stunning. We arrived home after 6pm, happy with the day’s wanderings.

    Here are the words to the song I couldn’t help but sing as we walked to the upper Aysgarth Falls today. It called “The Keeper & The Doe”:

    “The keeper did a hunting go
    Under his cloak he carried a bow
    All for to shoot the merry little doe
    Among the leaves so green-o
    … Jackie boy, master, sing you well, very well
    Hey down, ho down, derry, derry down
    … Among the leaves so green-o
    To me hey down, hey down
    Ho down, derry, derry down
    Among the leaves so green-o
    The first doe, she did cross the plain
    The keeper fetched her back again
    Where she is now she may remain
    Among the leaves so green-o
    … The next doe she did cross the brook
    The keeper fetched her back with his crook
    Where she is now, you may go and look
    Among the leaves so green-o
    … The sixth doe, she did cross the plain
    But he with his hounds did turn her again
    There he did hunt in a very merry vein
    Among the leaves so green-o”

    PS Brush with fame alert: Pete our neighbour and landlord told us one of the horses in the paddock over the road, named Grace, is a film horse. She starred in Peaky Blinders ridden by the gorgeous Cillian Murphy!
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  • Slowing down in Ripon

    September 10 in England ⋅ 🌬 17 °C

    We have come to be very comfortable in our lovely cottage in Bishopton. So comfortable in fact that I have been too lazy to post a footprint for a couple of days. So I will try to lift my game and give a brief account of our doings.

    The weather has been a determining factor and since Tuesday was the last guaranteed sunny day we decided to go back into the Dales before the rain arrived on Wednesday. It was a good move. On the recommendation of our neighbour, we headed for famous Malham Cove. Now Malham Cove is not a real coastal cove but a tall curved limestone cliff carved out by melt waters in the last Ice Age. From the overcrowded carpark we could see that it was very impressive. But since there was no room anywhere to park our car we abandoned the idea to drive further on towards Malham Tarn. Good move! By the time we arrived on the tops, it was quiet with only a few people and we decided to take a walk. It was simply magic to be up there, and even I, a city-born urbanite, could feel the pull of the wide paths in the high dales. I could have walked off into it quite happily.

    From there we went down into Settle for lunch there to have a very healthy summer salad for me and summer focaccia for him, accompanied by special spiced lemonade. Unique tastes abounded - haute cuisine fast food! The drive home by a new route reminded us again how beautiful the Dales are.

    The next day it rained on cue but we were prepared. We decided to look inside of the Ripon Cathedral and then take in one of the three museums on offer. The Ripon Cathedral is a vast storybook. The large framing story tells of the triumph of Christianity in this part of the world. As the founding father, St. Wilfrid (c634-710) is the hero of this story. He was according to the Cathedral’s website, “one of the great missionary leaders of the church in the 7th century. He was educated on Lindisfarne and, fortunate in being favoured by a young queen, was able to extend his education by visiting Kent, Lyon and Rome. The incredible impression made on him by great basilicas and the Benedictine Rule would influence the development of the church in these islands.” The crypt in the Cathedral dates from 672 and a very spooky little space in my view (but then I can a bit of heathen regarding these matters). After Wilfrid, there are stories of kings, queens, bishops, deans, other religious figures of all types, and parishioners who managed to be buried within. Then there’s the windows! Each one an apocryphal story in itself. We especially enjoyed chatting to a priestly woman whose husband had helped design the tiles on the outside of the Sydney Opera House. A small world at least between England and Australia. Another really enjoyable part was being able to explore the quire and its misericords (mercy-seats) “filled with glimpses of medieval life, Biblical scenes and fantastic figures, thought to have inspired ‘Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.’”

    The little Courthouse museum was a quick but fun tour. Once again the crimson chords of memory between England and Australia were well on show in this small seriously portentous little building, for from here Englishmen and Englishwomen were sentenced to transportation to Australia until the last ones came in 1868. So sad to read of families broken by the shockingly inhumane punishments meted out within its walls. If you were poor it was your fault, a judgement from on high, including the likes of the people across the road in the Cathedral! God’s judgement, executed in statute and administered by precedent, was merciless if you tried to do anything to alleviate your poverty. Afterwards some shopping at the local Sainsbury’s, home for a light dinner. And some tv. We have been watching Marcella on Netflix - up the 3rd and perhaps final series. A strange intense and equivocal portrayal of a deeply troubled woman.

    Today, Thursday, also sunny and rainy by turns, we walked the River Skell path into town. The River Skell is a tributary of the River Ure and it’s a very nice walk. Beautiful green dells and many dogs taking their owners for a walk. After 10,000 steps, and plenty of trees for mental health, it was home for lunch and a rest because tonight we are going to see a play of Pride and Prejudice to celebrate the 250th anniversary of Jane Austen, at the church near Newby Hall. Because it is a truth universally acknowledged that a couple of Aussie travellers in possession of a few Great British Pounds are in need of a theatrical interlude.
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  • Pride & …

    September 12 in England ⋅ ☁️ 10 °C

    Last night we were very fortunate to see a small four person cast of the “This is My Theatre” 🎭 company perform Pride & Prejudice by Jane Austen. A lovely surprise was the 30 minute musical interlude before the play and the use of music during the performance. All four of the cast sang like angels and two could play instruments (violin, guitar, flute). They sang old English/Irish folk songs such as “Wild Mountain Thyme” and “The Rattlin’ Bog” that we actually knew.
    The play itself was a triumph of condensation hitting all the major plot points and capturing the rollicking spirit of the tale. Unfortunately I have not been able to name to cast.

    The venue itself was very special, being Church of Christ the Consoler in the magnificent grounds of Newby Hall, Skelton on Ure. The church was built to commemorate the death of Frederick Vyner at 23.

    The downside though was the ordeal of the drive home. While we were at the play, road crews had moved in and closed the main road back to town. We asked for advice twice about how to get back to Ripon but each time we were told that “sorry but I am not from round here”. Of course it was raining as well. And the internet was down! While it took 15 minutes to go to the play, it took one hour to get home. The joy of the play had been submerged below an increasingly grim quest to find our way through the dark and wet countryside! As our great folk hero Ned Kelly is reported to have said as he faced his maker on the gallows: “Such is Life”. We recovered after a good night’s sleep, but decided that today we would take it easy.
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  • The North York Moors National Park

    September 13 in England ⋅ ☁️ 14 °C

    Today we ventured into the North York Moors National Park. Our main destination was Cawthorn Roman Camps. There was a very pleasant mile walk with information panels highlighting the main features and history of the site. The site was probably developed as a place to train troops in the creation of camps and effective defensive structures. There at the edge of empire, there were two native tribes, the Brigantes (ancient Britons) and the Parisi (a Celtic tribe). The Romans conquered them and acquired uneasy control of the North. Anyway the Cawthorn Camps were abandoned by 130. At the viewing platform we met a lovely couple of seniors who regaled us with stories and suggestions for other places to go. On their recommendation we decided to view the rare medieval murals in St Peter & St Paul Church in Pickering.

    After a restorative lunch, we walked to the Church. The murals were a reminder that the walls of churches in the olden days before mass education and mass literacy were Biblia Pauperum or “Poor Man’s Bible”. The stories were often about death and how to face it. Martyrs like St Catherine (she of the Catherine Wheel on which she was tortured) helped to show that death could be faced bravely. In all it was a lovely day, our second last full day in Yorkshire.
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  • Leaving Ripon & the UK

    September 14 in England ⋅ 🌙 14 °C

    Tonight, Sunday, we have been packing up our bags because tomorrow we leave lovely Yorkshire to drive to St Pancras and the Eurostar to Paris. We will stay the night at the Moxy Hotel at Charles de Gaulle Airport and pick up our French rental car. We are headed to Carteret on the coast of Normandy for 10 days by the sea.

    But today was special because Chris and Stu dropped by on their way to York and had lunch with us at the Ripon Inn. It was originally the Ripon Spa Hotel, an Edwardian-era establishment built in 1906 to serve visitors to the city's spa. It has five acres of gardens which were only hinted at from its many dining rooms. Anyway it was wonderful to see them. Thanks for coming!

    The next day was a blur. Leaving Bishopton at 8am, we made good progress to arrive at St Pancras shortly after 1pm. The Google Maps app was a godsend and got us into London and to the station without much bother- other than the crowded roads, frequent road works and people doing odd things.

    Then having returned our rental car, there was the Eurostar. Look, it’s a great way to get across the channel, but like all things in these days of mass travel, it’s mightily over subscribed. I bought some cashews and some chocolate almond thingies so we happily munched on those as we forged on to Gare du Nord. France is only a stones throw from old Blighty, but a world away in culture. Get off the train and you feel it immediately. I had forgotten how well the French do things. The French are more careful, have more attention to finer details and civilities, about which they care a lot. In sniffing the air at Gare du Nord (although not on the CDGVal to the airport which was a little too close for the smell test) and the revamped Charles de Gaulle Terminal 2, I discerned a bit more openness and a relaxation of social protocols than on my last visit. I am thinking that this may be a consequence of their extraordinary Olympics which was carried out with such elan, and for which they were mightily praised.

    So dear reader, we made it out of the wonderful UK and into Paris, then on to Charles de Gaulle where our hotel Moxey was a mercifully short walk from Terminal 2. It was 9:45pm and we were hungry, tired and a bit travel-buzzed. The kitchen was about to close but we managed to share a delicious burger and some indifferent chips before retiring to our room. There ended a day of our lives given over to movement through a vast amount of space in a very short time although it paradoxically felt endless. Amen to all that.
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  • A very peaceful place

    September 16 in France ⋅ ☁️ 16 °C

    Arrival in Carteret proved a challenge- my phone had no charge (because European cars do not have a USB port) and for once I had not written down the locked box key with the old technology of pen and paper. What to do?? Workaround time. Get out the surface pro that I had fully charged the night before, plug in the phone to the usb port and get enough charge to find the code. It worked and we entered our little cottage at last after about 6 hours on the road crossing from Paris to Carteret on the Normandy Coast. After two full travel days we were both pretty played out. But we needed to shop, so off we went to Carrefour Market in the next village to Carteret. I reckon we managed brilliantly given our strange travel weary states. Baked chicken and salad for dinner before falling into bed to sleep the sleep of the completely wrecked!

    While the weather dawned overcast the next morning, today, we didn’t care. We had already decided to take it easy, just rest and maybe take a first walk in the dunes to find the sea. All was lovely and we enjoyed our day enormously. Feeling rested tonight, looking forward to reading and relaxing in this beautiful natural environment.
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  • Sunshine Makes a Lovely Day

    September 19 in France ⋅ ⛅ 20 °C

    “The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea.” – Karen Blixen

    The welcome sunshine after so many gray days made our planned walk to the Old Church on Carteret Beach even more special. The church, a very decorous ruin, and lovely to photograph, was built at the beginning of the 12th century on Cape Carteret and dedicated to Saint Germain le Scot. First mentioned in 1125, when it was given to the abbey of Mont-Saint-Michel by Renaud de Carteret. From there we went down onto the beach for try out the water (too cold) and explore the sands. It is a lovely long beach with only a very few people on it. The quality of the light reminded me of Skagen in Northern Jutland, Denmark. It has a special softly metallic quality, a silveriness, that is very beguiling.

    After lunch, some afternoon reading and naps, we found the trail down to the town. We walked around the Carteret harbour and found our very congenial diner for our dinner. The walk home in the dusk was followed by watching the 2025 Mark Twain Prize 2025 awarded to Conan O’Brien on Netflix. Often funny but also interesting in terms of the political context in which it happened. A great day!
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  • Lazy Rainy Days then Port-Bail-de-Mer

    September 22 in France ⋅ 🌬 16 °C

    So Saturday and Sunday were rainy and aside from a walk down into the village to look at the marina, we lazed around the cottage, read books, watched the bad news from the US with dread and weird fascination, ate good food and generally enjoyed the quiet.
    By Monday, the day of the equinox that ushers in the shorter days here (but the longer days at home - yay summer is on its way!), we were ready to go out into the world again. We had decided that we would visit Port-Bail-de-Mer.

    This little town was a trading port in the Gallo-Roman and early Christian era, then a Viking incursion happened and they quickly acculturated. We visited two of the town’s churches and the “pool baptistery” which dated from the Gallo-Roman era and is now housed in its own little building behind the Marie (town hall). It is the only baptistery of hexagonal form existing today along the Loire, and is made of materials of the Gallo-Roman era. It was interesting to read that in the early Roman period and early Middle Ages christenings were only performed on adults. Flowing water was recommended and the design of the baptistery created that effect.
    Interesting too that the baptistery is built on the site of an earlier pagan temple of the Celtic tradition called a “fanum”. History is unavoidable here.

    Which brings me to World War Two. This little town was included in the planning for D-Day landings and during the aerial bombings, 2/3rds of it was destroyed in June 1944. Only one house in the Main Street survived called Villa des Jasmins. On Remembrance Day 1948, the town was awarded the French Cross of War with Bronze Star.

    We had snacks on the waterfront including the sweetest mandarin I’ve had for a long time. Indeed the fruit here is lovely and in this agricultural area at least, we have witnessed laden apple and pear trees on ostensibly public lands dropping their fruit for anyone. The land here is fruitful in the truest sense!
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  • Carteret Capers

    September 24 in France ⋅ 🌬 16 °C

    We have spent the last two days exploring our little town here at Carteret. Yesterday we walked around to the waterfront towards the open sea, ambled over the town’s main beach, had an excellent lunch at Le Russel, a harbour front restaurant, and relaxed at home afterwards. Today we woke late, did some marketing, and walked up to the Lighthouse after lunch.

    The summer being over, the sense here in Carteret is that the village is heaving a sigh of relief after the departure of the tourists and holiday makers. Many of the impressive seaside houses are shuttered, their wealthy owners departed for city lives. We understand this feeling of relief very well since we lived in Lemon Tree Passage, also a summer holiday town. So there’s a lovely relaxed vibe.

    Aside from that, it is amazing to us how clean, quiet and unmarked the place is. There’s no graffiti, absolutely none; no garbage on the roads or in parks; no beggars; no shouting; no sirens; recycling bins are conveniently placed; and everyone says “Bonjour”. So to our eyes - and ears - people live very well here. Like Lemon Tree Passage though there’s a strong “God’s Waiting Room’ vibe - grey hair everywhere. We feel right at home!

    Tomorrow is wash and pack day because on Friday morning we leave early for Charles de Gaulle airport in readiness for departure to Japan. So this post marks the end of our little French interlude. Hoping all are well out there, sending our love until we reach Tokyo.
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  • First World Problems or Future Shock …

    September 27 in France ⋅ ☁️ 12 °C

    I said I wouldn’t post again until Tokyo but sorry dear reader, the following is the immediate consequence of too long a wait at the airport. Only read if you have some time.

    Today we fly to Tokyo from Charles de Gaulle Airport (CDG) just outside Paris. We had stayed a night at the hip Hotel Moxy very near the airport. Checkout there was a civilised 12 noon, thankfully because check in for our flight isn’t until 5:30pm, and the plane doesn’t leave until 8:25pm. So dear reader, it’s not only the long flights that are punishing, it is also the interminable spaces in between. First world problems I hear you cry, and you’d be right!

    The Japan experiences will be recorded as a separate Trip since we will be three. Johanna is joining us for her 50th Birthday present - a trip around Japan.

    Nevertheless the prospect of sitting in economy class for 14 hours is made worse by hanging out in the impersonal departure zone of international airports which are all the same, but terrible in their own ways. I made a little video of the airport circular train station at CDG to demonstrate their strange beauty when empty. I also took a couple of shots on our walk over here to Terminal (perfect name) 2. Remember when Alvin Toffler’s Future Shock was all the rage? Well folks this is it. Meanwhile if you’re in the mood, here’s a little ‘essay’ I wrote on the plane coming over to the UK, and this seemed like a good place to insert it.

    ✈️ Reflections on the long haul flight ✈️

    Preparing for a long haul flight can roughly be equated with preparing for a major medical procedure. Remove all jewellery, wear your special stockings, be as clean as possible, erase individuality, and be ready to submit yourself to invasive scrutiny of customs and airports, as well as the potentially dangerous, nay life-threatening, experience. Trust the experts, you have no other choice. The MAGA crowd must really hate flying!

    Once on the plane, a sociological lesson on the inequalities of the capitalist classes system immediately become apparent. Ostensibly there are three classes on the plane, but really there are four if you include the cabin crew which is itself a kind of hierarchical administrative state that runs parallel to the pyramidal three class structure of the passengers. This state has an outward facing group, meticulously groomed, almost always smiling, never loud. They serve the passengers and take their ultimate instructions from the “deep state” of the captain and flight crew. The ministrations of the cabin crew have both a service and a disciplinary aspect. They are as much as anything, tonal agents shaping the ways in which the temporary assemblies of class groups will behave.

    As for the passenger class pyramid, this is strictly demarcated by the spatial arrangement of the plane. First class passengers (sometimes called “Business” although in most cases this is a misnomer) are secluded in their “pods” at the front of the plane nearest to the ultimate seat of power that is the flight deck. They will eat special foods, wear special clothes provided by the airline, moisturize and deodorize their skin with luxury products, and sleep the sleep of the wealthy (outstretched and alone), snug as bugs in a rug.

    Next comes the Premium class. The premium people pay extra money for more leg room, sometimes larger seats, and fewer compatriots in the vicinity. They may get better everything (especially access to the loos) than the lowest class, but this depends on the airline. They often have a separate section of the plane.

    At the bottom of the pyramid comes the “economy” class. They pay the least money and therefore must put up with the most discomfort. But this word “economy” has a double edge. It also applies to the airline whose “economy” is successful because they cram as many punters as possible into the back of the plane, give them basic supplies - that is, enough bread and circuses (inflight entertainment) to keep them quiet.

    The sociology of a long haul flight is thus, depending on where you sit, an education in Marxist critique or a celebration of the delights of capitalism. Can we ever get to the point where these divisions are not inscribed in air travel? Why can’t we all be “business” style travellers? Now there’s air travel that I could love, instead of endure!
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    Trip end
    October 16, 2025