A "Short" Road Trip

On Friday I took a cab to the Enterprise Car Rental place and was offered a zippy little Renault for the amazing weekend special of £11 per day - same price as the cab one way from the flat. The young man at Enterprise pointed me in the direction of the airport and off I zipped, arriving just in time to greet Sally as she came through Arrivals. When we got back to the flat we enjoyed an early dinner with Nancy, then Sal went off to bed for a good night's sleep. She woke up raring to go and, after a quick breakfast and general directions to Cambridge, we began our day trip.

It was spectacularly sunny and warm and as we headed south and west into the countryside, taking in the quintessential English spring. The blossoms were out in a full chorus of colour – the pink apple and cherry blossoms contrasting with the white flowers of pear and plum. In my opinion, spring is when the English countryside puts on its finest show. The bright yellow gorse offers a startling contrast to the paler shades, as do the vast fields of rapeseed. Animal life was in abundance too with herds of the ubiquitous black and white Holsteins grazing in impossibly green fields, adorable spring lambs cavorting around their mothers, and regal pigs standing in social communion near their sties. We stopped at a petrol station because Sally wanted to buy a map so she could see where we were going, and off we went in the direction of Ely.

Horses grazing with Ely Cathedral in the background.

Strange looking birds near the River Great Ouse.

I’d heard the cathedral at Ely was breathtaking, and so it is. Known locally as “The Ship of the Fens,” this gothic structure, built by William the Conqueror in 1083, rose majestically into view above the "flat and watery landscape" as we approached it from the east. We found a free public car park and started exploring the town by foot, first visiting the cathedral and being gobsmacked by the nave with its stone-vaulted ceilings and exquisite paintings. At one point in history, Oliver Cromwell got his knickers in a twist over something political, and for twelve years wouldn’t allow any Catholics to worship in the cathedral, using it instead as a stable for his horses. What a meanie. I would have liked to have visited the Stained Glass Museum, but we wanted to see Cambridge as well, and time was running out. I’ll go back and check it out another time before I leave the country though. http://www.ely.org.uk/cath.htm.  

Punting on the River Cam.

We were getting hungry at this point so stopped at a simple but promising-looking cafe where Sally ordered a chicken sandwich and I chose egg and mayonnaise. I have never seen plainer looking sandwiches in my life - plain brown bread, very fresh though, filled with the chicken or egg. Not a pickle or a lettuce leaf in sight. We had a glass of water to add to our spartan meal, paid the bill and left. Before leaving the town, we walked along the River Great Ouse with crowds of other people enjoying the summer-like weather, and ambled through sprawling antique stores and along paths and streets lined with charming stone houses.  When we felt we’d stayed long enough to get a taste of the town (city actually, because it has a cathedral), we walked back to the car and pointed towards Cambridge, just 12 miles away. 

More punters on the River Cam.

Cambridge is such a vibrant city with its student population and lively outdoor eateries and parks. The place was buzzing with activity as we parked the car along the road and walked over the footbridge into the centre of town. I'll certainly come back here again before I leave. We had only an hour or so to enjoy the place because I wanted to be back in Norwich before dark, not being familiar with the roads at night. I drove through a roundabout and took what I thought was the only road north in our direction and all seemed well. We were chatting happily away when we realized, some time later, that we were almost at Nottingham, long past any turn off for Norwich. Sally checked the map and we took the next exit heading in the general direction of the east coast. A drive that should have taken an hour and a half took four hours, and we arrived back in Norwich at 11:00 pm, in the dark. Live and learn.

London Again!

Students at UEA basking in the sunshine.

This week involved a bit of tidying up loose ends - handing in a 400-word proposal for my dissertation, writing a small piece to submit to the UEA Anthology, and of course the wind-up party for the Autobiography module, which was great fun. And now to the essays. But first I'm taking a short break to show Sally around town. She arrives from Vancouver tonight for a ten-day visit and I'm looking forward to a nice diversion before I really have to buckle down with the writing - 25,000 words altogether.

Heading to Holroyd's talk.

Yesterday I took the train to London with Thea to attend Michael Holroyd's presentation on Biography and Portraiture at the National Portrait Gallery. It was a sunny day in London with a warm breeze blowing - the sky incredibly blue and surprisingly fresh, and the trees are just coming into leaf. Before meeting Juliet at "The Crypt" restaurant across the street from the gallery - a fascinating subterranean eatery with ancient memorial stones in the floor dating back hundreds of years - we had a chance to zip through the NPG and look at some of the modern portraits. I could easily spend a day there and look forward to going back and visiting the upstairs where the older portraits are hung. The Crypt is a good place to eat - very reasonably priced and good food presented buffet style. I had a pork chop with polenta, grilled eggplant and red onion, and said yes to the delicious gravy the man generously poured over it all. Thea and Juliet enjoyed a creamy mashed potato and cabbage pattie with grilled vegetables - "bubble and squeak."

Speaking of squeak, Thea and I noticed a small mouse running around under the tables, adding to the authenticity of being in a crypt. Years ago, I took Darin to the wax museum in Gastown. It was in a below street-level, dark cellar-like space. He was only around eight years old and like all young boys was quite impressionable. He kept whispering to me that he was getting scared and that he was sure one of the wax figures had moved. Then we saw a rat run along the edge of the brickwork surrounding the crypt and yes, he was right, I spotted a small movement from one of the wax models - an actor dressed up to look like a wax figure. We both screamed and ran out the exit, which was luckily close by. I remember thinking that an older person could easily have suffered a heart attack after a trick like that. Maybe that's why the place closed.

Portrait of Thea by me.

After eating, Thea, Juliet and I walked across the street to the NPG and followed the crowd down some stairs to the Ondaatje Wing, a small, very comfortable tiered-seating theatre, beautifully designed with slat cedar walls. View it here: http://www.npg.org.uk/learning/adults/ondaatje-wing-theatre2.php

With Michael Holroyd was Michael Barclay, host of BBC's "Private Passions." They talked about how writers or painters approach biography or portraiture and how they are influenced not only by their subjects but by their own life experiences. Holroyd emphasized his point by showing a slide of his portrait by Michael Reynolds. In the painting, Holroyd's expression is very sad and resigned - not at all the impression one gets when meeting the man in person. Holroyd learned later that Reynolds was dying of cancer when he painted the picture, and the expression Reynolds brought to the portrait reflected that. An excellent way for Holroyd to illustrate his point.

National Portrait Gallery

When we left the theatre around 8:30 pm, it was still light outside - a warm, pleasant London evening, with a sliver of new moon hanging above Lord Nelson's statue in Trafalgar Square. Thea and I jumped on the #11 bus for the short ride to Liverpool Street Station and the train back to Norwich. We had time to grab a coffee and a tea at the station before the train left and, once aboard, settled down to reflect on the day, read our books...and sneak in a wee snooze.

Portrait of me by Thea.

Tombs in the restaurant.

Spring Cleaning

Today I learned that I'm getting a small refund on my income tax. Such a relief, given I thought I'd owe Canada Revenue something. I'd cashed in an RRSP last year and that seldom makes good financial sense, but my tuition for this Master's program offset any owed taxes. I have to think there's some sweet reward in that. If I hadn't made the huge decision to come to the UK and study (some would say "foolhardy"), I would actually owe the government money. But I followed my passion and now I'm getting a small financial reward for my efforts. The personal reward can't be measured.

Today was a day for reflecting, probably because I decided to do a thorough cleaning of the flat. Why? Because I have an essay due next week. When I was working on my Bachelor's degree, Darin and Geoff would come home from school, smell the Mr. Clean, the Pledge wax, and the bleach still lingering in the air, and say, "Do you have an essay to write?" I'd go into avoidance mode, clean everything in sight, and then sit down to write. So that's what I'm doing today. The other thought that came to me as I applied teak oil to the counters was how fortunate I am to really have no other concerns or distractions while I'm here studying, except for my work with the UBC Writing Centre and some small editing jobs. Everyone else in the program has a family - husband, wife, boyfriend, kids at university, but I have only myself to tend to while I'm here, so I can focus completely on my studies without feeling I'm neglecting anyone or anything. I'm the only one in the program who can say that, and I realize it gives me quite an advantage.

Nancy left for London yesterday for another dental appointment - the first of several over the next few months - and then she's off to Kent to visit a friend for the weekend. That's why I decided to plunge into the essay and do a bit of spring cleaning. Sally arrives next Friday for a visit and Nancy had planned to be back in Morocco by then, but there's room enough for everyone at the flat and it should work out fine.

I woke up this morning and decided to spoil myself with a good ol' English fry up, and it looked so good I took a photo. Decided against the fried bread in consideration of my arteries.

I've finished cleaning, now to the essay. But wait...is that a dust bunny on the book shelf?

Coming to the end of classes

It was like summer today - a warm breeze blowing and buds just itching to bust out. The rose border along the path on Carrow Road next to the football stadium is out in leaf, but the blooms likely won't appear until June.

We had the last class of our publishing module today, and some of us - Juliet, Adrian, Desmond, Nicoletta, Wendy, Michelle and I - went to the Sainsbury Centre for lunch to talk about it. A good way to debrief. I realized that I likely won't be seeing some of these people again, at least not for a long time and only if someone decides to cross the Atlantic, and I definitely had the sense that something quite wonderful had come to an end. I was talking to one of my profs about the group and mentioning the great rapport we have, and she said that it was actually quite rare to get a group that works together as well as ours has. So it's not just my imagination.

Looking toward the Red Lion Inn (right) on the River Wensum.

When we left the Sainsbury Centre, some of us were taking the bus - I was heading home to the flat, but others were going to the railway station and taking trains heading to Lincolnshire, Cambridge, and London - north, east, and south. We were scattering into the wind. Some of us though will be meeting up again in London next week for a talk by Michael Holroyd at the National Portrait Gallery on biography and portrait painting. I'm really looking forward to that - any excuse to go to London and a bonus to see my fellow students one more time. Pip and Selina have invited me down to Hampshire for Easter, which will be wonderful. The boys and Emi will all be home from university and I haven't seen them since Christmas.

These beauties were right outside the seminar room.

Now that the classes have ended, except for the autobiography session next week, which is pretty much a review and a chance to talk about our essays (and not to mention the wrap up party!), I'll be focussing on the essays. I want to get one out of the way by the time Sally arrives next Friday. It's pretty much in hand, so I should be able to enjoy her time here and go exploring further afield. I'm going to take advantage of the £9 weekend car rental special and we'll likely head east to see the cathedral at Ely and then on to Cambridge to visit the university and maybe rent a boat and go punting on the River Cam. Should be a great photo op.

My plan is to finish the second essay by May 12th and then move right into the dissertation, which I hope to complete by mid July. Then it's back to Vancouver. I feel I jumped into this with both feet (firmly on the ground) and now I sense one toe of one foot inching its way back to the west coast. It's too early to spend much time thinking about it yet, too much writing left to do, but I'm excited about the thought of going home.

Road Trip

I woke up excited about the planned drive to the coast. It started out a little rocky though. I had organized a rental car and was feeling very pleased with myself for finding Enterprise Car Rentals – with a weekend rate of £9 and they pick you up and drop you off. Enterprise is near the airport – a £12.50 taxi fare from the flat. I know because that’s the way I arrived at Nancy’s on my first day here last September. So it’s cheaper to rent a car for the whole day on Saturday and Sunday than it is to take a cab one way from the airport. Crazy. The young man, Sam, called in the morning to ask if we’d mind meeting him at the train station (a ten minute walk from the flat) because they were picking someone else up there at 11:30. No problem, I said, still in a flush of happiness about their excellent service. Nancy and I packed up and headed off into the bright sunshine. It’s been cloudy all week, so I couldn’t believe our good luck with the weather. We arrived at the train station and started scanning the crowd for someone who looked like they might work for a car rental agency. We didn’t see anyone who looked like they were looking for us. We waited and waited. I then realized that I hadn’t given them my mobile number, only the landline number. I didn’t have their mobile number either, so I went into the station to look for a phone booth and a phone book, which of course no longer exist. But I did find a display with information pamphlets and called the tourist information number, asking the young woman if she’d mind looking up Enterprise Car Rentals for me. She cheerfully produced the number, but when I called it, an automated message said that Enterprise was open from 8:00 am to 12:00 noon on Saturdays – it was 12.20. I went back outside to Nancy, who was still scanning the crowd, and said that I’d walk back to the flat and see if there was a message from Enterprise on the voice mail. Sure enough, when I got back to the flat, there was a message from “Vince” at 11:23 am saying that he was outside the flat waiting for us. I tried his mobile number, but he didn’t answer. Of course, I thought, his work day is over. I left a terse message about how they’d spoiled not just our day, but our whole weekend, and why didn’t they communicate with each other, that we’d been told to walk to the station, so what was he doing picking us up at the flat. I left my mobile number and finished by saying I’d never rent from Enterprise ever again and I’d tell all my friends to avoid them like the plague. Arrrggghh.

 

I walked back to the train station, spitting mad, and told Nancy the bad news. We were both disappointed, although Nancy was being the mom. She suggested we go inside and have a cup of coffee and think about what we should do instead, maybe walk up to the cathedral and have lunch somewhere. I felt like a kid who’d just been told the circus was cancelled. Nancy said, “I guess that’s why they only charge £9 a day.”

View from the pier towards town.

Looking towards the end of the pier.

Looking back at the town.

Me looking happy.

A windmill B&B.

Horse and driver.

Nancy in the sun.

We were sitting having coffee when my mobile started vibrating on the table.  When I answered, Vince said he was sorry for the confusion and asked where we were and would we still like a rental car. Well, of course, we would! He apologized for the confusion and said he’d pick us up in 10 minutes. So it was on again! Vince arrived on time and drove us to the rental office twenty minute away, got us into a sweet little black Toyota, and off we headed along the Norwich Road to the coast. I loved the freedom of driving after a six-month hiatus and the car, while being a stick shift, was easy to manoeuvre. After less than ten minutes we were in the country, daffodils waving at us from the roadside, freshly tilled fields warmed by the sun and waiting for their seeds.

The lifeboat station - still working.

 Within half an hour we arrived at Cromer, a classic English seaside town with a long pier, at the end of which sits a pub, a theatre, and a lifeboat station. There was a chilly wind blowing, but adults, children, and dogs ran and played on the long sandy beach. For lunch, Nancy and I chose The Rocket House right on the beach, named after the place way back when where the rockets were launched to warn the life boat people there was a boat in trouble. A little like how on the west coast, boaters shoot off flares to attract help. We ordered the crab cakes, which came as two thick and crispy flattened rounds filled with crab and bits of spring onion. They were served with homemade tartar sauce, a stack of lovely French fries (chips), and a mound of lightly dressed leafy green salad. I had a coke and Nancy had a cup of tea. After refueling, we went made our way down to the end of the pier. People sat with their kids and dogs, enjoying cups of tea or pints of beer on the little tables along the pier. We saw two boys who’d been fishing all day, their gear neatly piled against a wall.

An amazing photo - more like a painting.

We then got back in the car for the spectacular drive along the coast on the Cromer Rd, through places called West Runton, East Runton, Sheringham, Salthouse and Cley-on-the-Sea, where we stopped to browse in a second-hand bookstore. Many, many years ago, December 1975, I took my sister to Cley. She was 17 (I was 27), and we rented a car and drove to St. Margaret’s Church, late in the afternoon in the freezing cold, to rub the brasses embedded in the vestibule floor. We had to take off our shoes and put them on the corners of our rubbing paper to keep it in place. While we were reproducing the images of certain ancient saints, a group of schoolgirls came in and started decorating the Christmas tree by the entrance. They had turned on the string of lights and were singing Christmas carols as we gathered our things together in the cold, fading light and left. Mickey has never let me forget that I didn’t take her to London and places like Big Ben, Tower Bridge, and the Parliament Buildings, but to some remote spot in the North of England to rub brasses in an ancient church. Sorry Mickey.

After browsing through the bookstore, we headed off to Blakeney to make a surprise visit to Nancy’s friends, Michael and Susie. They were home with their daughter and their three beautiful grandchildren – Fern, Peter, and Rose, aged four to eight – who entertained us non-stop with their dancing and singing. They had an endless supply of musical instruments that they retrieved from a corner cupboard and played for us – recorders, drums, harmonica, accordion, castanets, and rattles. Funny, outgoing, and talented kids. Then we looked out the window and saw the supermoon rising in the distance – the largest the moon has been in the past 18 years, the closest it’s been to the earth. We ran out of the house and down the path through the gorse to get a good look at it. I’m glad Nancy had her camera (she took all the photos because my camera had run out of memory).

Thinking of Geoff.

We headed back to Norwich along the country roads with the full moon lighting our way, arriving at the flat at 10:30 pm. The end to a perfect day.   

All Work and No Play

I just realized it's St. Patrick's Day - happy St. Patrick's Day! It's been all work for the past few days and I feel the need to do something fun and entertaining. Nancy is still here for a bit longer, so we decided that tomorrow we'll rent a car and drive up to the North Norwich coast. I haven't been there for years - probably since 1990. We're going to "make a day of it" as the English are so fond of saying. I'm looking forward to having fish and chips in Cromer. I was craving them yesterday, so when I went into Morrison's to get a few things for dinner, decided to treat myself to theirs, having had them only once since I arrived six months ago. The idea was better than the reality. The fish was excellent, fresh and hot with a light, crispy batter, and the chips were good, but it all suddenly seemed like too much food. I picked off a lot of the batter and made a mess of things. There were also mushy peas on the plate - straight out of a can but delicious and reminiscent of dinners at home when I was growing up. We always had mushy peas, Bird's custard, and all things English, given Mom was from Manchester. Probably another reason why being here evokes so many fond memories from childhood. I hear scraps of conversation in shops and on the bus, and her voice comes back to me across all the years she's been gone - "Aw ya awl roit then, Loov? Nice day, in it?"

I'm reading Hermione Lee's autobiography of Virginia Woolf and finding all sorts of material for one of my essays, which I hope to have done by the time Sally arrives on April 8th. That'll just leave one more, due on May 13th, after which I'll have to make a plan. Do I go back to Vancouver and write my final dissertation, due September 20th, or do I stay here and finish writing it? I'm leaning towards the second option as I'm afraid I'll lose my focus if I go back home too soon. Nancy is happy to have me stay at the flat, so I don't have to worry about a place to live. I know it'll all become clearer to me as May approaches, but those are my thoughts so far.

It's another grey day here in Norwich and I'm longing for some sunshine. Hopefully it'll arrive by Saturday when we head up the coast so I can take lots of nice photos. I hope too that I still remember how to drive, having not held a steering wheel since last September. That, coupled with the fact that I won't be driving on the familiar side of the road, could make for an interesting journey.

Back to the Blog

It's been awhile since I've written in my blog,  so there's lots to report. We had reading break at the university last week, and after the last class I went to have cortisone injected into my trigger finger. Very painful, and I didn't think it had worked, but am feeling some relief from the locking. Now when it locks I can unlock it by extending the finger, whereas before I had to unlock it with my other hand. I've bought a squishy yellow ball from a toy store (it has a happy face on it) which I squeeze to exercise both hands in the hope of fending off any more repetitive action injuries.

On Thursday I took the train to Wales to visit my long-time friend, Frankie. We first met in 1973 when she came to Vancouver from the UK -- twenty-one, fresh-faced, and ready to take on the world. She'd just been married and arrived with her new husband. I was pregnant with Geoff and working as an office manager in a small architectural firm on Howe Street. Frankie heard there was a job coming available and arrived for an interview. We immediately became friends. Thirty-eight years later and much water under our bridges, we had lots of to talk about. We last saw each other 18 years ago in London. She hadn't changed a bit and she said neither had I. How nice is that.

She and her partner Tony picked me up at the train station in Hereford after my eight-hour journey from Norwich. It wouldn't have been so bad if I could have just stayed on one train the whole way, but I had to change four times. For some reason my bag was quite heavy and I found myself lugging it up the stairs and across the bridges over the tracks to get on the right platform - more than once. You'd think if I were travelling in one direction, the train would always be leaving from the same track, but no. It was quite a work out. At one stop, Birmingham I think, I was told the train would be leaving from Platform 1B, but intuitively decided to ask one more train attendant when I was standing under the 1B sign, only to be told it had just been changed to Platform 2. I had to grab my bag, heft it up the stairs and across the bridge to the other side, with one minute to spare.

After I boarded and sat down, trying not to breath like I was on my last gasp, a shaved-headed man about forty sat down opposite me. He had on a black t-shirt with "Police" written on the sleeve. Another man wearing the same t-shirt sat across the aisle and it was obvious they worked together. The bald-headed man said he was racing out of the precinct to try and make a meeting with his son and teacher for a parent/teacher session when the sarg asked him to come and have a look at some human remains. He told the sarg he had a meeting to get to and could he ask someone else to look at them.

Here they come, off in the distance.

Given it was reading week and I was supposed to be reading, I had brought books with me. But it was hard with all the fascinating conversations going on around me. And the scenery was starting to get interesting too. I looked up from my book to see a goat in a field climbing up on the seat of a small tractor, trying to make himself comfortable. Then I glanced up just in time to see the sun peek out from behind a cloud and then disappear again. The route I took was Norwich, Peterborough, Leicester, Birmingham, and then Hereford where Frankie and Tony met me. I got there two hours before they were due to arrive from Llandrindod Wells - an hour's journey away - so I walked into Hereford. There was something strange about the town, or city I should say, as it has a cathedral. It had one very old building - "The Old House" -  right in the middle of it, but everything surrounding it seemed quite modern. The Old House was built in 1621 and is one of the famous black and white timbered structures from the Jacobean period. There are lots of these houses in Shrewsbury, where I went many years ago with my brothers. The Hereford Cathedral is home to the Mappa Mundi - the oldest map in the world. I would have liked to have seen it, but there wasn't enough time.

I arrived back at the station just before seeing Frankie come walking towards me, calling my name. It was wonderful to see her looking so well and meeting Tony who is warm and friendly and a perfect match for her. They said we would stop on the way back to their place and have dinner in a pub, so we drove to Titley, home of the Stagg Inn, a beautifully maintained pub that is part medieval. It was dark when we arrived and the place glowed with soft light and shining waxed floors. A fire burned in the grate - definitely the quintessential English pub. We ordered a glass of white wine each for Frankie and me, a pint of beer for Tony, then enjoyed delicious steak sandwiches with chips and coleslaw. I couldn't have been happier. Here's the website if you'd like to have a look at the pub: http://www.thestagg.co.uk/The_Stagg_Inn/Home.html.

We arrived at Frankie's place in Llandrindod Wells and had another glass of wine before Frankie showed me to my room. She lives in an old Victorian hotel - Barcourt - built in 1905, which belongs to her parents who are in their nineties and live down the hall and up and down some stairs in another flat. They haven't run it as a hotel for about thirty years. There's a twin hotel next door which belongs to Frankie, left to her by her grandmother. She had it renovated into three flats and rents them out. We left her cozy, firelit sitting room and made our way up some stairs and through a door that took us out into the other (colder) part of the hotel. We walked down a very long hallway, at the end of which was my room - No. 7. Frankie then told me to follow her and we went back down the long hallway where she showed me the toilet, then up some stairs and down another long hallway where she showed me the bath. We said good night at the juncture where she left to go back to her flat. I managed to find my way back to No. 7, but when I headed out to go to the bathroom had some trouble remembering where the hell it was. Also, when the hall light was turned off - the switches being at the far end of the hall from the room - I was cast into complete and utter darkness. I felt my way along the wall until I arrived at my door. It was all quite exciting and I thought how fortunate it was that I'm not afraid of the dark.

See how good we are?

Anyway, I slept soundly in my big, comfy, flowery duvet-covered bed. In the morning, after coffee and granola, Frankie asked me if I'd like to take a drive into Hay-on-Wye, about half an hour away. It's exhilarating driving through the countryside in Wales. When I first visited this part of the world, back in 1986, I was struck by its incredible natural beauty. We drove through softly rolling hills, over the venerable River Wye, and past lush green fields with sheep grazing everywhere. There were hundreds of new lambs sticking very close to their mothers. The gorse hedgerows are ancient and are all the fencing that is necessary for keeping in the sheep. Still, the farmers let them out to graze on the grassy verge of the road, which is a bit scary. Frankie said they're seldom ever hit.

Ponies with attitude.

We arrived in Hay-on-Wye, and although it was a cloudy day, I could see why this is such a favourite tourist spot. This is where the world famous book festival is held every year. Frankie invited me to come back and stay for a week during the big event, which runs from May 26 - June 2. I just may take her up on that. My last two essays are due on May 13th, so what a wonderful way to celebrate. When we drove into the parking lot at the edge of town and Frankie went off to find the pay parking kiosk, I amused myself meeting some dogs with their owners and two spunky horses who were interested in the dogs - a great photo op.

The town is full of second-hand bookshops and antique stores, all of which I think we managed to visit. We stopped for a quick lunch of humous, olives and toast and then hit the shops again, spending a total of seven hours in this little jewel of a town. Here's the website for the town and festival: http://www.hayfestival.com/portal/index.aspx?skinid=1&localesetting=en-GB

In the evening, we went to dinner in the bistro at the hotel where Frankie has worked as a manager for twenty-odd years. Her two sons, Nicholas, aged twenty-five, who was visiting from Cardiff, and Ryan, aged thirty, who has his own flat in Barcourt, joined Frankie, Tony, and me for a sumptuous meal of Welsh beef burgers and chips or Welsh steak and chips. Her third son, Jason (twin to Ryan), was in London so I didn't get to see him this time.

Frankie standing under a leek.

In the morning, Frankie drove me and Nicholas back to the station in Hereford, Nicholas heading to London for a job interview and me to Norwich. When we got there, we found out there was a trade union work action and there would be no trains leaving Hereford that day. After a brief panic about what to do, we found out that in fact there was a train that day, but not until 1:30 pm. So off we went to see a few sights and have a quick sandwich and a coke at Marks and Spencer.

I didn't get back to Norwich until 9:30 pm, and arrived at the flat to find Nancy and her friend Robert enjoying a cup of tea so I joined them. Nancy came back from Morocco the day after I left for Wales. She needs to have some urgent dental work done and felt they'd do a better job here in the UK. So now I have a flat mate again. I related my journey to them and they told me about their day trip to Cromer on the coast and that they'd had a feast of fish and chips which were the best they've ever had. I must plan a trip to Cromer.

Self-portrait showing off new haircut.

Yesterday I went to get my unruly hair cut and was very pleased with the result. My pregnant haircutter was away sick, so the manager took me on. He's been cutting hair for over 22 years and it was obvious. I felt the need to take self-portrait.

Now back to the books. At the moment I'm reading "Memoir" by John McGahern - a touching, lyrical story of a young man growing up in Ireland in the 30s and 40s with a brutish father and a loving, gentle mother. The Irish certainly know how to tell a story. The course work is so much easier now that we've arrived at the 21st century autobiographies, which are infinitely more entertaining than the early Victorians.