Thursday, 30 August 2007


It is baffling to me how a normal-sized person upstairs can manage to sound like a 400-lb Homer Simpson doing aerobics. And this is just when she is walking normally. When she runs down her stairs, she apparently leaps into the air for joy at the bottom, and it is quite possible that one day she will just come on through into my room.

Although she is lovely, and her name is Lucy (which is a pretty name and reminds me of Mrs. Tiggywinkle), I am really glad that she is moving in a week. (However, this will be slightly anti-climactic, as I won't be here for a month, so it won't really help my headache that much. If noone is there to hear a loud person, are they still loud?)

Returned from Cardiff yesterday (v. sorry not to have gotten together with anyone in the two days I was there, but was helping pack E's house as he is moving), and wonder if my two 'hollydays' left this week will be calm or if I will be sucked into work stuff. The past two days of hollyday, too, have been proofing and re-proofing brochures which were supposed to have gone to the printer by end-of-day in Louisiana yesterday. (Monday was a Bank Holiday here, which means that it has mutated into a day for everyone but shopkeepers to be off).

A few notes on the season:
The hayfields are in full harvest (and have been for some time -- I may try to go out on my bike this afternoon and locate a good photo, although no promises). Some is in rolls, some is in huge bales and some is in smaller longish bales. Barns are filling and this, along with the shorter days, is a sign that winter is coming.

Heather is in full bloom.

Not sure if they are still as beautiful, but just a couple of weeks ago, another planting of rape was brilliant yellow and is one of my favourite parts of the countryside quilt.

East Anglia apparently farms a lot of grains. Seeing a field undulating and scintillating in the sunshine and wind makes me understand the line 'amber waves of grain' more than perhaps I comprehended in the pine forests where I grew up :)

Wales really is greener than England. The view when driving west on the approach to the Severn Bridge is absolutely amazing.

Temperatures have been cooler (much, much cooler than Loosyanna and Texas -- am not really at all looking forward to being in 100* in a week and a half) and I even had to turn my heating on one night a couple of weeks ago! Lots of people are complaining about this, but I hate to complain (hee hee hee).

Thursday, 23 August 2007

A World of Her Own

Anne-Marie has returned to her own little world after a short venture outside. It is safer in her world. And people talk in amusing voices.

She really rather likes her own little world, as it is quiet and peaceful. Esp. if one is sitting on the wrong train all by one's self on the platform across from where one's correct train is pulling out. Sometimes one doesn't realise this until the annoucement comes over the speaker detailing the train after one is supposed to be gone and one slightly freaks out in a panic. But if one is a Southern Lady, the train manager just might be nice due to one's accent (and obvious American-ness -- *bless*) and let one go on this train. This is lovely until this train is late and one nearly has an aneurysm in London worrying about making one's connection. Fortunately, one does make it across London with a whole 4 -- yes, count 'em -- four minutes to spare!

After a few days out and about, though, one really needs to internalise again and go where life cannot irritate.

I had a haircut appointment scheduled for 6.00pm today (am trying to masquerade as adult who cares about regular grooming issues) and have reminded self every day this week by looking at useful and omnipresent Calendrical Item (some people might find this an amazingly fantabulous addition to their daily wardrobe...). Somehow, though, today the voices and the calendar failed in their duty to remind me about said appointment.

It was only when literally 1/2 block from St. Miles church, and I shrewishly noticed someone's unfortunate roots, that the brain kicked in (previously, it had been occupied with planning for lovely food to quell violently rumbly tumbly and the later excursion to knitting and the need to call the printer in Shreveport and to call my Auntie Karen and to call Dr. Morgan). This shadow-form of a memory led to my consulting clock on phone, which read 17.58 (for those uninitiated into the wonders of 24-hour time telling, this means I had two minutes to get to Ritual Day Spa). Quite handily, it is only about 2 1/2 minute walk from my house, so I did indeed make it as the Town Hall clock was striking 6 -- whew.

There are now people across the square doing the Nelson Laugh (ha ha!) from The Simpson's. This is slightly amusing.

But I still think I need to go back into my own little world...

Goodbyeeeee, Trolley People!

Wednesday, 22 August 2007

Vegetable Vandals

This morning on the way to work, I saw at various points on the pavement (aka, sidewalk):

* an avocado
* a papaya
* a broken jar of beet root
* a smashed orange, flattened by traffic

These items were all located within about a one and half block-worth stretch between Colegate Street and St. Benedicts Street.

What is the world coming to when fruit and veg can be victimised like this?

Tuesday, 21 August 2007

What the hey?

Pray tell, what business exactly is it of the EU to tell the Republic of Texas how to run its business?

It seems that the idea of capital punishment of a murderer is somehow more repulsive than mass killings of innocents in other parts of the world (Example 1; Example 2; Example 3; Example 4) , but whatever. This is the same governmental organisation which formed a committee to argue the collective for Jaffa Cakes as either cakes or cookies so as to determine taxes, so why wouldn't we all listen to them? Maybe some dead girl babies and a few thousand people of the wrong race or the wrong faith really aren't such a big deal. Now, I understand the underlying questioning underlying 'wrongful death' discussion, but somehow it seems just that 10 years is a long enough time to prove the 'shadow of a doubt' which might have spared a jackass who shot a convenience store clerk. But let us consider only a couple of things about Johnny Ray Conner:

* he was identified as fleeing the scene
* he turned himself in

Generally, one doesn't either run OR turn one's self in if one is not guilty. His record is not so good, either, leading one to suspect incorrigibility.

Texas Attorney General case file.

I really am sorry for him; he may have had a horrible childhood, since he was already well on his way to the giddy heights of convicted murderer by the age of 10. He is possibly the product of incompetent social services and a disfunctional education system. For this I am sad for him and will pray for his soul. But I am not so sad as to want to (or want my friends and relatives to) pay for his free maintenance and upkeep since he cannot be a contributing part of society.

When one has a rabid dog, does one keep it in a little house and feed it, medicate it, counsel it incessantly and educate it in the legal profession until it dies of old age?

This being ranted, I am quite willing to parry objections to my point of view in a civil way. So, do feel free.

Have to go back to my online Scrabble game now...

Saturday, 11 August 2007

Leaving the Building

(or legal society, as the case may be)

So, in annoying news this week, some Scouts are missing. In case it wasn't mentioned on the Ark-La-Tex, CenTex or SWales news (for regular readers), the 100th anniversary Scouting Jamboree has been going on in Essex. 40,000 scouts from around the world participated, giving the morning news correspondents loads of precious English-as-a-Second-Language children to torment for several mornings ('How do you like it?', 'What do you think of England?', 'Do you like meeting people from around the world?' -- really deep questions).

However, to everyone's surprise, some scouts have gone missing!!!! (It is slightly befuddling to my tiny brain how a 24-year-old is still a scout, but... b-a-d. Cultural sensitivity, Amrie!) The missing include:
* 5 male Bangladeshis (aged 12, 15, 16 and 24)
* 2 girls and 2 boys from Uganda (aged 16 and 17)
* 17 y.o. Sri Lankan male
* 15 y.o. Nigerian male
* and another boy and a girl, whose countries are unknown to the general public (that is shady as well).

Now, my sympathies are truly with people who want to escape from these countries (and others). Wayne, my line manager, just returned from Nigeria, where he stayed in his hotel for two solid weeks, went nowhere outside but to the recruitment agent's office and the airport, and had armed guards the whole time. He reports that it is a s---hole. He says it has no redeeming qualities whatsoever, he was terrified for his life, and there is every understanding for people who want to get out however they can. He brought us some plantain chips.

HOWEVER, there is only so much that better-off countries can stand or hold. It also makes it really confusing and difficult for people trying to follow the rules to get visas and work permits legally (ahem). My mama told me there was a news story about Brits moving out of the country due to the influx of migrants, although all I could find was an article about the British exodus from London.

(step down from soapbox)

Now we move over to the humorous side of life, where something else has gone missing (namely, sanity).

This is the tale of a lawsuit. An All-American piece of litigation. Elvis has sued his former company for wrongly dismissing him. Nameless (well, he did legally change his name to 'Elvis Presley') former-Wall Street banker claims wrongful firing, harrassment at work, and victimisation. When he was dismissed, he claims the HR manager looked up from his desk and quipped that it was time that Elvis left the building. (titter) Another blogger has given his tuppence.

It has always been my dream to go to the One-Legged Elvis Presley-Lookalike Alligator-Wrestling Challenge (my question is: how many competitors do you have to have to make it a Championship?). It is on August 16th.... maybe should check next week to see if they have pictures!

And this is a list of randomness (which incidentally includes the above story, but also a link to a story indicating the possible location of the missing Briton Lord Lucan, who may be Roger Woodgate, currently living in a car in New Zealand with his pet possum).

It is a lovely day, and I ought to leave the building and go and be utterly mad somewhere. Maybe a hat will help! Or a possum.
But perhaps a shower is in order first.

Wednesday, 8 August 2007

A thing of beauty... a joy forever. So Mr. Keats tells us. To continue, according to same, '...its loveliness increases' which is quite encouraging, as we can only improve from here this evening.

Firstly, the puffy red eyes are back (although this is not the most noticeable thing about me at the moment, as will be more fully visualised presently). Despite my extremely scientific and methodical way in which this problem has been tackled -- systematically disposing of various creams, eye makeups and facial cleansers -- along with a NHS-sponsored tube of steroid cream, eyelids returned to puffy and unpleasant state this morning. And, I have self-diagnosed (so clever for a psuedo-linguist, no?)!

It is my studied opinion that I have developed a mango allergy. Perhaps I had it all along, but just possibly, eating an entire mango in one sitting can bring out a latent condition. Just maybe. Now that I look back over the past couple of months, I have been eating quite a lot of mango(s). Because they are:
a) yummy
b) chock full o' Vitamin C (I think. If not, then something else)
c) is regularly on 2 for £2!
And a case study (online, because everything online is true) has my symptoms listed! Fortunately, 'periorbital oedema' seems to be the lightest of the problems. And I can live with this. Because, after all, there is one more mango in the fridge, and it will not be allowed to go to waste! (mmmm, salivation!) It appears that urushiol (3'5'-pentadecylcatechol) is our culprit here. It is a happy fact to note that, despite being closely related, pistachios and cashews rarely cause cross-sensitivity -- that would make me really cross.

Secondly, the hair needed henna-ing overnight and now my head is wrapped in cling film/saran wrap. Glasses are a bit tricky when one's head is swathed in plastic wrap, but if you place the side bars carefully on the outside sort of where your ears are, and you don't move around a lot, they kind of stick to the film. Hoorah.

To complete the vision, I have applied a white face mask: rejuvenating, in 'loveliness increasing' and generally youth-ifying my entire aura.

And I wish you all a good night and pleasant dreams. You don't have to dream of me... (ha). On the positive side, if any gypsies should try to creep in through the window, they would quite probably wet themselves in fright. There is a current Traveller issue in Norwich, and on UEA's campus... more about this issue later.

Tuesday, 7 August 2007

£10 Tuesdays

Something is up with Tuesdays.

Places open 30 minutes later in the city centre on Tuesdays for some reason -- well, at least HSBC bank and Boots pharmacy. Sally and Suzy claim this is for staff training, but I am convinced that it has to do with some pagan tradition requiring the sacrifice of busy people's patience on the altar of locked doors. Or maybe worship of the sun.

My reason for trying to do business on a Tuesday morning stemmed from my post on Friday: So, we all get mail for people who used to live in our houses. Mostly, this can be returned to the Corporate Sender of Crap Paperwaste (CSCP) by marking through and noting 'Not at this address'.

But piece of post from Friday was obviously a personal note, not to a person for whom I regularly get post, with no return address (WHAT is UP with people trusting any postal service so implicitly that they do not put a return address?), and with a suspicious hard, slim thingy inside. Instead of throwing this immediately in the bin, I opened it and this girl should be happy that I did, since her idiot friend who had mailed it to her (with no return address) was mailing Girl A's driving license and her HSBC bank card. Yes, that is safe.

After trying yesterday to find this girl at her work place (wonders of the internet) to no avail, I took the items in to HSBC on campus at lunch. AND THEY GAVE ME A £10 REWARD! Wow! Isn't that nice? So someone has some chocolate on her desk and might be able to make it through the rest of stressful day of travel planning (which departure looms closer every day -- approx. 35 days from now).

Monday, 6 August 2007

Bad Fish Mother

Well, at least they are not dead. And being a bad fish mother is better than being a good fish wife, right? If one is a bad fish wife, does that make one a lovely angel?

So, after another week of wrestling with fish health (although the fishes seem happy and content -- their little dorsal fins aren't droopy), went BACK to PetsFirst (this appears to be a regular part of E's visits to Norwich -- 'Can we go to PetsFirst again and buy various filters and feed and plants and medicine?' I know he looks forward to visiting Sprowston Retail Park so very much.). The special order BioFoam had arrived, and I got some plants and some replacement filters. And some new black rocks. A major problem, though, occurred when attempting to move the plants around later, so that the aquarium looked a little less like the bottom of the lake at Hogwarts. The water shocked the bejeezus out of my submerged hand. E calmly said, 'Oh, it is just the lights. We'll turn them off.' Then he stuck his hand in and shocked himself, too. So, it was the troublesome filter machine (which had just had several £s worth of replacement parts purchased for it).

Filter has now been replaced by a new swish Elite Stingray underwater filter. And I have been assured that the fish were not shocked or traumatised in any way due to their swimming and not touching ground or sides of habitat. But I still feel really guilty.

Anyway, after this excitement, we went on an outing -- albeit a brief pootle (I have found that my spelling of this word has been incorrect for years... the horror I feel! Instead of being spelt like the canine, it has a 't'. It was used in the Independent Magazine this weekend, and I have chastised myself. So sorry!). As, I was saying: a brief pootle, since Wales was playing England in the rugby test match that afternoon. This sign always makes me chuckle. Who came up with that choice tourist slogan?

Dereham is sort of close by. And I expected there to be an interesting fair at the church hall involving educational handcrafts of the woolen sort. Instead, Dereham was altogether kind of a let-down, except for the lovely church, St. Nicholas's. The church has a square tower attached to it, but this was not strong enough to hold its eight bells. So it built another tower, which is the one on the right in the picture :)

Interestingly, St. Withburga's Well is in the churchyard. The plaque reads:

The Ruins of a Tomb which contained the Remains of WITHBURGA youngeft daughter of ANNAS King of the East Angles who died in A.D. 654. The Abbot and Monks of Ely ftole this precious Relique and tranflated it to Ely Cathedral where it was interred near her three Royal Sifters A.D. 974.

It is said that the well sprung forth when her bones were removed. It makes me kind of laugh in appalled horror that an Abbot and Monks stole her body 300 years after she died.

Sadly, the fair appeared to be cheap tat held together with various adhesives. We did not pay the £1 entry, instead choosing to pootle on towards Yaxham (because it is a funny name and is also on the way to Wymondham).

Wymondham (pronounced wind-umm) is a lovely place with an abbey, which is celebrating its 900th anniversary this year. We just drove through, but it looks like a lovely day trip.

Drove back to Norwich, had burger from the Magdalen Street bridge burger van; E talked to strangers (not unusual); we were invited to an old man's house to watch the rugby; but instead went to The (mostly empty, due to the gorgeous day) Mischief and had a lovely afternoon rest. Clare and Jamie joined us for a bit, but as England was unalterably winning, thought they could manage not to be glued to the rest of the game. I knitted :)

unday -- two eccentric people sat in St. Miles Alley and drank coffee.

Had brilliant idea to go to Wroxham for lunch. Along with about a million other people. For two miles, we didn't get above 5 miles per hour. Please drive slowly.

At lunch, E kindly invited an older couple to sit with us, as we were at a large table and there was nowhere else. We were called 'ducks' very frequently by the lady (this is kind of like, 'Sugar' or 'Love' or 'Darlin' and is maybe common in the Midlands?). She was very cute and said 'duck' kind of like 'doook'. Everyone was entertained by the people renting boats in front of the restaurant deck and trying to alternately park or unpark them with various levels of inaccuracy.

Thursday, 2 August 2007


There is a red construction sign that has been propped against a fully grown tree outside the University Health Centre near one of the entrances to the campus. It has been there for several days now.

This sign says, 'DANGER Heavy Plant'.


It has been added to my bank of fascinating and useless knowledge that cake is not VAT-able.

One of the Fiscal Officers down the corridor has been to visit this morning (yet another problem with past record-keeping and billing procedures in this office -- I should also mention that 'the dead guy' died one year ago yesterday, so there was kind of a pall over part of the office yesterday. The certain people have been talking about it for a week now... I kind of stayed quiet-ish, and that is not an easy feat.). This Fiscal Officer is hysterical, in an accountant sort of way, and used to work for Sainsbury's. He regaled us with tales of being a financial lackey for the grocery industry in London.

VAT means 'Value Added Tax' and is automatically added onto certain items you buy. This is VERY handy when you are shopping here because the price you see is the price you pay. None of this trying to do multiplication by 8.25% to figure out if you will be impoverished by this purchase; you are simply able to ascertain that it will from the label! Hoorah.

Well, it turns out that cake is NOT a VAT-able item, as it has been deemed a necessary survival purchase. This idea receives my approval; and Sally's; and Clare's; and Suzy's.

Biscuits (aka, cookies) are also not VAT-able, as long as they do not have chocolate on them, as this is considered a luxury purchase. This is preposterous and a travesty of Tax Codes in civilised society. Chocolate is most certainly necessary for survival, although primarily of those in near proximity to the consumer.

A loophole has been made by Jaffa Cakes, which are chocolate cookie-type things with orange jam inside. They call themselves 'cakes' so as to avoid VAT. Clever little Jaffa monkeys!

And, now we have had our little lesson on tax.

I think someone needs cake...

Wednesday, 1 August 2007


There is a ghost in my house.

It takes the form of a spectral Siamese and appears at the most peaceful and quiet, gloaming moments, causing me to start quite suddenly when pale blue eyes glow all at once out of the dusk-lit main room and it looks like my Futon cubes on which my feet are resting are moving (which is slightly unsettling).

Then I jump.

Then he freezes.

Then I say, 'KEEEEEtttyyyyyy!'

And then he scampers trippingly through the kitchen, over the herbs and out the kitchen window.

And then he does the whole thing again about two hours later and appears shocked, utterly shocked, that there is a person in here.

Rotary Pub Walk

Last night went on v. interesting pub history walk with Blackfriars Rotary, led by one of the Rotarians who is an official Norwich Blue Badge Tour Guide!

Unfortunately, have not got pictures, as was not good light, but perhaps shall make effort to go back and document later on a sunny day. Clever persons will be able to follow the route with Google maps, perhaps, should they be curious :)

We started out at The Ribs of Beef, which is on the River Wensum at the Fye Bridge, and about 5 minutes from my house. It is thought to be the oldest river crossing in Norwich, possibly used by the Romans. At the heyday of Norwich pubs, in the 19th century, there were between 700 and 800 pubs in the city! Today, there are about 100, although the tourist slogan from the 1930s still is common -- 'A pub for every day of the year, and a church for every week of the year.' Awwwww.

There was really quite too much information, and I didn't take notes as would have been in danger of skinning my knee. This is my attempt to remember as much as possible. Here is a fascinating article about Norwich brewing history!

Ale was first brewed by the Romans (although have found an article crediting the Sumerians) and is a mixture of malted barley, boiling water and yeast. The barley was dampened and then put in a drying rack of sorts and allowed to germinate, after which it was roasted. During early periods, this was done over a wood fire, resulting in a darker colour to the resulting liquid. Beer was created later by the Belgians with the addition of hops to the mixture, leading to a more bitter taste. Paler colours result when the germinated barley is roasted over coke fire.

Most pubs brewed their own ales and beers, and this was mostly done by women, the process being seen as a part of cookery, i.e., woman's work. Some people even sold beer out of their homes in an unofficial sort of Beer House setup -- this was an easier licensing to have. And churches made annual 'Church Ales', which were sold for a bit of fundraising (Lovely Mr. Murderous Cromwell put an end to this foolishness). This situation of everyone brewing their own was common practice until the 17th century (I think), when the process became a bit more scientific.

It should be pointed out that ales and beers were significantly lower in alcohol content, only about 2%. And it was fairly difficult to obtain water, esp. clean water. Generally, parish wells were located... NEXT TO THE GRAVEYARD (!); this allowed cholera to spread quite frequently. Rivers were sewers, and in my area by the River Wensum were where wool dying works were. Used dyes were therefore dumped in the river, too. Our guide told us that there were sayings about whether red or blue river water made better tea... (yum). Additionally, should one actually get some clean water, tea and coffee were quite expensive. So, really ale was about the safest and most dependable way to hydrate.

Because most of the population was illiterate, illustrated beer signs were made compulsory by Richard II in 1393. Later, these also served to identify ale houses to the official Ale Taster. Official ale tasters, or 'conners' (from 'con', to know), wore leather breeches. Pubs had to be certified that they were serving quality (although this may be a very relative term) and true ales; Shakespeare's father was, at one point, a beer conner.

So, the conner would come in and the tender or owner would pour a pint of beer onto a wooden bench and the conner sat in it for a period of time (cannot remember if it was an hour?). When he tried to stand up, if it was easy to get straight up, the ale was rubbish and the brewer could be fined. If he had difficulty getting up (from his breeches sticking to the bench, not from being tipsy), then the ale was quality. This seems initially a bit dodgy on the science front (and E thinks the story is bollocks), but perhaps someone is able to verify?

Anyhoo, back to the walk. Walking up Magdalen Street, we looked at a several more, two of which are still pubs. One, The King's Head, was originally a brewery owned by Youngs, Crawshay and Youngs Crown brewery, and was voted CAMRA pub of the year in 2005 or soemthing. I walk past it all the time! (It is also across the road from a wool shoppe!) And now, I know what the crown emblem over the doorway means and the ornate 'YCY' in the spandrel over the arched windows.

Cutting down Golden Dog Lane, we went past Doughty's Hospital, which was founded for 25 elderly men and 8 women in 1687, from a bequest of £6,000 (I think), which was a fortune indeed. It is still a charity today.

Then we wound through an office/apartment complex of buildings (some are part of an 18th or 19th century shoe factory) to find, hidden all by itself off Kings Head Lane, William Watts' cottage, which was built in 1640. He was a wool merchant, and his stone wattled + brick tile accented house proved that he was a man of substance.

Down Muspole Street ('muspole' is thought to be a derivation meaning 'mushy pool' or a marshy area), many of the buildings were courts, which were kind of tenements. A lot of them have been restored, but some were either demolished, destroyed by fires, or bombed. Norwich was very heavily bombed in 1942. Usually, these courts had one toilet for all the residents. There was a pub for these poor souls on the corner of Duke Street and Muspole, called the 'Whip and Nag'; earlier, though, it had been called the 'Whip and Egg', referencing a lovely combination of brandy and raw egg we know as eggnog! The pub is now a lovely tiny flat :)

Crossing the street (Duke Street) to St. Mary's Plain. Norwich Central Baptist Church is on the south side, and is built on the site of an earlier church destroyed by fire. It is quite modern. But, on the opposite side of the street is St. Mary Coslany, which was sadly one of the first churches to become redundant in Norwich in the 1930s. It it the round tower that my basil plant looks at all day from the kitchen window, and is the oldest Saxon tower in Norwich! The round towers from Saxon times were not (probably) built as parts of churches but were watchtowers. Churches were added later and in different stages and styles. So many churches are kind of a hodge-podge stretching over several centuries.

Pickerell's House, on the corner of St. Mary's Plain and Rosemary Lane, was a pub as well (cannot remember name) and stands next to the Zoar Strict and Particular Baptist Chapel. Zoar is the place where Lot went when he left Sodom and Gomorrah. Pickerell's House is one of 6 thatched-roof buildings still left in Norwich. After the fire of 1507, roofs were mandated to be made of either slate or tile.

Between St. Crispin's Road (the inner ring road) and St. Miles Bridge, there were 30 pubs on Oak Street! This is about maybe four blocks. Cannot remember any of the names but The Dolphin. Apparently, there were several brewers in the area as well: Norwich Brewers:Oak Street. St. Miles School is now private house(s). When education for children up to age 10 was decreed, churches were very involved in setting up schools.

Past St. Miles, or St. Michael Coslany :) The flushwork of specially crafted flint is some of the best anywhere. This church building is also apparently a hodge-podge of design and period.

To the Bullard and Sons' Brewery, which I cycle or walk past most every morning. This is right on the southeast side of St. Miles Bridge (Oak Street has become Coslany Street at this point). Coslany is thought to be a Viking word meaning, 'island bridge in the middle of the reeds'. Whether this is true and refers indeed to a little island that you could use to hop across the River Wensum's reed beds is up to readers to decide :)

Up the right-hand side of St. Laurence (or St. Lawrence), where the guide pointed out the carvings of two martyrs in the spandrils of the West door. St Laurence is, with St. Andrew's, second in size to St. Peter Mancroft. It is only open on Tuesday afternoons.... :(

Some more pubs on St. Benedict's, several of which are music stores, several of which are no more, due to demolition to make way for tram lines. Names by this point were starting to run together :) -- and not because of any beer... we did not stop at a single pub until getting back to the Ribs of Beef for sausages and mash.

Blah, blah, blah -- people were starting to lag by this point :) Walked past Briton's Arms, on Elm Hill, which is another thatch roof. Really pretty tea room on ground floor -- have had great plans to go for a while -- and someone was practicing violin through open window upstairs. Lovely. Through the car park towards the river, where I have never ventured before, but it is really interesting to see the back architecture of the buildings of Elm Hill.

And we ended up where a little alley runs next to the Ribs of Beef -- and it was time for some Adnams and food! Hoorah!

There were lots of places along the route where pubs and churches used to stand, but for numerous reasons are no more. It was really fascinating, more than just going on a tour, but learning about things you see every day and noticing little things you might miss -- like St. Edmund and St. Laurence in the doorway in St. Laurence's Passage, and the twined monograms of 17th century brewers.