London: "Don't cross Euston Road at night!"

We took the train to London on Friday afternoon to meet Nancy and Stephen, who'd flown in over night. From Paddington, the four of us decided to go straight to the hotel, the Thistle Euston, so Tea and I could discard our packs -- while the specially purchased 40-odd-litre backpacks were working out well, we saw no need to push our endurance right out of the gate.

That accomplished, it was supper time. After picking up our Eurostar tickets for the morning, the reality of the pop-in on a Friday night in London smacked us square in the face: we struck out a number of times before happening upon a sign pointing us to Thai food. Nancy and Stephen were a bit skeptical -- not of the cuisine, I should point out, though it would be Stephen's first taste of Thai -- standing outside the Dolphin, but once we assured them that our favourite Thai back home was also served in a well-worn pub -- specifically, at the Suffolk Arms -- they warmed up to the idea.

Aside: the funny thing was, later that night, at the Skinners Arms -- great pub, incidentally -- Nancy got talking to this American journalist now based in London, pretty much spitting distance from the Dolphin. He waxed lyrical about a number of subjects, including, importantly, how rough the Dolphin is -- like the Tooth Fairy lost a night's spoils out front come any given Saturday morning, apparently -- and, get this, how we should never cross Euston Road at night. He made to bless us when we squeaked how we'd have to do that very thing to get back to our hotel. Small wonder it was such a steal!

However, never fear, dear reader: we had a fantastic meal at the Dolphin -- so good, in fact, that that was Stephen's meal of choice at the end of the trip as well, back in Cheltenham, although from Thai Emerald (also excellent), as the Suffolk Arms doesn't serve it on Sundays -- enjoyed a few pints at the Skinners Arms and then at the lovely Bree Louise -- they were hosting a Disney themed fancy dress party, and us with tickets for Disneyland Paris the next day; you can't make this stuff up -- and made it back to the hotel safe 'n' sound.

For you real ale fans, highlights of the evening included:

• Titanic's Anchor: lovely gold, with a big kick of bitter hops
• Facers' Landslide (gravity fed!)
• Ascot Ales' Winter Reserve (also gravity fed)
• Otley's O8: first time I'd tried this "deceptively smooth" beauty

Up next: Disneyland, French style!

Bright Lights and Beacons

The view from our roof

Another beautiful weekend is winding down. Friday evening was rather wet, but that didn't stop me from showing a friend, in town for just the day, my favourite pub and chippy. The weather really picked up on Saturday, setting the stage for gunpowder and treason -- or at least much fire in their remembrance. After a bit of hemming and hawing, we settled on taking in the spectacle from Cleeve Hill. A quick stop at B & Q for torches -- i.e., flashlights; should've put that one on our list -- and then we were in it.

It's difficult to describe how surreal it was, standing up on Cleeve Common, lit by moonlight alone, watching fireworks go off randomly all over the town, as far as the eye could see. In some cases we'd wait six or seven seconds before the bangs, pops and crackles (h'm, I'm hungry) would reach us, and then others would fly over our heads in an instant cacophony, as fellow Common squatters joined the party.

Aside: for the movie fans, I kept alternating between that opening shot of the city in Blade Runner, with those flames shooting up, and something out of The Crow, like Devil's Night, almost a week late. Surreal, in any event.

We stopped at a grocery store on the way home and picked up some mulled wine and appetizers for board game night -- a favourite way to spend an evening, now British style, with sausage rolls, egg bites and falafel augmenting the usual Italian meats, cheeses, bread, hummus, chicken wings, etc. We decided to try The Rivals For Catan this time, a two-player take on the better known Settlers... We were both impressed: lots of paths to victory, and for screwing over your rival in the pursuit of it. Plus, once you've mastered the basic game, there are three 'era' expansion packs included.

* * *

We struck out around noon today for Great Malvern, set on conquering the Worcestershire Beacon well before sundown. Tea was brimming with confidence, and would hear none of my burning quads after those first '99 steps' of the Rose Bank Gardens that open the walk. The temperature was perfect: we were just right in our long sleeves, even in the brisk wind on the crests of the lower hills (so long as we stayed in the sun). And the view from the top was fantastic: parts of thirteen counties can be seen on a clear day, apparently, and we certainly had that.

"Yay! We made it!"

The bar in the Great Malvern Hotel

Having worked up an appetite, we made our way to the Unicorn in Great Malvern. An old haunt of C. S. Lewis, it's probably seen better days; still, the staff were really friendly, the roast pork was excellent, and they did have Ringwood Best Bitter on tap. I then convinced Tea that we couldn't leave town without trying a pub from the GBG. The bar in the Great Malvern Hotel was what we settled on; such a homey place, with some interesting ales on when we visited: I tried Sharp's Red Ale, and enjoyed it.

P.S.: I've uploaded a few other pictures from the day, as well.

The Third Annual Cheltenham Cricket Club Beer Festival

Tea and I have made an appearance at the Cheltenham Cricket Club Beer and Wine Festival each of the three years it's been running. It's improving every year, and always seems to be well attended. We normally go on the Sunday, but yesterday was a nice change: the evening band in particular really dialled things up from the typically relaxed atmosphere, getting folks on their feet.

They planned for all weather as well; handy, given how the sky simply opened late in the afternoon; just bucketed for a good half hour, with uncommon thunder and lightning. The marquee held up well, though, and soon the festivities were spread out over the cricket grounds again.

The beers were excellent as well. My favourite had to be the Lakeland Lager, by Hawkshead Brewery, up in the Lake District. An odd choice, you might think, but, as they (and many others) say on their site, it's an excellent style that's got a bad name in the last few decades. I simply couldn't pass up the chance to try a cask-conditioned lager, and I'm so glad I did: what the tasting notes refer to as a dry character almost approached a sourness, for me, and put me in mind of some of the lambics I've enjoyed; really exciting and refreshing. And now, reading Hawkshead's own notes, it's mostly brewed for the bottle, not the cask, so I count myself doubly fortunate.

Mom, at last year's festival

Other favourites included:

• Boggart Hole Clough Brewery's Dark Mild
• Kelham Island Brewery's Pale Rider
• Burton Bridge Brewery's Damson Porter and Bramble Stout
• Stroud Brewery's Tom Long
• Prescott Brewery's Hill Climb: old, local, wonderful standby

Puttin' the Kae in UK

Kae's visiting again! Woo hoo!

Trooper that she is, after much excitement and a big breakfast, the three of us then went shopping in Gloucester. Well, Tea and Kae shopped, for our imminent tour of Belgium and the Netherlands, while I'll kicked back in the New Inn with a book and a pint. I got chatting with a local, Don -- thanks, again, to the Roots swag I picked up in January; that stuff is aces for starting conversations about Canada -- who'd visited a fair bit of our beautiful country.

Many of the old travel guides I've been reading lately reference rail lines that no longer exist, including the old Honeybourne Line, which Don remembered from his college days, travelling from his home, then, in South Wales, to Cheltenham. I said that our rail network pales in comparison to theirs, and while he agreed, he said it's as the modern system does to that of his youth, when, for example, Cheltenham had three stations, and there were twice as many stations along his route to the college.

He and his family visited Canada in 2008, and had planned that part of the journey would be by rail. When they got to the station in Toronto, they learned that some signalling error had caused a derailment, and that Via was now putting buses on. (Their destination was Montreal.) Coincidentally, this was in late July, and they'd just learned about the terrible fate of Tim McLean. None of them slept a wink on that leg.

Overall, they really enjoyed Canada, though. They got to see Niagara, Toronto, Ottawa, Quebec City and Montreal during their time there. I was surprised by what impressed him the most about our country, however: how apologetic the French Canadians they met were about their poor English. He said it was just so unexpected and genuine.

As I packed up to move on, he said I could come back and visit him at his 'office' any time. I love the New Inn!

From there, with the girls still occupied, I moved to another pub I'd been meaning to try: Dick Whittington's. Like the New Inn, it is also a historic building. I was surprised to find, in Darrel's book, The Story of Gloucester's Pubs, that the pub had suffered from poor management recently. I strongly suspect that's no longer the case, as the publican who served me was very friendly and generous with bar snacks. He also had an excellent spread of real ales on, including two from the Great Western Brewing Company, which I'd never tried before. Excellent stuff.

* * *

The next day -- a very special one for Tea -- we decided to go to Birmingham, for a day out and supper at Jamie's Italian. While standing around at our train station wondering why there were only buses on, who should appear before us but Matt, picking up his tickets for Edinburgh in a week's time. Having nothing better to do, he agreed to join us, on what would now be our drive to B'ham (for the first time).

The trip was seamless -- surprising, considering we were driving in the second biggest city in the UK -- and, as happened the day before, the girls soon left me -- with company this time! -- agreeing to meet at Jamie's later.

Aside: prior to splitting up, we'd all been shocked to discover a wide range of 'American' foodstuffs at the Food Hall of beautifully-designed Selfridges store in the Bull Ring: we're talkin' Jif and Skippy peanut butter (from Ohio!), Aunt Jemima pancake mix, Lucky Charms, a whole 'American baking' section... The list goes on. How the heck we've been ignorant of this mecca for so long is beyond me.

You'll no doubt be shocked to learn that we found ourselves at a pub shortly thereafter. First, the Wellington, which was much calmer than the last time I'd been there, and then the Anchor again. The highlight of the afternoon was definitely Beowulf's Killer Stout, which we wisely consumed as half-pints (7.9% ABV).

Eventually we found our way to Jamie's -- much later than the girls, we learned, sitting in the Anchor. Having had to walk by the patio at Jamie's to get from the Wellington to the Anchor, both Matt and I somehow failed to notice them waving at us. Ahem! A few missed calls and texts later, we sheepishly finished up our pints. Thankfully Jamie's wasn't busy, so we were quickly sat, once we'd made our way back -- and only ten times off our agreed time, I must add!

You must (must) be tired of hearing this by now, but, yet again, Jamie's failed to disappoint. In fact, my special of pork loin with beetroot and basil that had been honey-glazed and roasted, was one of the best dishes I've had to date. We got the antipasti plank again, and the bread selection; just a fantastic spread. This was Matt's first time at a Jamie's, and I'm sure he'll be bringing the family to one when they're over for a visit.

All in all, a great weekend. Now, off to pack!

Up next: Brussels

Tropical Britain: Naunton and Bristol

The unseasonable temperatures, the likes of which haven't been seen in 50 years*, had Britons out in droves this weekend. We were amongst them, of course, shaking out the cobwebs of a Friday night sending-off party and heading to the Cotswold Farm Park. Lambing season is being heavily promoted across the county right now, and Tea was determined to cuddle a good percentage of the latest to the flocks.

* According to BBC Radio Gloucestershire

A dovecote in Naunton

Despite the crowds, we had no trouble getting our hands on the lambs and kids -- U'm, that's baby goats, folks! Let's keep it clean, now. Even the lambing demonstration -- twenty minutes on all that's involved in bringing healthy lambs into the world -- was scheduled regularly to keep the audience to a reasonable size. The layout of the whole park worked very well, in fact: the fenced areas were such that you could feed the animals that were hungry -- from bags for sale -- while others rested away from the excitement.

After that, it was home for a kip before our table reservation at the Hollow Bottom -- one of the Cotswolds' most acclaimed pubs (and deservedly so).

* * * * *

We were up fairly early on Sunday, planning to hit the boot sale and antiques show at the racecourse before my noon train to Bristol. While the boot sale was packed, the £4 door charge at the antiques show kept the numbers down. The Antiques Roadshow happened to be filming as we wandered the floor; a suspicion we only confirmed later that evening. (Sorry, Mom; should've got an autograph.)

The find of the morning -- thanks to Tea! -- and a recent fascination for me, was a copy of a Ward Lock 'red' guide book of Bath from the 1930s, in beautiful condition. The guy who sold it to us was the spitting image of Tom Baker (in his heyday) -- the best of the Doctors, I'm sure you'll agree. I strung-out the conversation much longer than necessary to revel in it; luckily, he was very friendly.

From there, I hopped a train to Bristol with some friends to see Bristol Rugby host Nottingham at Memorial Stadium. With some time before the 3 p.m. kick-off, and at the suggestion of the Bristol native amongst us, we headed to the Wellington, just down the street from the stadium. A Bath Ales owned pub, the Wellie offered every one of their regular brews on hand-pump, and had plenty of outdoor seating.

Full of Sunday roast, we made our way to the 'cheap' section, which turned out to be the well-shaded area behind Bristol's end (for the first half); we had front-row seats for much of that half's action, and some great moments in the second to boot. Mike, our host, couldn't get over the number of tries: 29-19 for the home team, once it was all said and done.

One of our group was visiting from the States, so Clifton and the famous suspension bridge were next on the agenda. The whole area was something to see, especially on the day -- more like a slice of London than what I think of as the South West -- and folks were out on blankets, soaking up every last bit of it.

Mike had been talking up Exhibition cider, so the wind left our sails a bit when we saw that the Coronation Tap was closed. (Probably for the best, what with work the next day -- the stuff is legendary.) The Mall stood in admirably, though -- I certainly enjoyed my pints of "cellar cool" Tribute -- serving very good food well after 7 p.m. (Unheard of on a Sunday in Chelty, for example.)

Check out our Picasa album of the weekend for lots more pictures of lambs, flora and blue skies.

Birmingham: Back to Jamie's

With a rainy Saturday developing, we decided, on a whim, to take the train to Birmingham, for a bit of shopping and a meal at Jamie's Italian. Happily, we were under blue skies before long, enjoying the bustle of the Bull Ring. There's such an energy in that city, and in the open market especially; the air's a-buzz with it, the shouts of the vendors hawking their produce or auctioning off their cuts of meat coming over the top.

We put our name in at Jamie's Italian, and with an estimated wait of forty minutes, took their pager for a stroll. We came upon a fantastic find then: a bin, outside a lingerie shop of all things, filled with old water jugs advertising various breweries, £2 a pop. We picked up five, for less than we've paid for one in the past.

Shortly thereafter the pager went off. I'm happy to say that the Birmingham location is yet another example of the stellar standards we've come to expect from Jamie's. I went with their specials exclusively this time: a golden beetroot soup to start, followed by crab and risotto cakes with a fennel salad. Both were superb; simply superb. The only way the crab cakes could've been any better was if they'd included a few more tangerine segments -- maybe one per cake -- vice the one. Such an amazing blend of flavours. Tea's mushroom panzerotti was the same; probably more so, in fact.

Finally, while we were initially disappointed to learn that our beloved lemon polenta cake is a seasonal offering, the waiter was absolutely correct: the chocolate, raspberry and amaretto brownie with bourbon vanilla ice cream was truly to die for. And I don't normally make a fuss about the bill, but I think it's important that I highlight how affordable Jamie's is: all that, plus their fabulous selection of breads, a bruschetta starter, 1.5 litres of their lovely house red, and tea and coffee only cost £64. At the risk of officially joining their marketing team, I'll reiterate a sentiment I've blogged before: this is some of the best food I've eaten out; ever. And I've paid a lot more than that for meals of similar composition.

Pleasantly full, it was time for a bit of shopping. The last train home was around half nine, so we stopped up with enough time for a pint. Tea's CAMRA app. pulled through again, pointing out the wonderful Anchor Inn, just down the road from the Bull Ring. I'd recommend it for the atmosphere and friendly staff alone, but the list of real ales they had on pushes it to legendary status in my books. And it seemed to be a local favourite too, with lots of folks -- a range of ages at that -- havin' a good time.

The same could be said of the Royal Union, where we finished the night, back in town. It was good to see. We've decided Robin needs to let the dogs come down and mingle more, though.

As always, we've created a Picasa album with more pictures from the afternoon and evening.

"Are you a *real* Canadian?"

We had a better plan this year, buying a return bus fare that got the six of us to the Tewkesbury Winter Ale Festival a bit before noon -- we'd heard they were limiting the attendance to 300 this year, and didn't want to miss out. I don't know if they got that many, but it was certainly well attended, and better stocked this year, with plenty of choices left on this, the last day. (Last year they had little left but cider less than halfway through the final day.)

A great selection too, that I was largely unfamiliar with: I knew maybe half a dozen of the 70 ales available! Favourites included Orkney's Raven -- lovely nose, almost like pine needles -- Black Ops (can't remember the brewer) and a whopper, at 10%, called... Old Thakey? Thakes? Something like that; more like a port than an ale, but really smooth and tasty. [Correction: I didn't do too bad, actually: the Raven was by Thornbridge, Black Ops was by Salopian (the same folks that do the Lemon Dream that Tea and her friend, Liv, love), and, finally, the whopper was Thomas Sykes Ale by Burton Bridge. Thanks to Matt for digging out the pamphlet.] The entertainment was also excellent: the Tewkesbury town band, followed by Six Nations rugby on the big screen.

On one trip to the cask room, Tea was stopped by two gentlemen serving food, "Are you a real Canadian?" pointing at her recently acquired Roots swag.

"Yeeesss."

"We have a question for you: how do Eskimos bury their dead?"

Tea, Matt (a fellow Canadian) and I exchanged looks and shrugs. I don't think they believed any of our suggestions, which included cremation and boat graves. (We had no clue. Turns out the answer is just like us, and, historically, under cairns.)

Awesome mustard we'd had earlier

Good times. We hit the Bank House for some grub once back in town, followed by a nightcap at a friend's place. Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the festival.

Bringing Thailand home

Saturday saw the arrival of Tea's last Christmas present: a personal Thai cookery lesson with Annabel, of Annabel's Kitchen. Tea chose to make Tom Yum Goong soup, Beef Panang curry and vegetable Pad Thai. Annabel picked up all the ingredients at our local Asian specialty shop, and brought everything we'd need, including the cookware, this massive mortar and pestle, a food processor, those special dishes for the soup, and even the cooktop cleaner and wash-up liquid.

I think the biggest thing I took away from the afternoon, as an eager spectator -- well, and besides the extravaganza for my taste buds, obviously -- was the value of fresh, traditional ingredients. Fresh lemongrass is incredible, for example, and galangal, while similar to ginger, brings something a bit different to the soup.

I know Tea was excited to have one of her longstanding questions answered: how do they get the beef so tender? Braising in cocunut milk, apparently, and then storing it in a mixture of that braising liquid and more coconut milk. One final note on the ingredients: proper coconut milk is really a wet pulp; man, that stuff smelled so good!

Pad Thai can also be tricky. From start to plate was really quick, and it was amazing to watch Tea bring it together. There's also a specific time and water temperature for soaking the noodles beforehand to ensure they cook up just right.

And just when you think it can't get any better, you realize that all that clinking and splashing behind you is Annabel washing up as you dig in. Bliss!

Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the lesson.

Wishing you all the best in 2011

In what will likely be my last post of 2010, I wanted to take this opportunity to thank everyone, at home and abroad, for their kind words and encouragements throughout the year; particularly those related to this project. It's an endeavour I take a lot of pleasure from, of course, but it's always great to hear when it brightens your day.

I'm feeling especially festive this year, as our blanket of snow is still in good shape almost a week later. And now that the streets are finally somewhat passable -- they don't really understand plowing here, no matter what they say -- only its benefits remain: seeing your breath as you get a good pace going, the beautiful snow-covered treetops, kids and dogs (and 'adults') frolicking about, rosy cheeks, the list goes on.

But never fear; the press have a new bogeyman in the wings, as "Frozen Britain" peters out: "The Big Thaw" looms!

Oh well; I'm sure we'll survive. Check back soon for stories from our last Christmas market trip of 2010, to Prague, Czech Republic, and have a very merry Christmas and a happy New Year!

Back to the Cotswolds: Postlip and Cirencester

After so many weekends away, or preparing to leave, it was nice to stay local for a change. We had plans to attend the first evening of the annual Cotswold Beer Festival in Postlip, and then decided that getting back to those countryside walks on Saturday or Sunday wouldn't go amiss either.

We bought tickets for a bus to and from the festival, which worked seamlessly. We're fairly organised about these festivals now -- mind you, this was definitely the biggest one we'd been to by far -- bringing snacks, water, jumpers (i.e., sweaters), and a large camping blanket that's waterproof on one side; it beats standing the whole time, and packs up nicer than those camping chairs. The selection of ales was so impressive; all the more so because you're in this enormous converted barn, listening to great live music. I had ales that had hints of fruit cake, others called Pig's Ear and Dr Hexter's Healer, porters called Old Slug, and the list goes on.

Oddly enough, we had an epic lie-in on Saturday. Then it was down to High Street for some errands, and lunch at Nando's; that fixed us right up. (So glad to hear they have one in Ottawa.) Rejuvenated, we decided that today would be the day that we'd make our much-talked-about run to Ikea in Bristol. And it worked out really well: much like home, it seems folks forget that the place is open late on the weekends.

The Church of St. John the Baptist

We got up a bit late on Sunday as well -- I made some of the Turkish tea we'd brought back from Kuşadası, which really hit the spot -- so we decided to stay close for our walk. In the end, Cirencester, with its beautiful Church of St. John the Baptist, won out. We had a great time wandering the church grounds, and through Bathurst Estate and Cirencester Park, before stopping for a pick-me-up at the Crown.

On the drive home, we stopped at the Golden Heart Inn, something I've been wanting to do for a long time. It won Pub of the Year in 2009, and it isn't hard to see why. There's such a great atmosphere, delicious food -- Tea and I ordered one roast beef and one turkey carvery, and shared them -- and a surprisingly-big patio area out back.

Carvery at the Golden Heart Inn

As luck would have it, we happened to be driving back as MacKay and Reid -- two friends from home -- were making their way to their hotel. I got out and led the guys to one of our favourite pubs, The Royal Union, while Tea dropped the car home and then joined us. We had a blast, catchin' up and chatting with the owner -- and giving his two dogs, Kelly and Lucy, lots of love; have I talked about how much I love that part of their culture lately? It's so natural, and... good for the heart, I guess you could say.

Another lie-in wouldn't've hurt either, after all that, but alas, that was the weekend.

The united, but disparate, kingdom

We'd anticipated some adjustments with living over here, and failed to grasp a whole bunch more (as regular readers will no doubt know), but one of the stranger ones -- for me, anyway -- is the causes for celebration (or lack thereof). Those of you who remember my confusion over the silent passing of Robbie Burns' Day -- Burns Night here -- probably assumed I'd get the point, and, oh, I don't know, expect very little of Saint Patrick's Day. Well, I'm a bit thick like that, I guess, 'cause I get up today, throw on my green, and express genuine surprise when the day passes unmarked, on the radio, at work, etc.

Now, I'm sure there'll be plenty of celebrations this evening, but you have to understand that the town is in the grips of the event of the year right now: the Cheltenham Festival. Many, many Irish visitors make the trip over for the week, which usually coincidences with Saint Patrick's Day, apparently -- so many, that I've heard it said that some pubs can sell enough champagne and Guinness this week to pay their operating costs for the rest of the year. But the pints raised to Ireland's patron saint outside that contingent are few and far between, I've been told. Again, why does this surprise me?

I guess I'm still wrestling with just how significant the Scottish, Irish and Welsh roots are to the way I grew up in Newfoundland and Maritimes. As I said on that occasion this year, Robbie Burns' Day wasn't celebrated when I was growing up, but it was a grand occasion amongst my circle of friends back in Ottawa, thanks to Joe's pride in his Scottish heritage (and his love of whisky, it must be said). Even with this shining discrepancy in my past, though, it's slow to sink in.

In my defence, a friend was saying today that even the day set aside to celebrate England's patron saint, Saint George, isn't enthusiastically observed. (That remains to be seen, of course, next month.) It's a provincial holiday in Newfoundland and Labrador, something I'd completely forgotten about until reading a bit for this post. (Someone from back home'll probably comment now, wondering how I could forget the Saint George's Day parades or something. :-P ) Apparently, Saint David's Day, for the patron saint of Wales, is even a bigger deal here -- although not by much.

Well, that's what's been kickin' around the old noggin' today, as I watch our quiet little town turned upside down in pursuit of the Gold Cup and other laurels.

PS: To those offended by my sweeping generalities and blatant inaccuracies regarding your kingdom, did you really expect better from a colonist? ;-)

Bibury: sleepy wee lambs and a bit o' the sacrilege

Arlington Row in Bibury

We took it easy this morning -- havin' a lie in, as they'd say here -- listening to the area getting ready for the Gold Cup race week, and reading in the sunshine. I've just started The World According To Garp -- I save up Irving's novels as treats for myself, afraid to waste them by reading too many back to back -- and Tea must've read two or three books in the time it took me to finish Waterland.

After a big breakfast of bacon, eggs, beans -- the best part, according to Tea -- and toast, we set out for Bibury, one of the most beautiful towns in the Cotswolds, popular opinion has it. Well, it didn't disappoint, from the much-photographed cottages of Arlington Row to the fields filled with sleepy wee lambs.

The Keepers Arms

We'd planned to stop in Coln St. Aldwyn, at the halfway point of the walk, but got turned about and end up in Quenington. Well, The Keepers Arms soon fixed us up, with a pint of the 'sacrilege' -- half 'n' half of St. Austell's Tribute and Butcombe Bitter, a travesty in the eyes of CAMRA members I'm sure, hence its nickname -- and some fish 'n' chips. The bartender called us brave for sitting outside, 'til Tea told him we were Canadian, to which he replied, "Oh, it's tropical then." This set us up as the butt of a few jokes when we did eventually go inside to eat.

See why we get lost? :-)

We almost got lost (again) on the way back, coming upon the path we'd taken to Quenington. We thought about taking that 'safe' path back to Bibury, but in the end we backtracked to where we thought we'd gone wrong, and so got to take in a picturesque old mill and the Bibury Court Hotel beside it -- pictures really can't do that place justice.

Check out our Best of March 2010 album for more pictures from the day.

The Bibury Court Hotel

Snow drops and crocuses

To quote RST, it's gonna be a great day!

Started out with some highlights from the Olympics this morning: Amy Williams' gold in women's skeleton, which is big, big news here, of course, and Jon Montgomery's gold in the men's. Then we headed to town to get photos taken for our driver's licences; we're coming up to the end of our grace period for getting them switched over.

While we were waiting for the photos to be processed, we went on to Moss Books -- a favourite of mine, as regular readers know -- for a bit of browsing. Well, we had some great success, finding so many books that we had some difficulty carrying them home! Tea found a series of Jamie Oliver cookbooks, and I found a few William Golding titles, as well as a collection of stories by Graham Swift, a new favourite of mine after delving into Waterland this week.

Tea at Ask

On the way back, we stopped for a bite at Ask, an Italian restaurant we'd passed many times to date. We started out with an amazing antipasti tray, followed by bean soup for Tea and spaghetti amatriciana for me; I was sold on the latter the moment I walked into the restaurant and spied its enormous advertisement, highlighting Davina McCall's charity. Well, the whole meal was incredible, knocking out Zizzi's for the best Italian in town; quite an accomplishment.

Now we're home watching the ladies' Super G; so many DNFs! Tomorrow's ski cross. Should be awesome!

Our amazing spread at Ask. Yum!

PS: to all those scratching their heads at the title of this post, Remington Snatch Trio is a side-project of the awesome Canadian powerhouse, Mullet Rock. Check 'em out!

The green, green grass of home

Since getting back from Bruges -- I'm still editing the many photos from that trip -- Tea 'n' I have been takin' it easy. Last weekend we went to Tewkesbury for a beer festival, and had a great time. Their abbey really is worth all the chatter we hear on BBC Radio Gloucestershire, and the town exemplifies the best of what we mean when we say 'small'. We met a woman in the tourist information centre who'd been to Ottawa a number of times with a touring company she worked for. (She loved it, of course.) The coincidences continued as we met a few Americans at the beer festival, and had a great chat over a few pints.

This weekend has been all about the Olympics, of course. One more point on the local radio: Eddie 'The Eagle' is from here, and some guest they had on the other day had Tea 'n' I in stitches as he was just cuttin' into Eddie, in the sharp, yet self-deprecating, way the British seem to excel at. "Oh, God, yes, we wheel him out every four years. Only in Britain would we make a national hero of someone who's rubbish. [scathing emphasis] God love us."

The opening ceremony was fantastic; Tea's favourite part was k.d.'s rendition of Hallelujah -- I enjoyed it too, but I'm still partial to Jeff Buckley's cover -- and mine was the fiddlers, closely followed by that amazing "Powering the city" sequence against the representation of the Rockies. The BBC seems to be the only channel that carried it over here. (And the only one that's carrying the Games in general, if only partially, unfortunately.) Still, it's neat getting a foreign perspective on Canada, as they complain about how foreigners only got the minimum amount of time on the hills -- a complaint against the host nation every year, their athlete-turned-commentator was quick to point out -- and marvel at the beauty of Vancouver and the Rockies, and the diversity of our heritage. (They had all sorts of trivia about the Governor General, the RCMP, our flag and anthem -- it was great!) I've only ever flown over the Rockies -- and once at that -- and now, more than ever, I want to see them when I get back. I've got a list, actually, that includes some stuff I really should've done before now, like the Cabot Trail (I've done every other part of that coast, oddly), Gros Morne, Banff and St. Anthony, to name a few.

On that note, a new British friend, Pete, is in Ottawa right now, taking in the ice sculptures and skating, gorging himself on Beavertails. He's even made it out to Edelweiss snowboarding. I'm seeing my home through new eyes -- thanks to mobile uploads to Facebook -- and falling in love with it all over again. There's some truth to that statement about the green grass, I tell ya.

* * *

I've been writing this over a few days. We just got back from a stroll to town for a spot of lunch at one of our favourite spots, Gusto, and a bit of shopping. I actually made Tea breakfast in bed this morning! Probably shouldn't be such a rarity, but I had to mention it, as it turned out so well. I made pancakes -- from a mix of imported Aunt Jemima (thanks, Michelle!), it's true, but that's still a challenge for me -- and they were so fluffy! Tea's now promised to call on my limited skills more often, which is of course the rub with these sorts of successes. (Just kidding!)

'Arctic' living

Well, we've been having great fun the last few days. Comments like, "You must feel right at home," abound as a cold snap, and a nice bit of snow, hit Britain. Southern England has probably seen close to 30 cm of snow over the last two days -- the most they've seen in some 30 years! -- with temperatures hovering around minus 10 degrees Celsius today.


Our backyard Wed. mornHeadlines of "Frozen Britain" and "Arctic conditions" are rarely out of the news. Tea and I must've been in bed for an extra forty minutes this morning, shaking our heads and laughing as BBC Radio Gloucester talked about it almost non-stop. Seriously! "Is it safe for my eighteen-month-old cat to go outside?" and "How do the ducks keep warm?" squeezed out all but a thirty-second piece on the lacklustre coup attempt in the Labour Party. People were phoning in with the temperatures in their areas like they were entering the most lucrative of contests.

We've had a couple of beautiful walks to work; particularly yesterday, when the snow was still fluffy, with that pleasant scrunch; and it was so quiet, with most folks staying home. It's actually getting a bit treacherous now, as sidewalk snow that wasn't cleared has now been compressed to an icy sheen. And I guess that's the main message in all this: they just can't cope. 'Grit' (i.e., rock salt) is running low, side streets haven't been touched, villages are snowed in -- not in a Canadian sense, but a hill of any size, covered in icy snow is too much for most vehicles, especially considering the tires here -- and folks are trying to stay warm in rubber boots. Grocery stores are packed; it'd be like them forecasting another ice-storm at home, I'd imagine.

And there's more snow on the way this weekend, apparently. Still, even if it gets down to the minus 20 °C they're talking about, I find it much nicer than winter in Ottawa: they simply don't get that biting wind here -- well, in the city proper, anyway; my boss lives up on the surrounding hills and paints a slightly different picture. I also like the child-like novelty of it all: a bunch of the younger crowd organized an impromptu snowball fight over lunch yesterday, and everyone's eager to share pictures of the snowmen (and snow-dogs, in one case) they've made. Look for that to wear off as this continues, though; proper mitts, snow shovels and scrappers are all in short supply over here, and cat flaps and mail slots don't do well for keeping houses warm.