Day 34 - Queen's Gallery, State Rooms at Buckingham Palace, The Importance of Being Earnest and Dinner at Spring

There’s no room for error today. But we make room and leave a little later than we should have. We’re heading to Green Park then we have a walk through the park to get to the various attractions of the Royal Collection.

Green Park is a lovely swathe of green in the city. Hubby's hurrying me along as I dawdle admiring the Diana Fountain, glossy green saw-leaved fruiting trees and watching a squirrel bounding across the grass. I enjoy the simplicity of this park. It's not over groomed or formal. People sit, relaxing on park benches.

Hubby's chore of dragging me along gets just that bit harder as we come within the sphere of influence of the Victoria Memorial. How proud Londoners must be of their city.
We have a 9.30 time slot for the Queen’s Gallery and rock up at 9.40. Not a drama we just line up among the people who’ve arrived a little early for the 9.45 slot. The exhibition is called Painting Paradise, The Art of the Garden. I’m keen to keep our time here fairly brief and move on to the State Apartments at Buckingham Palace.

Once again we set out with audio guides to explore the gallery. The style of the gallery is very different to the Queen’s Gallery in Edinburgh. It’s much older and was purpose built as a gallery. The ornamentation is very formal with some beautiful moulded or carved features in the ceilings and there’s some beautiful railings as well.  The other thing that always strikes me in these formal spaces in Britain is the bold use of colour. The dark greens and reds used look great and I think work much better in the soft light and large spaces.

Given we don't have infinite time, we need to prioritise so I start out just going around looking at, reading about or listening about the things that I like best or that peak my interest for some reason.
This time there’s a lot of really fascinating objects that don’t seem to have an audio guide commentary. These are usually my favourite things of all.
Probably foremost among them is a little illuminated presentation copy of Francis Bacon’s essay Of Gardens given to Queen Alexandra. It is absolutely exquisite. Then there’s the fabulous porcelain. A Minton encrusted pen tray that belonged to Princess Victoria catches my eye, the fine detail in the individual flowers a work of wonder. The same applies to the enormous floral clock from the Vincenne’s Porcelain Factory. All you can do is shake your head in wonder at the perfection and craftsmanship. A rare and beautiful chandelier bought by Queen Victoria and Prince Albert hangs from the ceiling.

Another aspect of the exhibition I particularly enjoyed was to see the portraits of various royal gardens at different points in time. Having done the garden tour at Hampton Court it was great to see the layout in 1710 and listen to the curator’s remarks.  Hubby’s taking longer in the earlier parts of the gallery than me so I go and find him and let him know I’m pretty much done. He works his way through what he’s yet to see and I point out some of my favourites to make sure he doesn’t miss them then we really need to get away.

We head for the entrance to Buckingham Palace and line up in the entrance queue, pass through security which this time includes x-ray and the whole bit. Then the queue snakes it’s way around the courtyard and a long series of billboards with information about the house and portraits of the Queen. There is a particularly beautiful portrait of her taken in her old age and dressed in the rich green velvet of the Order of the Thistle standing by a little burn and the rising ground behind her covered in flowering heather.

As we get to the main Entrance the Australian State Coach is on display. It’s good to see it again. I last viewed it in Australia in 1988 when it was on display at the Royal Easter Show in Sydney before being shipped to London. It is actually made of metal and has electric windows and air conditioning. The ornate gold is shaped as a garland of native Australian flowers.

We move along with the crowd and make our entry into the palace up the grand staircase and into the green drawing room listening intently to our audio guide. We continue to move along with the steady pace of the crowd who, obviously, are also pacing their exploration more or less in accordance with the audio guide. As we leave the Throne Room Hubby, who is behind me leans forward and says “This leaves Versailles for dead, doesn’t it.” It does. This is a working royal palace. Everything is so supremely tasteful and more importantly completely schmick. This is the unifying aspect of the Royal Collection attractions (other than The Palace of Holyroodhouse) it’s quality and good taste at every point. These are things that Britain should be and I am sure is extremely proud of.  I suppose as an Australian I feel a good measure of pride in them too we have nothing like this at home and the Queen is our head of State also, but it’s a fractured situation and we pay nothing toward the upkeep of this place as far as I know, other than our entrance fee, so any sense of personal pride is rather irrational and misplaced.  Part of the mixed feelings of many Australians I should imagine.

Our tour continues through room after room of spendour until we come to some exhibition displays to do with preparing for a State Banquet. In these spaces we appreciate the opportunity to sit down as we listen to our guide and look at the items arranged in portable display cases. We move on from the preparation to the Ballroom all kitted out for the Banquet. It’s superb. Surely nowhere on earth does a better job of pomp and pageantry than Britain. Long may that continue.

We emerge from the Bow Room out onto the Terrace. We don’t have time to sit down and eat at the café so we refresh ourselves at the facilities and start the fairly long walk down along the garden path to the exit. Hubby’s lobbying for skipping lunch again. What happened to your learning from last trip I ask. I thought you said wandering about without lunch is something you didn’t want to do. He shrugs. We take our time walking the path. I’m entranced by the flocks of geese grazing on the lawn by the lake. They're a long way off but some look like Canada Geese. Are the others Greylags? I zoom in. 

Ah, they're Egyptian Geese

A sign lets us know about the less tended areas of the garden. I wonder what, if any, influence Prince Charles has had on this approach. It's so much in line with his philosophy and experience in regeneration of the wildflower meadow at Highgrove.
We sit on a bench and eat a tub of their extortionately priced ice cream. Glad I carry a spoon in my handbag once again. In due course we make it to the end of our visit and sign over our entrance fee as a donation to get our tickets stamped as annual entry. Others doing the same are firmly encouraged to ring before just rocking up because sometimes the free entry cannot be accommodated and they would hate people to waste a journey. 

We’ve got another walk back around toward the Royal Mews. We’ve not got a lot of time left before we need to move over to the Strand. In the end we decide there’s not enough time to brave that queue and take the risk of getting stuck in the crowd. Our next treat has cost us a bomb so we’re not missing that. The Royal Mews can wait until another visit to London.

By now we’re in position to need to head to Victoria Station, which seems particularly appropriate given that our destination is the matinee performance of The Importance of Being Earnest featuring David Suchet as Lady Bracknell. As we make our way through to the tube I can hear in my mind Judi Dench’s strident …”Prism!! Where is that baby!” I can hardly wait to see this great classic of English wit on the stage in London. It doesn’t matter how many times you see it, or how fluently you can recite the lines, this is a wonderful treat and it’s going to be such fun to see how David Suchet handles Lady Bracknell.

We’re not late but we’re later than all the other people in our row and yep, we booked early and have seats in just about the perfect position in the middle of the row. Awkward excuse me’s, and sorrys, and we all sigh with relief as we take our seats. There’s not a lot of room to get past people. Happily seated we’re not moving from here until the final curtain!

Well, what’s to say other than Oscar Wilde is the star of the show. David Suchet fairly spits out some lines, especially when referring to her precious daughter forming an alliance with a parcel. He camps it up with an extravagant performance and the audience is with him. Fantastic stuff. A real treat, funny and feelgood.

We file out taking our time, we’re in no hurry for our next deadline. It’s another walk down the Strand to Somerset House. I had no idea Somerset House was on such an enormous scale. We’ve walked past it before but not really looked in. We wander in to the courtyard and spend some time admiring some shiny seashell sculptures which later research tells me are by Marc Quinn. Much of the artist's intent is invisible to us as we admire the immaculately polished stainless steel and the fountains are not running today which enables us to get in close among the work. 

As our reservation time approaches we find our way to the entrance to Spring restaurant, Skye Gyngell’s new project. Well, new since we were last in London anyway. We have an early reservation so not too late a night and given that we have no deadline for departure we are free to indulge in the a la carte menu.

The décor is predominantly white and I was a little bit worried when I was looking at the website that given the prices and the elegance of the set up it might be a bit formal and stuffy. Not so. The service is beautifully friendly and laid back. Just what we want. The light fittings are like suspended clusters of cuttlefish spawn.  A young lady shows us to a comfortable booth by the window. We’re nicely out of the way. We start out with some water while we peruse the drinks menu. After the delicious apple and sea buckthorn juice at the Three Chimneys I’m keen to see what Spring has in mind for us. House made  Fern Verrow Apple and Pistachio juice. I’ll try that please. It arrives in due course presented in a funky glass that has vertical stripes of clear and brown glass. With the glass full the stripes are, obviously, green and brown. It looks almost as good as it tastes.

We have a few questions about the menu. What’s nduja (soft pork sausage)? How about datterini (a richly flavoured tiny tomato)? And can you tell me about Halibut?  Our waitress is clearly familiar with what’s on offer and is able to confidently describe the texture and style of the fish. Impressive, but even so, at this price and with a 12.5% service charge routinely added to our bill that should be expected. OK. Down to business.

I throw out the challenge. I’ll have the Ravioli of onion squash and buffalo ricotta with marjoram butter £13 followed by the Wild halibut with deep fried Jerusalem artichokes, rocket and datterini £34. As you can see I’m taking another risk and ordering the fish. If a chef at this class of outlet can’t make your fish delicious for you, then you’re beyond help.

We’re entertained by beautiful bread and house made butter as we wait. Our table is adorned by a beautiful giant squash.

Hubby’s eyes narrow as I finish outlining my plan of attack. As our waitress turns her attention to him he turns his attention back to his menu. Courgette flowers with ‘nduja and crab £21 he glances in my direction smugly. I have to confess that’s a safe and reliable course of action. Then he takes a daring detour from his usual reflex which would be the pigeon.  Slow cooked veal with artichokes, preserved lemon, olives and polenta £30. Ooh, I say, that’s not your usual. “No.” He replies with a quick flick of the eyebrows.

My ravioli is thick and silky and rich served in the thickly liquid marjoram butter. Hubby’s generous with his serving of three courgette flowers and simply lets me have a whole flower. We tie.

Onto our main courses. The portions are generous and reduce us to equally generous mms and entreaties to try this. The flavour of my fish is enhanced by the tiny tender little olives. I don’t like olives usually either. The blending of flavours creates a culinary synergy, the rocket and, ah, I guess you might call it a gremolata and a touch of the creamy butter and lemon create a beautifully balanced dish. The fish is cooked to perfection.

How’s your veal? Try it. Mmm. Nods. That’s great.  Huge portions for high end isn’t it. I hope I’m not too full for dessert. Another round of the juice please. I notice that this is a regular item on it’s way to tables around the restaurant.  I absolutely love this trend I’m noticing on this trip for high end to include non-alcoholic non-fizzy delights among their offerings.

Our dessert arrives. I’ve chosen Peach and Toasted almond cream with cat’s tongue. £9. It’s reasonably similar in overall style to my dessert last night. Simple and adorned with a lovely viola flower to complement the rich claret purple of the surprise berries, but look, I have to admit, I would normally expect a little more technical difficulty for £9.  The cat’s tongue makes it without that it would seem a tad pedestrian. Hubby’s Chocolate Mousse with Jersey cream and candied cumquat caramel is rich and thick. The mousse is dense and dark and white violas are an important presentation touch. Again we tie. Once again the kitchen is the winner. You really shouldn’t have winners at a meal in this class and we don’t.  I don’t check the bill. I think I’d rather not know what this meal cost in total. No mental mathematics going on in my head today either!

We settle our bill and have a final little chat with our waitress, complimenting her on the friendly service that she and her colleagues have provided. She’s clearly so enthusiastic about this restaurant and loves working here. She tells us that it is a reflection of the fact that this is such a happy place to work, you can tell when the staff love working at a restaurant. Haha perhaps that’s why Hubby’s cappuccino was delivered with a love heart as noted by the man who brought it out! We share the rich chocolate truffles and we’re away home by 7:30. Our meal has also been nicely efficient. I’m not entirely keen to spend 3 hrs over dinner as we did quite a bit in Scotland.

Our last item of business is to claim a copy of the menu from reception on the way out. A souvenir of a beautiful and memorable meal.

Day 33 - Churchill War Rooms, Four to Eight Restaurant and The Play That Goes Wrong

Breakfast at the Alhambra is in the building across the road. We have a pretty reasonable window from 7:30 to way beyond when we would be wanting to eat. No time for lazing about in London. We take the familiar path downstairs and are greeted with a flash of recognition by the man who’s still the same as on our last stay, of course. He and Hubby greet each other like long lost friends. He even remembers our routine. Hubby the full English, me the continental.  It’s great to be back. The Alhambra feels like our London home, it’s comfortable and good value and in a convenient spot.

Again we don’t leave as early as the ideal I had noted on the manifesto, which was to arrive at the Churchill War Rooms at opening time. To tell the truth I’ve gone right off the desire to go to the CWR. I’ve spent half my life reading military history but kind of put the demons to bed visiting the battlefields in France in 2012. One of my life’s defining moments I suppose. Anyway, Hubby’s driving the enthusiasm this morning as well as the logistics. We are further delayed by an important logistical task. We need to head into Kings Cross Rail and pick up our pre-booked tickets to Portsmouth. This is pretty straightforward using the machines provided and we’re on our way in no time. Did we see that gorgeous ceiling last time we were here? I don’t remember doing so. It’s glorious. Norman Foster seems to have sparked a trend with his roof over the British Museum. This one is like a giant fan vault. I heartily endorse the approach that insists that a train station doesn’t have to be ugly or harshly utilitarian.

We emerge from the tube at Westminster and we experience a miracle. Hubby’s studying the map on his phone trying to work out which direction is which. I on the other hand have a clear recollection of our previous visit and once I confirm the location of Westminster Abbey I know where we need to go.  As we walk away Big Ben chimes. We turn to admire him. Hubby tells me that they use penny's to adjust the timing of the mechanism.

We round the corner and make our way to the CWR entrance. Hubby’s a bit puzzled about where to go. He’s forgotten that last time we were here it was all construction hoardings. We head in and pay our entrance, buy the inevitable guide book, collect our audio guides and make for the first display room. This is mainly information about and video presentations of interviews with people who worked in the CWR during the war. They were sworn to secrecy and so pretty much all of them kept that secret not even telling their nearest and dearest what they were doing or indeed after hostilities had ceased, what they had done during the war.  One lady seems understandably amused that her mother asked her where they’d put her to work and she just told her “an office”. The mother then commented that she knew they wouldn’t give her anything important to do! We move on, listening to our audio guides and peering into rooms or swivelling around to look at things the voices in our head tell us to look at. I tend to listen to the voices between rooms and have a quick look to get out of the way of other people. Most rooms don’t have so much that you need to stand and stare.

As often happens with us in Museums, we tend to travel through at different paces and via different routes as we spend more or less time on aspects that interest us. I spend a good deal of time under the overhead speakers listening to excerpts of famous Churchill speeches. We detour into the Churchill Museum before we get to the Map Room which is by all accounts the most amazing and affecting of the underground spaces.

The Churchill Museum is an award winning display about the great leader’s life. The layout seems to be in priority order. First the material relating to WWII, then they go back to his early life and WWI etc.  There’s many quotes and interactive displays. The quotes are mostly very witty. That’s the thing that I always think of with Churchill. He’s a creature of a time when British verbal repartee was honed to an art and he was a masterful proponent of the craft.  Definitely my favourite exhibit was a touch screen where you follow a time line of classic Churchill wit throughout his life. Oh and I loved seeing his red zip up onesie.

 

The museum seems quite well balanced and the time flies past as we delve into the material provided. The section about his earlier career is interesting. He switched parties a couple of times which didn’t make him too many friends. Ratting and re-ratting I think he referred to it as. One angle they seem to praise is Churchill’s championing of improvement for the living conditions of the working classes and the poor. It’s an angle I’d like to know more about. I guess the motives don’t matter much, but Churchill was a very strong believer in Empire and one display mentions that he believed that such improvements in social justice was critical to retaining the Empire. The British upper classes have been extremely shrewd in managing issues like that, giving way just enough to keep the people satisfied and maintain the status quo in respect to power. Just an observation. Churchill was certainly a shrewd man.

The displays contain just the briefest mention of Churchill’s arguments with the Australian Prime Minister, Curtin. I was wondering how they’d handle that. They don’t basically other than to say they argued. Australian and British interests haven’t always coincided and Churchill didn’t much care for Australia putting her own interests first at some points during the war. It was certainly a turning point in Australia's relationship with Britain.

We’re happily exploring the museum but keeping an eye on the time. I’m keen to do the London Walk of the National Gallery at 2.30.  Hubby’s more concerned about getting there on time than I am. He’s thinking it’s 2 o’clock so he rushes his exploration of the last bit of the Churchill Museum and the Map Rooms. I’m just taking my time. Museum in the hand still worth two in the bush for me and CWR is not exactly cheap entry. May as well make the most of it while we’re here. The Map Room is amazing but I find I’m not much affected by it in an emotional sense. It reminds me of my Dad quite a bit. The artifacts and equipment remind me of stuff we cleared out of his garage that he’d hung on to for years.

Hubby had gone out and tried to come back in to find me but there were too many people and he was stuck waiting where he was. Now we need to move it and get over to Embankment quick stix. No dramas. We get to embankment and puzzle out where we’re supposed to be. Yep. We’re in the right place and well before time. Goodo. It’s raining steadily as we shelter under the awning and slightly inside the station entrance. Watching the juice stall and people coming and going. There’s a few other people who look like they’re also waiting for the London Walk guide to show up. We all wait in vain. After about 20 mins with no show, we give up. I’m really rather irritated because another half hour in the CWR would have been about perfect. Nothing to do but move on and make the most of our day.

We walk up Villiers Street. I take a detour to have a quick nose around in the entrance of the Victoria Embankment Gardens, where there's a couple of performance spaces but quickly decide to get back to business. I’m the one pushing for something to eat this time. Pret? Hubby isn’t keen. How about Herman ze German? OK. We wander in and adopt our best British queueing ettiquette. 

Hubby doesn’t care what we have. What do I want. Just get a schnitzel sandwich and we’ll share it. We’ve got an early dinner booked.  He pays. There’s a wait. I’m not really paying attention. We sit down with our number at one of the little tables and watch other diners who’ve chosen something quicker come eat and go. Eventually Hubby is summoned to the counter and he’s presented with a large box. What the? He’s ordered a schnitzel with chips and salad. Well, he asked for the sandwich but they must have misheard and he obviously didn’t notice he’d paid two pounds more. Probably because of the drinks he was buying as well. Never mind we get stuck in and share it. It’s all very nice and filling, but it’s really chewed up more time than I’d hoped.

What next? We um and ah and then decide we’ll walk over to the half price ticket stand in Leicester Square and get tickets to the Play That Goes Wrong for tonight if they have them available. This goes smoothly and Hubby sits down while I stand in the long queue. There’s a few newly opened shows I wouldn’t mind seeing but they aren’t coming to the half price stand as yet. Tickets in hand we resolve to head home for a nap. We have a sad history of finding it hard to stay awake after a long day sightseeing. This is definitely a time for remembering the adage “less is more”.

Best laid plans and all that. The ticket queue has sadly eroded our rest time. Half an hour’s quick kip will have to do. Our reservation is at Four To Eight, modern Italian right next door to our show venue, so that’s convenient.  Let’s get right down to business. We’re shown to our seat by a slim, pretty and heavily accented young lady who enquires whether we are going to a show. We have plenty of time and we have an option of the pre-theatre menu or the a la carte.  It’s a coincidence that my selections all come from the pre-theatre. Hubby’s from the a la carte. Cut to the chase I win. Easily, which is a surprise.

I’m not really into fish that much but none the less I go for the ... here is where we pay the price for being slack on the night and tardy in the catch up. We have no notes and they’ve changed the menu. Sigh. So what we do know now is that my fish – which we’re sure is mackerel fillets, was great. I’m not that into fish so it was a surprise to me that I enjoyed it so much. There’s a beautiful balance of flavours and textures on my plate and the tissue thin violet coloured crisps are delectable.

Hubbys large tortellini was full of a beef ragu. Nice, but not in the running against the fish.

Mains – Hubby had the trofie which is an egg free form of pasta and tonight is also served with a beef ragu. The waitress tried to warn him that they were very similar dishes but he was not to be deterred.

He’s in the mood for pasta.  I’ve played it safe with the confit duck and mash. I win again. Hubby’s assessment. His meal is a bit samey overall. So our waitress was right to warn you wasn’t she. He wishes there was more pasta options on the menu.  My duck is OK but to me if seems a bit dry. Hubby thinks it’s delicious. He finishes it off when I’ve had enough. Oh, our side of polenta chips were light as a feather with a salty tang.

Dessert – I’ve noticed stone fruit on the menu so that is the end of my deliberations. English Plums with Zabaglione. This is my first taste of zabaglione and it seems a lot like raw sponge cake mix before the flour! It’s a good match but I think I would have enjoyed it more if the plums had been sliced into more manageable mouthfuls.  Hubby decided to go for an iced dessert that had meringue with it. Yeah, that’s the best I can do on what it is. I think I won that round too. I take the hat trick. 

Our desserts are finished, we’re just waiting for Hubby’s cappuccino. And waiting. And waiting. A couple of separate times people come and enquire of us and then go to chase the missing beverage. It makes no difference. In the end we’ve had enough of bad service and request the bill. Then more waiting while we have them remove the charge for the cappuccino that never arrived. They clearly think we have enough time remaining to wait some more. Yeah, stuff it, we’re out of here. Not impressed. I want a leisurely entrance to the theatre not a stressful last minute dash. Overall our meal hasn’t taken long, but it’s been a bit disappointing really.

We head fairly smartly into the theatre. Our seats are up at the back of the stalls, but as the lady on the ticket booth noted before selling them to us, it’s a pretty small theatre so even the rearmost seats are very good. 

Before the curtain rises there’s cast members going through the audience calling a dog that is apparently in the cast but missing. They faff about seemingly putting the finishing touches on the set. I won’t divulge more here other than to say that the descriptions I have read of The Mouse Trap meets Monty Python are spot on. This is physical comedy in a murder mystery setting. It’s a fun evening of silliness.

We have an interesting time figuring out how best to avoid walking on the homeward journey. It’s probable that basing ourselves somewhere in the theatre district might have worked better considering our itinerary but not to worry. We’re happy at the Alhambra.

Day 32 Part 2 - Arrival in London and Measure for Measure at Shakespeare's Globe

We’re on the Virgin train service from Glasgow Central to London Euston. 9.46 am Hubby has just been down to Coach C to the Virgin shop and arrived back with a cappuccino, a bacon roll and hot chips with tomato ketchup as we pass broad flat lands. A flock of black birds is feeding in the stubble of a newly harvested crop. Hubby rustles his packaging, exploring his loot and seems happy as a clam peering at the individual item to see how best to go about opening it. Salt is sprinkled as the announcement is made that we will soon be coming into Carlisle.  I didn’t expect the landscape around here to be so flat. I was expecting it to be more like the rolling countryside further north. Off in the distance I can see mountain peaks. I wonder if that’s the north of the Lake District.

Carlisle station looks interesting. There’s a big billboard advertising the historic quarter and posters and signs along the platform spruiking other sites in the nearby district such as Hadrian’s Wall. There are also flower displays and even an enclosed seating area with fake grass that help to soften the hard surfaces of the stone and glass.

A short way out of Carlisle the terrain heaves and bucks once more and the embankment rises to cradle the railway as we speed southward.

Beyond Penrith I’m surprised to find more signs of heather on the hills, the increasingly lumpy countryside demarked by low stone walls and the occasional stone ruin. Those walls are probably not that low when you’re not overlooking them from the train.

10.25 we are teased by glimpses of a rich green jewel. Stone is now hedges and the topographical composition is especially pleasing to the eye. Soon a reasonable sized town, civic pride displayed in consistent dark grey and white of the dwellings forming a pretty puddle of humanity in the low cradle of the dales.

10.42 Passing time is marked by arrival at Lancaster

11.10 we pass the residential areas of Wigan. North of the white curved arcs around the local stadium, there is an extraordinary consistency of red Lego brick houses with grey chimneyed slate roofs. Where one or two would seem dour, the broad expanse of uniformity looks only picturesque. I glory in the appreciation of the local traditional style in the area. I am not at all in sympathy with anyone who craves some sort of ultra-modern minimalist experimentation on any blocks of remaining waste ground.

11.25 we stop at Warrington Bank Quays amidst some large factories, Unilever prominently logoed. Moving away we see that this is a pimple on an otherwise rural area peppered with smaller less obtrusive industrial activity.

I’m absorbed in the journal for a while, relieved to get another day completed. One of my favourite days of the whole trip so it’s good to get it on paper at last while memory is reasonably fresh.  I glance up occasionally to note that development is increasing. 1pm and we can’t be far out from London Euston now. Hubby is reading on his phone and the train coach is fuller now, passengers having joined at stops along the way.  People start to get themselves together and look a bit more restless. I guess we should be doing the same. I better put my shoe back on! My friend warned me not to bring new shoes. Stupid. Figured I might need the waterproof element of this pair. I should have brought both.

We arrive at London Euston at 1.10 PM and spend a little time while Hubby gets a voucher for his phone and then we make our way to the taxi rank. It’s not far to our little hotel at Kings Cross but we’ve got a lot of gear and we’re tired. I almost think twice when I see the long ramp to the head of the queue. It might be closer to just get the tube. Ah whatever. 

A friendly chat with our taxi driver when we get to Argyle St. “Where are you off to next? Are you off on the Eurostar?” “No, Portsmouth.” “God why? It’s a dump!” “We want to see HMS Victory.” “Oh, that’s OK then” he gestures around. “And you’ll be used to it” he laughs. Well, we won’t be hitting Portsmouth with our expectations raised will we. Haha.

We check in at the Alhambra and find that we’ve got a room in the building across the street. We’re up on the 2^nd floor so lots of stairs and no lift option or porterage is provided. All the up and down stairs and hills in Scotland pays off at this point. We couldn’t be bothered rushing around like mad things today. Instead we rest in our room so we’re not too tired tonight. Well actually it’s a while before I rest. I’m busy on the internet looking at buying an extra piece of checked baggage and looking up luggage shops in the nearby area. My goodness, luggage is so expensive over here for precisely the same product. Armed with an option I defer the decision making and resolve to get a quick nap.
We rise about 4.30 and prepare to head out. This visit to London is very short. Just three nights 2 and a bit days. We’re mainly ticking off some things that we need to do in the summer season then clearing off.

I’m glad we’ve decided to stay again at the Alhambra. We know our way around. I feel almost competent using the tube (brushes fingernails smugly on lapel). We line up to check if our Oyster cards we got in 2012 still work. They do and we’ve a reasonable amount of credit on them so we don’t bother topping up. I’m sad to see the line of windows for human service are not operating. What happened to the nice Sikh man who served us last time? I hope he’s still got a job.

Hubby’s officially in charge of transport logistics in London. He’s still got a live phone. I didn’t bother recharging mine for the week we have left so I can only receive calls. We’re on the black, Northern Line to London Bridge then we have a short walk. I don’t know how to express my feelings at being back in London. We had 9 nights here in the spring of 2012 and that was simply amazing. Now here we are back again. Against the odds. Taking the many London sights we’ve yet to do for granted. How quickly we start to take our presence here as a right fulfilled. I feel almost like a Londoner flashing my Oyster card about confidently. Ridiculous. We’ve barely scratched the surface.

We emerge from the station and walk down past the Borough Market with a flash of recognition and sparked memory. Past Neal’s Yard Dairy when we turn the corner into Park Street. There’s a long development that looks like housing. I imagine living there and shopping at the market as part of a normal routine that goes back to time immemorial.

The streets are adorned with baskets of blooming geraniums. Everywhere the baskets of flowering plants. It’s lovely and I cannot imagine the size of the industry for suppliers of these things. It must be huge.

When we reach Bankside and the Anchor pub, there’s a large and thriving Rowan tree covered in berries. The Rowan Tree and its protective properties are something I associate with Scotland and I wonder about its native range. It’s in a beautiful spot that has a lot of outdoor tables and a buzzing happy atmosphere. You could do a lot worse than sit here with some friends on a beautiful afternoon like today.

We round the corner and we’ve arrived at Shakespeare’s Globe. The Swan is in a beautifully complex building with heritage features. The newer covered theatre space is next door and I wonder when all this was built and whether it’s completely new. It’s beautifully done either way. It takes us a few minutes to wander around and sus out the various entry points but pretty soon we’re in the building. The gift shop is hard to resist but time is getting short and Hubby hurries me along. We walk up the stairs to the Swan to claim our dinner reservation. We’ve got seats by the window and this time I take the one with the outdoor view of the Thames and across to the dome of St Pauls.

We mull over the menu which features dishes inspired by the foods available in the era of the performance spaces here. Hubby’s sadly predictable with his choice of soup of the day again. This time it’s roast capsicum and tomato soup. I can’t say I’m overly thrilled at the description but I decide to try the Pressed salt beef with pickles. The soup is nice, but I win!

Main course: Well. We do the unthinkable and both order the same main - the Pear Tree Marsh Farm pork belly, herbed barley, kale, jus. Pork belly is great done well, but it can seem flabby and pretty average if the skin isn’t nice and crisp. This is a nice meal but it’s suffering from the flabby syndrome. We tie, but there’s no achievement underlying it.

Desserts:  Both were great. Hubby reverted to his most usual strategy and opts for the chocolate which tonight is Chocolate and coffee marquise, milk puree. It was equally obvious what I will choose: Plum cake, cinnamon cream. I win again. I take the crown tonight. It has to happen sometimes.

We settle the bill and take the lifts downstairs, shallow breathing with wrinkled face because there’s a really horrible sewerage stink in it at the moment. There’s a queue to get in but we have plenty of time so we spend a little time in the gift shop and Hubby buys a T-shirt. He’s in need of a change. We buy a program too forgetting that we had pre-paid for one. Oh well, we’ll have one each. I have my online booking and that gets me in but it’s not enough to claim my cushions and extra program. For that I need to go and get vouchers from the box office. I leave Hubby in the queue and race of to do that. I’m not gone long but the queue has moved quickly. Hubby has handed me the wrong piece of paper and I’m ticketless. He’s realised and waiting for me at the entrance door. I rush over, claim cushions and program and we’re in walking through the natural oak corridor around to our section and finding our seats. Wow! What a fabulous space! They have said no photos until interval. I’m figuring they have to mean during the production and it hasn’t started yet so I take a couple of quick shots while the light is still bright.

Tonight’s show is Measure for Measure and neither of us have seen this play before. They start out with plenty of action down on the groundling floor. Mistress Overdone the brothel keeper and her bawd, Pompey are working the crowd with the girls seeking clients. Musicians prowl the stage playing their period instruments. The atmosphere is electric. Patrons are laughing and looking a bit nervous. Now and again a working girl and her target disappear into the little rooms and the rooms rock about. It’s all great fun and safely away from predation here in the gallery we can relax and enjoy the antics.

So far the seats next to us are vacant and eventually a lady comes up behind and climbs over the rail to sit next to me. She’s flipping crazy. It would be so easy to overbalance and there’s not far to the edge and a long fall down onto hard surfaces. Her other half is even later and there’s a shuffle as we get out to let them in.

The show romps along. We sit on our coats because there’s nowhere else for them. The seats are narrow and we perch really and lean on the front railing enjoying the farce. Hubby is chuckling away. He’s loving it. This is an absolutely fantastic experience. Eventually the interval comes. This is to London what the Tattoo is to Edinburgh I comment. I am SO glad we did this. I am sure that seeing something in this complex is going to be a feature of all future trips to London. It’s totally fantastic. The Sam Wanamaker Playhouse is a candle lit Regency venue. That wasn’t open when we were here in 2012 that’s got to be a must next time.

The show concludes with thunderous applause and the crowd files out in a very exuberant and cheerful mood walking down along bankside on a beautiful mild night. It’s nearly ten thirty so we don’t muck about getting home. This time we take a slightly different route past the Golden Hind to get back to London Bridge station. Easy peasy quick ride on the tube. We pause at Kings Cross to put a bit more money on our Oysters so we’ve got ample for the rest of our time without worrying then it’s a short walk up Argyle Street and we just go to sleep. I’ve managed to pick up a sore throat. We’re so close to the end of the trip, I’m happy to just go with it more now there is less risk of forgetting critical stuff before we get home and can catch up, journalling is deferred.

Day 32 - We catch the train and Scotland Wrap

There’s no time for mucking about this morning we’re on an early train to London. We drop the car back to Enterprise and then it is a short walk from the Enterprise Office around the corner to Glasgow Central. We’re here with time to burn and so we’re obliged to sit out in the open covered square and await the announcement of which platform our train will depart from.

Platform 1. As I expected. It looks like we’re the only people this morning that have such a lot of luggage. Lucky. We can fit it in the luggage racks on the train. Our load needs rebalancing. For the moment we’ve just got our belongings into the amount of luggage we have. The bag of books and guide books is ridiculously weighty.

The train pulls out of the station and we’re on our way. By twenty minutes out we’re in the countryside, seeing snatches of grazing and cropping land as the train bursts out of the railway embankments.

9.15 the green lowlands are bounded by gentle mountains the first with flowering heather, the next bald, the following one the darker spikey green of forestry. The peaks recede and the proportion of embankment swaps. The Rosebay Willowherb is vibrant here again. Closer to Glasgow the flowers are ending and just the pink stems and seed pods remain, more evidence of the changing season.

Our ride is smooth and relaxing. I sit at our table seat, facing backwards, typing. I’m journaling what I’m seeing after catching up on getting the pictures off the cameras and having a bite of brekky. A cold, annoying apple Danish and the last few dregs of our delicious lightly salted Tyrell’s crisps. I wouldn’t mind the shocking lack of warmth in the pastry except I’d asked for an apricot Danish at the patisserie at Glasga Central. Hubby watches the scenery taking the odd photo here and there.  

As we cross over into England our trip to Scotland officially ends.  Anyone who has been with us for the ride knows well enough how fantastic it’s been and how much we’ve learned and enjoyed along the way. We have had a neat month on the ground arriving 17 August and departing 17 September. And yet there is so much more we didn’t see and places we really want to return to.

So, what were our favourite experiences and “Wow” moments in Scotland? Oh, there’s so so many.

The Edinburgh Tattoo was better than I could have imagined. Just a brilliant experience. Looking back on it and seeing in my mind the massed pipes and drums on the ground at the castle it just felt like the call of the pipes summoning the descendants of the Scottish diaspora home. An unforgettable and emotional experience. I never expected to feel that way about it but it was powerful.

Along the way there have been many moments that had a real impact:

First entry to Edinburgh Castle.

Starting the descent down Bealach na ba

Arriving at Glenfinnan and standing on the monument breathing deeply of the scent of the Caledonian pine forest.

Getting out of the car at Fraserburgh to the delicious smell of smoking fish in the air

The scent of the flowering heather in a sheltered pocket in the dunes at Forvie.

First mouthful of the scallops in vermouth at Kitchin.

The first bites into the fish and chips in Anstruther.

Tasting the malted barley and the wort at Balvenie.

Watching the light shift over the Cairngorms marbled with flowering heather as we drove through Royal Deeside

Watching the peregrine on its kill on Mull

Emerging from the 249^th step out onto the viewing platform at the Wallace Monument

Hearing the ladies from Kansas singing in harmony in Fingals Cave.

Everything about Wanlockhead. The little village sitting among the flowering heather. Seeing the touch seam of ore worn smooth by the twice daily caresses of the miners over hundreds of years. Sitting in the miner’s library reading.

Standing on the highest battlements of Urquhart Castle looking up and down Loch Ness

The light hitting the wings of the cloud of midges dancing outside my car window near the wildlife hide at Kylerhea.

Watching the otter on Mull 

Seeing a red squirrel at Carrbridge.

Having a go on the pedal power loom at Skye Weavers.

Dumfries House from start to finish. Add a few extra wows for the vision and achievements of the project as a whole.

First sit on the sofa, or for that matter the toilet seat, in our room in Dumfries House Lodge. Yeah, I know, toilet seat? Seriously? Yeah. Seriously. Toilet seat!

Our first dulse truffles at Sebastian Kobelt’s Fine Chocolates in Linlithgow.

The apple pie and coronation chicken sandwich at Glencoe Café.

Rounding the corner and coming upon Eilean Donan Castle…haha partly because of the huge car park we weren’t expecting. … but it really is a beautifully situated castle. Must see.

Trying to think of one little thing not quite right about Mo Dhachaidh B&B and not being able to think of a single thing.

Finding teddy dabbing his eyes with a tissue when we got home on our last night at Brockville in Tobermory.

Throwing ourselves down on the comfortable bed at the Ibis Royal Mile and the relief at being out of that awful B&B.
The satisfaction of fulfilling my promise that one day I would visit Lachlan Macquarie's grave to pay my respects. 

Oh look I could just go on and on and have I suppose.. but it’s been fun to run through the trip on fast forward before calling it a day on this visit to my dead Scottish rellies.

We’ll be back. We never exchange our pounds sterling when we come home. It’s our promise to ourselves that there’ll be a next time so we’ll need them.

Thanks Scotland and thank you all who’ve enjoyed our trip with us. We had an absolute ball. 

We're off to live it up at the theatre in London, visit the State Rooms at Buckingham Palace and the War Cabinet Rooms and then head out into the country for a few days to get myself into position for a visit to Prince Charles's garden at Highgrove before heading to Heathrow. We see the Historic Dockyard Portsmouth, the Hawke Conservancy at Andover, Chedworth Roman Villa, Newark Park and Bourton-on-the-water and a have a quick run through Burford along the way. 

Day 31 - Luss and Loch Lomond, The Burrell Collection, Pollok Country Park and the Riverside Museum

Today is our last day in Scotland and the weather is simply gorgeous. The manifesto has left today reasonably open and I’m really keen to end our time in Scotland with something fabulous. I engage with the helpful folk on TripAdvisor and we firm up a sketch plan for the day. We skip brekky and are on the road just after 8:30. Even on a motorway it’s great fun to be on the road in the crisp early morning. There’s some great effects as clouds hang low below the brows of gentle hills but there’s excitement in the car at a wondrous sight we come to as we’re about to cross the Erskine Bridge.

Have a look at that!! Don’t overtake it!  Got it! Fantastic, that is so cool. Haha. Is there any end to the things we tourists get excited about? OK now just move up so we can see if they have a logo on the side. Nah. How awesome is that! A Chivas Regal Tanker. That’s not something we’ll see at home.

Brown attraction signs remind us of all the many wonderful places and experiences we’ve not had time for.  Hubby reminds me to get ready to photograph the interesting bird feature in the round-about that was impossible to get coming the other way. There’s some advantages to retracing your steps sometimes.

We arrive at Luss at about 9:40. We’re not the first here but it’s fairly quiet as yet. Linda has recommended we have brekky at the hotel and given us the SatNav reference for it but as we all know there are few people who could find navigating as difficult as us and we seem to just be heading to the general car park. I’m prepared for this next sight too and have the camera at the ready. I just love this sign.

That’s telling them! Got to love a country where calling someone selfish like that is still considered such a strong message and where there’s clearly a belief that naming and shaming the behaviour will have a positive effect. Appeal to people’s better natures. Love it.

We consider the range of possible boat trips on the Loch promoted to visitors as they arrive at the edge of the car park. We rule those out today. Most are timed wrong or would probably be better as part of a day of walking or something. That’s something I hope we can come back for when Hubby’s feet are better.

Hubby has been proof reading my blog entries and reminding me of some things to record when I miss something. He’s obviously been paying attention and draws my attention to the nice street furniture. Distracted by a little holiday let cottage with bright red shutters Hubby lags behind.  

We also checked out the map. There’s a number of short walks illustrated. Given our feet issues we’ve opted for the shortest one in red dashes that will take us around the village and along the shore.

It’s not long before we’re ambling along a shady lane admiring the reflection of the trees in the shallow, pebble based water.  The sharp tang of paint in the air as a workman wields a glossy brown paintbrush on the lytchgate of a pretty little church. Deep shade and bright sunlight underline the stillness of the morning.  We burst out into the light serenaded by the soft vintage chugging of a little boat moored up a long a private peer.

The water of the loch is still as a mill pond. I am overtaken by a compelling urge to take that boat.  I lunge forward to enquire of the skipper approaching. It’s just a short half hour trip around the islands. Tariff is modest. I wave to hurry Hubby along and head out onto the pier.  This is a “magic” day. It’s theme tune would be Morning Has Broken by Cat Stevens, doubly fitting because the hymn is the marriage of a modern lyric with a traditional Scottish Gaelic tune (with some embellishment by Rick Wakeman on piano).

We clamber on board and grab ourselves a comfortable possy. Another group of three come after us and we cast off and head into the rising sun.

The wake of the boat dresses the glassy water of the loch with lace as we cruise at a gentle pace through the cluster of islets. We pass a kayaker propelled by an older man with slow lingering single strokes of a paddle. What a superb way experience this place on a day like this. The heilan coos have their own approach. Sitting in shaggy brown by the white sand beach. A long lensed photographer’s dream. 

Horned sheep drift among the trunks of the forest trees as their kinsman sips at the water’s edge.  I hold my breath as between the islands, protected pockets create God’s mirror.  I’m not a religious person but who, on a morning like this, surrounded by natural beauty, could not feel a sense of one’s place in a spiritual world.

Shags drape their wings out to dry as we travel the return leg. The clouds are building and reminding mankind to revel in the sunshine while it lasts. Off in the distance the nether reaches of the loch are a misty blue. The open water ruffled by a caressing breeze. We say our thanks and rumble back along the pier to walk along the firm packed pale beach front. A busload of Asian tourists are congregated on the sand. Capturing images of themselves and a flock of hopeful gulls and ducks against the water. There’s no sense of rush here. Everyone, like Hubby and me, taking time to just soak up the atmosphere.  Black-headed gulls dressed for the off-season mill around as I aim my camera lens at them in hypnotic determination.  The sun shines brightly metallic on a Mallard's head. A westie comes past sniffing his way to his next opportunity for territory demarcation.

Eventually we move along. We’re at the edge of the car park now and not far from the information centre. I’m led astray by a flock of Long -tailed Tits harbouring the odd tiny Gold Crest. We pop into the visitor centre and pick up a map leaflet and consider our options. I’m determined to complete the walk loop and make sure we’ve seen the village fully.

Crowds are building as the morning progresses. We browse in the gift shop but resist, all too conscious of our limited luggage space. The cute tartan dressed teddy bears tempt us as always. We could wander down to the pub and get something to eat. Opportunity cost drives us to resist and head back to town for our next stop.

We’ve been encouraged to get out to the Burrell Collection and Pollok Country Park where the mix of elements make the most of the weather. Again we have no difficulty parking and I enjoy the sight of school kids out on the green as I wait for Hubby to complete the pay and display.  We’ve not coordinated our visit to the various theme tours available so we’ll have to wing it. The collection holds an extraordinary array of precious items from different time periods and disciplines. It makes you wonder how Burrell found the time to run his business empire and also get his head around the many disciplines his collection covers.  I can understand why they had to design a gallery for the display, there’s everything from stone doorways to stained glass, medieval waist coats in seemingly perfect condition, or even the tomb of a knight. A tiny knight. Knights loom large in the imagination through their moral stature and physical prowess. In their day even though they were larger than typical physical specimens would have been they are quite small by modern standards and this is brought home as I stand by the sarcophagus amazed at its diminutive proportions.

Hubby’s pushing for a decision about lunch. I’m not looking for it and he can’t make up his mind. We continue to browse the displays, me on my own for periods as he sits in a comfortable chair enjoying the view of the woodland through the glass wall. In the end though, I just can’t bear being inside. It’s a bright bright sunshiney day.

We stand at the map and consider our options for exploring the park. We take a gamble and drive down to the car park near the gardens and Pollok House. We walk through dim shadows over gravel alongside a watercourse with periodic low weirs creating horizontal cascades.  Picnickers sprawl languidly on the grass and a beautiful stone bridge provides a useful focal point drawing the eye to tantalising glimpses of stone buildings beyond.  Over by the stone wall gardeners are clipping a hedge while a carpet of winged seeds under the trees reminds us that during our month in Scotland summer has ebbed away and Autumn is on the ascendancy.

Hubby relaxes on a bench seat while I head off to explore hoping to get a better look at the buildings by the water but dreaming of spotting a Kingfisher.

At the nether reaches of my exploration I come across a small paddock where the heavy horses are grazing. Wander back along the cobbles via the amenities. What is it about stable blocks that makes them have such a warm and romantic atmosphere?

Eventually I find my way by the vegetable garden into the manicured garden spaces where an older lady is really very impressed by the floral boat that is the central feature. I of course am claimed by the flurry of birds at the bird feeders hanging in the shade of a tree.  I stand there watching and pointing my camera for probably a lot longer than it felt like before a lady walking through stands next to me and sparks up a conversation about the birds. 

Hearing my Australian accent she enquires whether I know we have a new Prime Minister. Yes. It couldn’t have happened to a nicer bloke. I say with a twinkle in my eye. What do you think of the new one? She asks me. “Well, he seems to believe in democracy which is a nice change. He’s an excellent communicator and a big improvement on Abbott that’s for sure. We’ve been led by a pack of fascists for the past couple of years. We’ve actually had our judiciary coming out in Australia expressing their concern about the impact of government statements and decisions on democracy.” Sorry to introduce the political but hey, she did ask.  I can only hope my tone adequately conveys my contempt for the deposed PM.  My companion expresses her sympathy. Obviously (from her accent) she was born in England she says and she’s looking on with concern from another country now as the conservatives in Westminster set about their own conservative agenda. Social justice is very important to all Scots, she tells me proudly. Eventually she’s in need of being on her way and I start to mosey up the path, feeling a bit guilty for having taken so long. I’m busily admiring some autumn crocus that are pushing naked pink flowers and a burst of yellow stamens out for our appreciation when Hubby stalks up behind me. Oh, I’ve just been looking at the birds and got talking to a nice lady I explain. As if he couldn’t have guessed.

We take a turn up the garden path and into the more formal area closer to the house then back down and out towards the water. We look back at the house. 18^th century I reckon I say. Look at the symmetry. I wonder if you can look inside. Hubby confirms yes, he noticed it’s National Trust for Scotland. Oh good. Free for us then. We hobble the long way round to the entrance. Answer the inevitable question about whether we’ve been there before and get a quick run down on what there is to see and a wish that we should enjoy or visit. Did I say it was free? Haha. Yeah. Well. Not quite. Naturally there’s the moment of upselling opportunity. Would we like to buy the guide book? How can we say no when we’ve just flashed our foreign National Trust Membership and not paid entry. Of course we’ll buy the guide book. We’ve assembled quite a collection.

We wander through the house, up stairs and down. This estate was the home of the Maxwell family for 700 years. I guess this means that this was family to Gavin Maxwell of the Ring of Bright Water. The Park and House was gifted to the Glasgow Corporation on condition that it remain a public park.  There’s a lot I don’t like about the class system but it does seem to have protected open spaces pretty well. Now that the public has greater access to enjoy the great estates it’s hard not to be pleased with the legacy.

The artwork seems to be the most prominently promoted attraction. It’s an attractive house but nothing especially grabs me. Well, that’s not actually true. My favourite part of this house is the servant’s quarters. Those that are open are brilliant and there seems to be plenty of potential for the expansion of the “downstairs” experience here. The kitchen is still operating as a restaurant and it’s tempting to relax here, but all too conscious of our time slipping away we figure it’s time to make a dash for objective three. Oh the demands of international travel. So much opportunity cost all the time. Objective three is to take a look at the Riverside Museum. We won’t have long there but few things impressed my friend so much in her recent trip so let’s get over there and take a look.

Outside the riverside is a large paved area and a bank of family pedal vehicles that look like fun. People are hanging around with skateboards. We haven’t seen any skate park facilities in our travels. This would be a great place for one surely.

Inside there’s a large range of immaculately restored vehicles of all eras. In many cases the history of the particular item is explained. There’s a street with shopfronts and it’s very good of course. It underlines once more the links between New Zealand and Scotland. New Zealand museums invariably include this feature and they do them extremely well. As they do here in Scotland too. It’s an extremely effective way to display some sorts of collections. I can understand why it’s not allowed, but throughout my visit I wished I could climb aboard the buses and trams and things but Perspex barriers or ropes tell me to keep out. Our time flies past of course, we had a bit less than an hour to spend. It was enough for me today. We reunite and head home.

Not much relaxing for us tonight. In the time before dinner we make a start of repacking ready to return our car tomorrow morning when we go to catch the train. Holy crap. We’ve or I should say I have been buying things and tossing them in the back of the car. I had heaps of kilos of free luggage allowance coming over but this seems to have expanded in my estimation along the way. How on EARTH are we going to get this stuff home. Hubby is laughing. Watching me freak out is really tickling his funny bone. He’s been asking me at every point…. How are we going to get that home? It’ll be fine I routinely say. Chickens are coming home to roost. Nothing could be funnier. He’s watching the time. Come on, we need to go get dinner. We’ll finish this later.

We’re determined to try some Indian cuisine before leaving Glasgow. Linda’s recommended her local - Shezan -  which is just opposite Sapori d'Italia Cafe Bar on the corner of Bolton Drive and Cathcart Road. No trouble getting a table but our waiter seems a bit at sea dealing with people who are so new to the cuisine and don’t want to much heat in the spices. His recommendations are consistent with what Linda has suggested. We start with chicken pakora. This is marinated chicken in a light batter. The batter isn’t spicy. The chicken flesh is though and that’s a trend that continues. Pretty hard to provide heat options when the meat is all prepared well ahead like that. I can see this is good quality food. It’s beautifully cooked.

Mains we’re sharing. Now, I’ve been tardy on the note-taking today. Don’t quite know how we’ve managed to not have either a photograph of the menu or handwritten notes, but there we are. I believe the food in front of us is Chicken Tikka Masala and Chicken Korma. Hubby questions getting all chicken. He’s probably right but we stick with the chicken. The flavours are beautiful and the sauces creamy and mild. My problem is the heat in the chicken flesh. I couldn’t take too much more of that but we’ve enjoyed our meal and I love naan. Our meal is served with the most enormous slab of naan bread. It’s nice dipped or plain. Can’t have too much naan.

Hubby’s keen for dessert but the restaurant’s delivery didn’t arrive today and dessert’s off. Hubby is not to be diverted however and he leads me across the road to get some ice cream. His is a double cone that involved chocolate chips and mint, and chocolate and I have a two scoop tub of coconut and rhubarb. The ice cream is good but the woman serving us maybe even better. She’s friendly and chatty and open. Makes us feel like old friends. We stroll as we eat our ice creams.

Back to the grim reality of finishing packing up, eventually we have things organised enough to be able to go in the morning. It’s taken a while though and we need to buy extra luggage allowance. It’s 10 o’clock or so before we’re dreaming.