Attitude Is Everything

Originally I titled this post "My Shitty Summer Begins."  And over the course of the past four days I picked away at writing it.  But it just wasn't jelling.  Maybe it was all the negativity I was infusing into my words.  Then something happened yesterday that changed how I was looking at things.  A little background...

Remember last summer when I posted about having to replace my entire septic system?   Of course you do.  I'm sure the exciting minutiae of my life is indelibly etched on your brain.  Long story short, the guy I hired to do the job failed to show up to do it.  No calls, nothing.  By then I was in the thick of dealing with my dying dog and the septic system was the last thing on my mind.  And then the fall rains came and it was too wet to do it.  Fast forward to spring.  I won't go into the trials and tribulations of trying to find someone to do the work but let me just say this -- if you're in business in a small town and want to stay in business, return a bloody phone call.  Even if it's to say, "sorry I'm too busy to do your job."

And then, Yay!  A real live guy answered his phone and came out to give the place the once over.  They would do this, this, and this (yes, those are the technical terms) but only after I ripped up the deck and tore down the playhouse.  Call when I was finished.  Right.  And so I began.

Grumbling away in my head the whole time -- 'This was going to take freaking forever.'...'I'm too old for this shit.'...'Okay maybe it's just my back that's too old for this shit.'...'I'm going to need more ibuprofen.'...'And beer.  Definitely going to need more beer.'  And so it went.  For a couple of days. 'Cause it's a pretty big deck.

But by the third day (after a rain delay which gave the old back time to recoup) I was kind of getting into the whole rhythm of working with my crowbar and hammer.  And before I knew it I was down to the framing.  Now that was going to be a buggar.  There were some pretty heavy duty nails holding that puppy together.  Enter the best neighbour on the planet.  With his chainsaw. Without me even having to ask.  (That's all part of being the best neighbour on the planet.) And we ripped that sucker apart in about an hour.  Saved me at least a week's work.  And several vertebrae I'm sure.  And he disconnected the wiring out to the deck.  I don't do wires.

So now I'm feeling pretty jazzed.  Actually looking forward to landscaping the yard again.  Okay maybe that's pushing it -- I'm no longer dreading landscaping the yard.  And now that I've got my head around that, I'm thinking about some more inside renos.  Because the timing isn't quite right to sell and move into the tiny house of my dreams.  For now I'll concentrate on making it a place I enjoy being.  Because the money I'm about to spend would finance at least three really great trips.  Really great trips that I won't be going on...sigh. Breaks my heart.

Well...gotta go.  Me and my new-found attitude have a playhouse to tear down.

And I need to buy beer.

For my neighbour.

Book Review:  I've read a few books by Chris Bohjalian and enjoyed them all. There's no pigeon-holing Bohjalian as to genre, he crosses many lines. Midwives, one of his  earlier works, was no exception.  Excellent ending.  To be more specific -- excellent last sentence!  

Sweet Baby James

Some things just make you feel old.  Like realizing the last concert you went to was 30 years ago.  Billy Joel, 1986 (or maybe early '87) in Montreal.  I used to go to a fair few concerts but that was back in the days when you had to line up for tickets and actually had a shot at getting some.  Not like the rip-off computer system in use today.  Okay sure, maybe it allows people who don't live near the big venues to have a shot at tickets, but only if the scalpers haven't overloaded the system mere nanoseconds after they go on sale -- the recent ticket release for The Tragically Hip being a prime example.  The majority of the tickets appear to have gone to people who will now turn around and sell them at grotesquely inflated prices.  A guy I know knows a guy who paid $2,000 -- hope that was for a pair at least.  I remember back in the day (early 80's ish) being appalled at having to pay $15 to see Supertramp, when tickets for a concert routinely sold for $12.50.

So I guess the answer (aside from boycotting the secondary sellers) is to go to concerts that have lesser appeal for the masses.  Apparently James Taylor falls into that category, though I can't figure out why.  Top notch show from a guy who's been around for almost 50 years and still sounds amazing.  A guy who's still putting out new stuff.  Sure, he's got a little less hair now...okay, a lot less hair.  Then again, so did a large percentage of the male fans in the audience.  But I was amazed at the number of people in my age category, or within 10 years either side, who said, "Who?" when I told them I was going to see James Taylor.  Really?  Fire And Rain?  You've Got A Friend?  Carolina In My Mind?  Sweet Baby James? Ringing any bells?  No, eh...too bad for you. I'd see him again in a heartbeat.

And while I'm ranting about scalpers and ticket prices, let me just get this off my chest.  You pay good money to go to a concert.  That's what, about three hours when YOU DONT NEED TO BE ON YOUR PHONE, FFS!  Has 'being in the moment' become a thing of the past?  The woman beside me spent the better part of the first set scrolling through Facebook and checking stuff on Google.  She applauded by tapping her right hand against her left shoulder, while continuing to scroll with her thumb, never looking up the whole time.  I shake my head.

Was it the best concert ever?  Nope, that distinction probably goes to Paul McCartney, but the Paul McCartney of the early 70's.  Maybe it was just seeing him so close in time to the Beatles breakup.  But there was something magical about that night.  I can't remember but it might even have been my first concert.

Worst concert ever?  That's a toss up between Chicago and Chris de Burgh. Yeah, I know...who?

Best concert that never was?  Quick story -- the aforementioned elusive McCartney tickets were obtained courtesy of a salesman who used to come into a place I worked part time.  He told me he had a connection at Maple Leaf Gardens and to let him know if I ever wanted concert tickets.  Queen.  Could he get me tickets for Queen?  The day of the concert came and went.  I didn't hear from him.  Oh well.  Shortly thereafter he came into the office.  'How did you enjoy the Queen concert?' he asked.  'I didn't have tickets,' I replied.  'I left them at the box office for you,' he said.  Now he tells me.  Breaks my heart to this day to think of those empty seats.

Empty seats that my ass should have been in.


Book Review:  I picked up A Head Full of Ghosts by Paul Tremblay because Stephen King recommended it in a Facebook post.  (Pretty sure he actually posts that stuff himself because he's always posting pics and stuff about his dog, Molly aka the Thing of Evil.)  Well he didn't actually recommend it.  He was congratulating Tremblay for winning the Stoker Award and saying, told you it was good.  And it was.  Plays with your brain.  And the ending?  No neat bow on this one.  I'm still trying to figure it out.

Mi Junk Es Su Treasure

That's it, I'm done.  Last garage sale EVER.  Yes, I've said that before.  But this time I mean it.  Well sure, I meant it every other time I said it too, but this time is for real.  For really real.  How do I know?  Because after an entire week spent setting it all up, pricing everything, and then repacking all the crap that didn't sell, I had a major epiphany.  Okay it wasn't really an epiphany because I knew it all along, but this week it totally hit home -- "stuff" just plain takes up too much time.  Time that could be better spent doing things I actually enjoy.  I would rather have been paddleboarding or reading or cutting glass.  Or writing that book that always seems to end up on the back burner.  It was a stunningly gorgeous day and I spent all of it in the garage.  Sure, I could have just donated the lot and been done with it.  But hey, I made over $800 to add to the green jar.  So there is that.

I held the sale for two hours on Friday evening and four hours Saturday morning.  It was like a feeding frenzy in the garage, especially on Friday.  I put out about five boxes of free stuff, and there wasn't a lot left.  Some old Christmas lights, a binder or two.  Tack the word FREE onto things and people snap it up whether they need it or not.  Just about everyone that came through my sale sheepishly admitted their garages were stuffed to the rafters and they didn't need any more stuff, but they all left with something.  My question is this -- if you don't need anything and you don't have room for any more stuff,  why are you even out doing the garage sale rounds?  And garage salers are a dedicated bunch.  I always advertise my sales for 9:00 a.m because I know they'll start showing up at 8:00.  Saturday it was 7:45.  Friday night I advertised 6:00 p.m. - 8:00 p.m.  and I had people show up at 2:00 asking when I was going to be ready.  Four hours early.  Really?

Maybe it's the thrill of the hunt, finding that elusive treasure.  Maybe they've watched too many of those Antique Road Show type shows and think they're going to snag some priceless artifact from the junk piles.  I'm pretty sure a couple of the people that bought up a ton of stuff at mine are going home to resell it online.  I just don't think the profit would be worth the time and effort. But whatever floats your boat.  I think the real reason garage sales are so popular is pure and simple -- addiction.  Addiction to buying and addiction to stuff.

I consider myself in rehab -- not quite ready to part with all of my stuff but I've sure put a huge dent in it.  And it's getting easier every time I do a purge.  I don't think I'll quite get to the level of minimalism I want until I actually downsize the physical house and property.  That day is getting closer.  In the meantime, I'll just keep picking away at it.  Donate what I can, dump what I can't.

But no more garage sales.

Ever.

Really.

Book Review:  I'm a big fan of John Hart, read everything he's written which up until this latest addition was four books.  It was a five year wait for Redemption Road but totally worth it.  There's a lot going on in this book and a lot of characters to care about or despise.  Just wish I could have dedicated a bigger chunk of time to reading it in longer stretches.  Packs more of a punch that way.  But you know, I was dealing with my stuff.

Mystery Solved!

So I spend a week hiking the Cotswolds averaging thirty kilometres per day over seven days.  Through muck and snow, uphill and down.  Then I follow this up with another two weeks traipsing all over London, Liverpool, and Dublin in footwear that didn't accommodate my orthotics.  And guess what?  Not even a whisper of my mysterious foot pain.  Not a twinge, not a tweak.  What's up with that?  Not that I'm complaining.

But it made the bone scan I had scheduled on my return seem kinda useless. I mean, if there was anything going on with the bones in my foot, I'm pretty sure it would have been painfully obvious during my time away.  But what the hell, it was all set up and it could at least rule out bone issues.  I've had a bone scan before so I knew what to expect -- a little injection of some radioactive material, a few pics, wait a few hours, then take a few more pics.  And that, I thought, would be the end of that.

Pretty damned surprised to get a phone call from my doctor's office first thing the next morning.  He wanted to see me about my bone scan.  Could I come in that day?  Well...that was fast.  A little too fast.  Obviously there was something there.  And as I had four hours before my appointment, there was plenty of time to let my imagination run wild.  After all, the receptionist's voice had been very quiet when she called, very subdued.  Don't they usually throw out the old "nothing to worry about" if in fact there is nothing to worry?  Did the fact that she didn't say it mean there was something to worry about?

He started with idle chit chat -- "how was your trip?" and all those pleasantries. Softening the blow? Okay buddy, let's cut to the chase.

Arthritis.

Huh.  Really.  That one never occurred to me.  Nothing you can do about it but it's nice to finally know.  Ibuprofen and non-weight bearing exercise when it flares up.  Apparently it's not triggered by anything in particular.

Just life.

Book Reviews:  Didn't do much reading while I was away.  Almost zero except for on the plane. Started with Gillian Flynn's The Grownup.  Don't think this one could even be categorized as a novella, more like a long short story. So pretty happy I just downloaded it to my iPad from the library.  But it was really good, one twist after another.

And then I figured it was a perfect time to reread a couple of old favourites so as to not forget what was going on during those long stretches of not reading. And I've said forever that I was going to start back at the beginning and reread all of my Stephen King library.  Covered Carrie and 'Salem's Lot.  Carrie has withstood the test of time and it's pretty remarkable for his first novel.  'Salem's Lot scared the crap out of me back in the day (the day being in 1975) but not so much this time around.  Chalk it up to being older with a lot more real life scary shit under my belt.  And the fact that I read it in such bits and pieces. Didn't do it justice.

Came back to our latest book club offering, The Mistress of Nothing by Kate Pullinger.  Didn't know until I was finished and read the author's note in the back that it was based on the real life story of Lady Duff Gordon in the 1860's moving to Egypt with her lady's maid, Sally Naldrett.  Told from Sally's perspective.  Another of those meandering book club selections.  It was very well written, evoked the time and place beautifully.

History Lessons

We've landed in Ireland, not only during a historic year, but also during a historic week.  They are commemorating the 100 year anniversary of the Easter Rebellion of 1916 as well as the week of the executions of the leaders of the uprising.  In a nutshell, the rebellion was a failed attempt to secure Ireland's independence from England.  I have now heard the story from two different tour bus drivers, the walking tour guide, the guide at Kilhaiman Gaol, and the lady doing the Glasnevin Cemetery tour.  They all had a different slant, a different perspective.  Me?  I'm not taking sides.

The Kilhaiman Gaol tour was definitely a highlight, fascinating place to see.  With just the right amount of creepy -- the room where the condemned spent their last night, the haunted corridor where a locked cell is found open every morning, the yard where the prisoners from the 2016 uprising were executed by firing squad.

We followed up the gaol tour with a tour at Glasnevin Cemetery.  Now this may sound like a kind of ghoulish way to spend our last day in Ireland, but cemeteries are interesting places to visit.  And this one is huge. We covered barely an inch of it.  I also looked up my great-grandparents who lived in Dublin and died in the 1890's but alas, they weren't buried there.  This is the grave of Michael Collins who was instrumental in securing Irish independence in 1921.  People still leave flowers.  There were two people there just putting flowers on the grave when our tour stopped by.

One final piece of history acknowledged when we stopped by to see the famine statues dedicated to the people who died during the potato blight in the 1840's.  Very haunting images.

And that's it from Ireland. As usual I'm behind and posting this while enroute home.  I have only one question -- why are there no direct flight from Dublin to Vancouver?

Toronto isn't the centre of the universe.

Really.

Back On The Bus

Time for another Paddywagon bus tour!  Because one twelve hour bus tour just isn't enough.

First stop -- the Dark Hedges.  Known to Game of Thrones fans as the King's Road in season 2.  Few people went there until GoT sites became the thing to do in Ireland.  Now call me picky, call me fussy, call me a bitch, but I really think there should be a rule on these bus trips.  And that rule is this -- when you go somewhere that is really just a photo op, no one should be allowed to go wandering into said photo op until everyone has had time to take a pic without a whole damn bus full of people in it.  Your "oh so cute" selfie can bloody wait.  Okay, that's it.  Rant over.

Next up -- the Carrick-A-Rede rope bridge.  It's about 65 feet across, over 100 feet high (give or take on either) and basically you pay to walk over and then walk back because there is zip to do on the other side.  But you do it because it's there and there really are some cool views.  And as our tour driver said, "It's not the heights you should be afraid of, it's the falling."  Good point.

And then it was the main attraction -- the Giant's Causeway.  And it was stinking hot there.  Yes, here in Ireland.  Stinking hot.  Wicked neat place to see, especially from above.  Of course there is quite a bit of climbing involved to get to see it from above.  Did I mention the part about it being stinking hot?

One more quickie stop on the way home -- officially Dunluce Castle, but home to the Greyjoys on Game of Thrones.  Before GoT it was free to go inside the ruins.  Now you have to pay.  Can you say rip-off?  We did a photo op at the side of the road.

At the end of the day nothing takes the edge off a bus weary body like a couple of pints and a little Irish music.  And the pub in our hotel is one of the finest in the area.

That it's stumbling distance to our room is an added bonus. 

When Irish Skies Are Smiling

I'm pretty sure I'm not going to remember a lot of the Irish history that was imparted to us on a "free" three hour walking tour around Dublin.  It's "free" because you only pay at the end if you feel it was worth it.  Our guide, Patrick, had strawberry blonde hair and very pale blue eyes.  Despite that, he looked like Johnny Depp.  Three hours of eye candy with an Irish accent.  Patrick got paid.

Our afternoon was spent walking from Killiney to Dalkey, a couple of small seaside towns that are home to Bono, Enya, and Van Morrison.  We think we saw the wall around Bono's little shack but who knows.  We asked a guy walking by if he knew where Bono lived.  He said he didn't care.  And Enya lives in a castle.  So she must have a moat.  Bottom line -- neither came out to invite us in for tea.  Worst case of celebrity stalking ever.  Or the polite Canadian version...you chose.

There's nothing stereotypically Irish about the area.  Unless you think of palm-like trees when you think of Ireland.

It was one of those stunningly beautiful days where you can't tell where the sea ends and the sky starts.  

But they're missing the boat.  All of this gorgeous shoreline and not one outdoor waterside cafe to be found.  What's up with that?  And while we may not be able to find "celebrity" houses unaided, we did manage to locate some beer, cider, and wings, albeit not with a water view.

Correction.  We did see Maeve Binchy's house.  Right beside the pub where she was a regular.

And just to clarify...neither of us are U2 fans.  So why did we want to see his house?  Because we were there?  Seems a good enough reason.  And not being a U2 fan, I wasn't really aware that Bono apparently isn't very popular here in Ireland.  Evidenced by this -- what's the difference between God and Bono?

God doesn't think he's Bono.

Look Up...Waaaay Up

Did I mention we've relocated to Dublin?  Day before yesterday.  Smooth as silk journey of trains and ferry to arrive here on the Emerald Isle.  Yesterday we went on a 12 hour bus tour, followed up with a couple of pints...so yep, I'm writing this the morning after.  Now if you're thinking, "12 hours on a bus -- shoot me now!" then you obviously haven't been on a Paddywagon bus tour with a driver named Val.  Think Robin Williams doing one of his manic dialogues and that pretty much sums up Val.  And any tour bus driver who can also recommend an above decent local craft beer, gets top marks from me.

The sights weren't bad either.  There were a few stops along the way but the purpose and highlight of the tour was the Cliffs of Moher.  The surprise of the day was that we also had the chance to go out in a ferry to see them from the water before the walk along the top. The three highest cliffs in Europe are all in Ireland and the Cliffs of Moher are the 2nd highest, at over 700 feet.

The bonus of seeing them from the water is getting up close to the sea stack where 29 different species of birds nest.

 

The other bonus of seeing them from the water is there is no chance of falling off.  Apparently a few do...

And there's even a Harry Potter moment at the cliffs -- this was the cave in the Half Blood Prince where Dumbledore and Harry went to find the locket containing a horcrux.  It was the only part of the HP movies filmed outside of the U.K.  Did I mention it was raining and blowing and getting foggy up there?

The cliffs are Ireland's second most popular tourist attraction.  

A pint of Guinness if you can guess the first.

When Dreams Come True

I remember watching the Beatles on Ed Sullivan.  The first album I bought was Rubber Soul.  Their music is the soundtrack of my youth.  I'd like to say my "misguided youth" but I was horribly goody-two-shoes.  I didn't do "misguided" until I was in my 20's.  Bad behaviour really is wasted on teens.  So when we started planning our UK trip, Liverpool and a Beatles tour was top of my must do's.  I did my research and booked a private tour with MopTop Tours, scoring Stevie T, the number one rated tour guide on Trip Advisor.  He did not disappoint.  To call the experience surreal would be an understatement.  Had I died at the end, I would have gone out a happy woman!

I only took about a gazillion photos.  So without further ado, you know that old cliche about pictures and words, here's just a small taste from my day...

Ringo's childhood home, saved for the time being from the wrecking ball, although the whole neighbourhood is boarded up...

Paul's family home, now owned by the National Trust and open for tours...

Where John lived with Aunt Mimi, very nice digs, also owned by the National Trust...

And last -- but never least -- George's place, now privately owned...

A very important place in the history of the group -- St Peter's Church where Paul first heard John's skiffle band, The Quarry Men play at the fete on July 6, 1957 and the hall across the street where they first met and Paul played for John...

Song inspirations...

You have to be a true Beatles fan to get how absolutely totally cool it is to see this stuff.  There's just no way to describe it.

You either get it or you don't.

Imagine!

What do you get when you drop three chatty Beatles fans into the Beatles Story in Liverpool?  If you meet and chat up the right guys, you get a private tour of an exhibit that's not even open yet to the public.  Here's the story...

We arrive in Liverpool, check into our hotel conveniently located right beside the train station and a hop, skip, and a jump to the Albert Dock where we find one of the two buildings housing the Beatles Story.  Being a little confused about the whole set up, I ask these two guys wearing the official shirts how the whole thing works.  And the banter begins.  Katrina presents them with some Mountie pins.  They're pretty stoked about that.  We tour the exhibit, British Invasion as well as Beatles, and when we come out, these guys are waiting and give us some of those souvenir pennies...you know, the kind you can press and flatten.  We take a little group photo and they tell us there is a new exhibit opening the next day -- George, Eric, & Me...a personal collection of photos by Patty Boyd.  Oh, and would we like to see it? A little sneak preview? A personal tour? Are ya kidding? Sign me up!  And wow! What awesome photos.  If you know anything about me, you know George is my favourite Beatle, so the collection was especially poignant for me.

  

Then it was off for the main event, in another building, down the docks a way. I was so pumped... 

...and so I hate to admit this, but -- I was a little disappointed.  Maybe it was the excitement of what had just happened; maybe it was having seen that freaking awesome Rolling Stones exhibit the day before.  Maybe I was expecting something different.  It just lacked any real impact except for a series of photos of John at the end and his white Imagine piano. Sorry, Beatles fans.

But hey, I'm in Liverpool and I have another whole day to soak it all in.  And the weather is amazing. And there was a sunset over the Mersey.

Does it really get any better than that?

Pucker Up And Say Goodbye

We've had a pretty action packed schedule here in London, mostly things we booked and paid for well ahead of time.  So it's been kind of like a "free" holiday ever since we arrived.  Now it may seem like that's playing it pretty rigid for a "holiday" but most of the things we've done, we wouldn't have been able to get tickets for without booking in advance.  So when we found ourselves with an open day, it was a no-brainer -- the Rolling Stones Exhibitionism display at the Saatchi Gallery.  If you find yourself in London from now until September 4, do yourself a favour and make the time.  Even if you're not a Stones fan.  One of, if not THE best exhibit I've ever attended. Especially liked the clothes.  There was a pair of pants on display worn by Keith Richards that I would kill to own.  Would I fit them?  (Hahahaha...me, rolling on the floor laughing) Not in this lifetime, but a girl can dream.  Sadly -- just like every place we've been except Harry -- no photography or you'd be seeing those pants.  You'll just have to settle for the tongue...

We capped off the London leg of our UK adventures at The Chambers of Flavour.  Now I really wish I could tell you about this "dining experience" but I've taken an oath and been sworn to secrecy.  As a Gingerlines alumni I take my oath seriously.  All I can really tell you is that you enter "the machine" which transports you into worlds unknown to eat, drink, and be merry in the most incredible interactive dining experience EVER.  Again, no pics allowed, except for these in the bar area.  Intrigued?  Google Gingerlines.  And if you're ever in London...

Final stop -- the Tower of London for the Ceremony of the Keys.  Tickets are free online, if you get them early enough.  And you get to witness a ceremony that happens 24/7/365 at 10:00 p.m. for over 700 years.  It's short but kinda cool, when you think how long it's been going on.  Nice to know the Crown Jewels are well protected.  Again, no photos.  So you'll have to settle for the Tower Bridge...

And that's it from London.  Next stop Liverpool.

You know what that means.

What's Popping Up In London

Three women, day five in London, and this is the first day we've indulged in a little retail therapy.  Except for the mandatory gift shops they funnel you through at places like Harry Potter.  And no, I did not buy a wand or a quidditch broom.  Good sense prevailed.  I also refrained from buying anything bearing the image or likeness of any Royal at either Kensington Palace or Highclere Castle. But I did manage to find the clothing line Weird Fish that I've seen people wearing and even hit a 20% off sale.  You just know it's going to be a good day when...

And it was a good day.  Afternoon tea at Waterstones.  No one got hit by a bus.  Or a urinal.  Nope, not a typo.  We came upon this contraption outside Paddington station.  It's called a Urilift.  It has three, what...stations?  Holes? Actually saw a guy zipping up today.  And it's not exactly in a discrete location. Right smack dab on a busy corner.  Pop up toilets.  Who knew?

But the real highlight of the day -- yep, even better than the urinal -- was Motown the Musical.  Could well have been called the Barry Gordy Diana Ross story.  But it was a rocking good time with all the Motown hits from the late 50's through to the early 80's.  Over 60 songs packed into 2 h 45 min. Little Michael Jackson in his purple hat and fringe vest stole the show. Although it was also interesting what Rick James could do with a microphone during Super Freak.

Just hope I don't see him down at the Urilift.

Do You Know Your ABC's?

I'm yet to meet a Brit who has watched -- or will admit to watching -- Downton Abbey.  But surely all those cars at Highclere Castle didn't belong to tourists. And I'm pretty sure I heard a lot of British accents in the queues inside and out.  So either they're all closet fans or they just enjoy touring through old castles.  In the ABC land of 'another bloody church' or 'another bloody castle' my money is on the closet.

And for those of us who will whole heartedly shout from the rooftops, "I'm a fan!" a trip to the castle is almost akin to visiting the Harry Potter studios. Okay, that's a bit of an exaggeration.  Okay, a lot of exaggeration.  But standing in the same spaces where Mary bitched, Carson sniffed, and Maggie Smith delivered some of the best one liners every heard on network TV is pretty damn cool.  Except for the "no photography inside the castle" rule.  That whole notion of photography damages the paintings and tapestries is just so much BS.  Think about it -- is the dinky flash on my camera going to compete with the lights of a television crew?  Methinks they just want to sell more of the guidebooks they flog at the front entrance.

So Downton fans, you'll just have to settle for these exterior shots that will likely look familiar...

Meanwhile, back in London, it's a bank holiday weekend, and the Canalway Cavalcade is in full swing at Little Venice in the Paddington Basin which is conveniently located a hop, skip, and a jump from our hotel.  

Oh, and back at the castle, we were in the downstairs hallway heading towards the exit when the lady of the house, the Countess of Carnarvon, scurried by with her dog, and headed up a nearby stairwell, after carefully affixing the security rope behind her.

I'm sure her haste was the only reason we weren't invited up for tea.

A Little Ditty About Jack And Dian(a)

A day of extremes -- from the glitz of Kensington Palace to the scuz of the east side.  From the Royals to the Ripper.  Dresses to daggers.  Gardens to garbage.  

After a morning stroll in glorious sunshine through Hyde Park and the surrounding neighbourhood, we stopped in at Kensington Palace for a little look see and to take in the Fashion Rules exhibit featuring dresses worn by the Queen, Princess Margaret, and Princess Diana.  I wouldn't have given most of them closet space.  The best of the lot were worn by Margaret in the 1950's.  She of the 18 inch waist -- damn, that woman was skinny.  I'd settle for an 18 inch leg.

After a wander around the gardens it was a hop, skip, and a jump to Da Mario's reported to be Diana's favourite pizza place.  Coincidence they have a Pizza Diana? I think not.  Peppers, artichokes, black olives, mushrooms, feta, mozzarella, and some other cheese whose name escapes me -- sign me up. On a thin crust...pizza perfection.

In the evening we headed to the east side for a Jack the Ripper tour.  With Rippervision, which was pretty much as expected -- a hand held device to project pictures on any available surface.  Excellent tour, excellent gal who led it, only slightly disappointed that more of the original architecture from the period didn't exist.  However, the added bonus of seeing the real street used as Diagon Alley (yes, that's Harry Potter) more than made up for it.  There was also Christ Church (featured in the Ripper movie From Hell) and The Ten Bells, a pub where Mary Kelly and perhaps the other victims were known to frequent.

A great day all around.

Except I still don't know how many holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall.