Christmas

Upon returning to London I felt a burst of energy, a desire to take advantage of where I was and what I was doing. In the new year I wanted to find a house share, make some new friends, get a job… just ‘live like a Londoner’! But… it wasn’t going to be easy to remain up-beat… Christmas was coming upon us and heaven’s knew this was the first Christmas I’d spend without my family. I felt so far away.

Kelly was kind and tried to cheer me up one night, we headed to a comedy evening about 20minutes away from our house. I’d taken Nigel to a comedy night for his birthday one year – it had been great – but this place… just brilliant. I don’t think I’ve laughed so much in my life. The place that we went to is quite renowned in London, some of the most famous comedians start out playing at this club. I sat half the time with my mouth wide open – completely shocked at what I was hearing, crude, rude and ridiculous… not to mention hilarious. The club itself was oldie-worldly, it was beautiful. You initially walked through a darkened pub, populated by voices and the smell of burgers and fish and chips, old signs of Guinness and Scotch Whiskey, candelabra’s giving off low light, flickering over the patrons. Through the pub you walked up some stairs and came out to what looks somewhat like Shakespheare’s globe (bar the fact that there is a roof on it). There was seating upstairs in a ring centuring toward the main stage, then tables and seats below with a small bar hidden at the back. It simply felt ‘aged’ in the quaintest of ways.

I’m excited about spending another Christmas in London, now that I know people and can experience it with others, enjoy mulled wine in Covent Garden while watching street theatre, or partake in pasta and being warmed by a fire and listening to the amazing buskers in the quadrangle. Or wandering down Oxford Street, laughing at the displays, seeing children begging to go into the Disney Shop to play with Cinderella and Snow White. I am looking forward to ice skating at Somerset House, in the open air, and listening to the carollers. All of this I have already experienced, but as fascinating and heart warming it was in 2008, it was hard and lonely… wanting the company of my parents, or my sister, or Nigel.

I’ll go over the Christmas season quite quickly. It was difficult time for me, so far away from home and everyone I knew and loved. I’d not made any new connections of great depth so there was a lot of time to think, which in certain circumstances, is no great thing.

Kelly and I spent time decorating her flat with a wealth of Christmas tid bits including tinsel, hanging reindeer, happy santa’s and holly that we’d retrieved from different places. The high street in Balham, the stalls outside the Natural History Museum, and things I’d collected while wandering around the Hyde Park Christmas Fair. I must say, England does ‘DO’ Christmas in a way that Perth does not. Covent Garden with Christmas carols being sung and played live through the avenue’s, mulled wine here and there, Chestnuts being cooked at every corner, infront of every tube station… everywhere. Although freezing, people seem more amicable, pleasant and everyone making eye contact, connecting with each other in this festive season. I wonder if its so much the season, that it is the desire to get through the depth of winter, best remain positive and embrace one another. At any rate, its something I’ll miss and one of the reasons I decided to stay for another lonely Christmas.

Christmas day was filled with food, presents and television. My first Christmas without my family and to say the least, that was desperately hard. I discovered first hand the fact that people embrace Christmas very differently in each family. It is good, in a certain way, because I now appreciate so much more the Christmas’s that I’ve been privileged to.

It was difficult seeing my family on Skype in the morning, hats on heads, wine in hands, jovial and laughing, and wishing I could click my heels and be there. I could feel the summer heat coming through my computer and felt as if I was worlds away from where I wanted and needed to be.

The generosity of my hosts, however, was heart warming. The food, thanks to Kelly’s Mum, Linda, was to die for. The house looked magnificent, the mulled wine, delicious, but it slid by, a day like any other for the first time. Presents brought tears and the reality of being thousands of miles from home struck. I spent some time walking in the green across the way and enjoyed a moment of realisation as to where I was and who I was going to be and that although hard to be away from family and loved ones… it was a choice that I had made and one that I would embrace. At the same time, its sometimes nice to be reminded how much people mean to you, distance and the heart and all that!

The house seemed so small that day, like I couldn’t breathe – but I think it is the missing of things that gives you that sense of being trapped. I spoke to Nigel briefly, he was having a BBQ with some friends and it sounded as if the whole world was rejoicing. I didn’t realise how important Christmas was to me… but maybe it was just that two months had passed and I missed what was familiar.

I suppose one realisation is that people truly make experiences worth while, that every beautiful thing can be made more beautiful by embracing them with those you love and care for, that there is nothing more lonely than looking over your shoulder when you’ve seen something that you want to share, and realising there is no one there.

I allowed myself to feel that way for a couple of days, but was focused on starting some work, putting some more money in my pocket and continuing my adventure… or London existence at least.

After spending days calling employment agencies trying to see if there was any sort of work available I was at a loss. The ‘Credit Crunch’ which was constantly on the news and everywhere you looked, had meant there were no jobs in Financial HR… or HR in general. With people being layed off here there and everywhere, there was no need for people to assist in the finding of candidates, which in turn meant that Employment Consultants were losing their jobs at break neck speed as well. So there was little hope for someone on a Working Holiday Visa to find any employment in my chosen area. Giving up on my fruitless mission I decided to seek work that basically provided me with money – my expectations weren’t great.

I ended up finding work as a receptionist at a law firm right in the middle of the city, about 5 minutes walk from St Pauls – it’s a beautiful area with the clip clopping heels echoing through the streets, all the fabulous designer suits, ladies in striking heels, lawyers sitting outside at bars pretending to work over a boozy lunch. All rather surreal and I felt like I stood out like a sore thumb with my well worn brown boots, trying to keep my hair down with an oversized white woollen hat, too-small gloves that didn’t go with a thing, not to mention my green bag breaking up the monotony of what I was hoping to resemble professional attire.

It was winter and deathly quiet in the office, I hardly met a soul, however it felt nice getting back into normality, even though it was pitch black when I left the house and pitch black upon my return. There was something beautiful about how freezing it was, the knowledge that Christmas was coming and even though cold and Christmas was something unusual to me, that strange feeling of Christmas was almost projected from the people I passed day to day. The holly above thresholds of the shops, strings upon strings of silvery tinsel in shopping centres, Christmas carols singing out of pubs (and again I must comment on the amount of pubs, one at every corner and then some).

So I had work, next thing… New Years. I don’t think I’ve ever had what could be considered to be a ‘good’ New Years, I hoped, stupidly, that this year would be different. It was in a way, different, at least… I don’t think the best I shall ever have, there is time for something greater, but it was unique for me, and unforgettable.

Bath - The End

Another bright morning greeted me, the sun coming through my small window. I had a good few hours before my tour to Stonehenge and Lucoc, so I took my time in getting ready. Feeling fresh and alive, I headed immediately out – no breakfast in the B&B today. I’d seen an adorable little place hidden close to the Abbey the day before, so I headed in that direction. I’d decided that I would be working soon, so I may as well take advantage of my mini-holiday. There’s nothing quite like feeling a tad naughty in buying a good hearty breakfast. With the sun beaming warm on my back I descended the three steps lined with colourful mini pot plants and took a seat at one of the caste-iron mosaic tables, complete with empty wine bottle acting as a vase. I had the big breakfast with a large pot of tea, sausages, scrambled eggs, home made hash browns, bacon and beans… not to mention the sneaky croissant. It was all delicious and warm and such a good way to start a day. Two ladies sat down across from me and started chattering about the weather, bringing me into their conversation. It was all so natural, there is such a welcoming sense of community in Bath, I felt so at ease.

When the tour bus arrived near the river I was greeted by the friendly tour guide and introduced to other tourists, one from Hong Kong, two from Spain, a man from California and two from New York, a young girl from Japan who I got along with quite well, and finally a mother and son from Holland who apparently spoke every language known to man. The Dutch are known for their abilities with language and I so wished I’d gone through their education system… wondering why it wasn’t the same over the world. The Dutch son explained that so few people actually spoke Dutch, and because Holland was situated between so many countries, it was a necessity to speak various languages. And also, for Holland to survive and contribute internationally, it was essential that the nation are as intellectually advanced as possible. That was an interesting slice of information.

Unfortunately I cant say the same for the tour guide. While pointing out the White Chalk Horse, he suggested that this was created in 1700 and is the only one of its kind… The White Chalk Horse is an enormous horse set in the ground painted with chalk that can be seen from the sky. No one knows why it was put were it was, but the original is thought to date back to Neolithic times, this one however, is a replica that was apparently made in the mid 1700’s. It was amazing to see it though. That, and the mounds that I’d once seen in a ‘Worlds Most Amazing Unexplained Places’ book that I’d gotten from Readers Digest. Looking left and right, in such a short time, and seeing things that existed long before Australia was even colonised, or London even founded.

We bounced along on the bus, chatting and listening to music… initially everyone keeping very much to themselves. But the tour guide – regardless of his somewhat limited knowledge of the historical aspects of the tour – enticed everyone into conversation, asking where everyone was from. When I answered, Perth… there was a bit of a silence, so I said Western Australia – still no result. I was shocked to find that people didn’t know what city I came from, but confounded to realise that some people didn’t even know of Western Australia… When I said ‘Down Under’ there was an ‘ooohhhh’ of understanding.

After about an hour, we arrived at Stonehenge and it was… freezing. The sun had disappeared and all I could think was how much I despised the BBC Weatherman, not realising that the weather in England has a tendency to do what it likes when ever it likes and never will you be 100% certain of what the sky has intended for you. My nose immediately froze as soon as I left the van, my fingers were red making it all rather difficult to take a photo. I needed tea, and soon. But for the mean time we were off to see the ruins of Stone Henge.

There is no definitive explanation for Stone Henge, its thought to be dated between 3000 BC and 2400 BC, either way – its really old, and exceptionally impressive to still be standing. Originally it was thought to serve as burial grounds and burial rituals, surrounding the area are burial grounds, humps throughout the valleys where war lords, kings and important persons were buried long before the stones were erected. It apparently took 1500 years for what we now see, to be erected. Where the stones now stand, there was originally wood. This was replaced by stones hundreds of years later, and the thing I found most fascinating, is that the stones themselves were brought from Pembrokeshire, Wales… 250kms away.

King Henry VIII actually owned the area for some time – that man constantly amazes me.

It was simply surreal to stand there, with the dark clouds rising about and the stones being silhouetted against the horizon. I get a buzz out of different cultures, beliefs, I am dying to go to South America and learn about the Myan Civilisation, go to the grand abandoned palaces in India… when you think that Stonehenge was created by culture without any written word, so we will never know the truth about it. Isn’t that magical? I think mystery should some times remain in our world of science and technology, it makes the world more beautiful some how. Its nice to be able to openly wonder, and there I stood, my 24 year old self, people milling about and taking photos, and yet completely alone, just me, the stones and memory. All those memories floating on the clouds, waiting to be discovered, but forever just whispering, and left at peace.

I took some photos for the Spanish girls, the Japanese girl and I chatted about her amazing camera, and then I headed off for a cup of tea with the tour guide. The experience made me feel so alive – who was this girl that could suddenly chat easily with complete strangers? Who was not clammy at the thought of ordering a cup of tea, or stuttered in the fear of something stupid coming out of her mouth. As if all of a sudden, that confidence that I lost somewhere along my way, had been rediscovered and I was back to ‘me’ and preparing to develop into something more.

As I sat chatting to the tour guide about other places to go in the area, and how he was finding fatherhood (he had a 5 month old and was finding the sleep depravation quite difficult, but absolutely adored his wife, which was lovely to hear) I spotted a man running naked in the distance. Not the most normal of things,
‘This sort of thing happen often?’, I asked
‘You’ve got excellent vision’, said the tour guide, crining to spot the bear bottom hop, skipping and jumping down the hill, ‘there is an Army Base not too far from here’,
‘Mmm’, I replied, ‘Interesting way to go AWOL’.
Getting back on the tour bus we all started to discuss the ‘Naked Runner’ and someone thought it might be some sort of strange Druid-Exhibitionist thing. The Druids decided to take ownership of Stonehenge, claiming it was some ritual place that their ancestors had developed… infact the Druid religion didn’t appear until much much later, post King Henry VIII owning the area – gave me a new view of the Druids, I didn’t realise that the religion was actually younger than Catholocism – but there you go.

I was loving the trip, my new Japanese friend and I tried to take photos out of the window, I just wanted to shout ‘STOP’ every couple of minutes, the landscape was just so breathtaking. The weather kept changing, the sun would peep through clouds and highlight peeks of valleys, there were sheep and cows and no houses for miles and miles. Even when the rain started splashing on the window, I couldn’t help smiling, I didn’t want the journey to end, I wanted a car so much! To drive around and stop and take photos, I would have loved to hire a cottage for a week, no TV, just the cottage, a warm fire and days on end for wandering around in the open air taking photos and writing. There is a soft beauty to this part of England that is so different to the striking and sometimes harsh beauty of the WA country.

We stopped at an Abbey where apparently the first flash photo was ever taken, I’ve tried to find information of this on the internet – but no luck as yet – still, I’ll take the tour guides word for it at the moment. The Abbey has since been transformed into a home, however once served as a very popular brewery for the area.

We came into a town called Lacock, it was the second and last stop on our tour. We had an hour to wander the streets. Apparently, in order to live there, you have to prove your genealogy and have a family connection to the area. New builds were not allowed because they are retaining the historical virtue of the village. Its exceptionally small, you can imagine it fitting into the palm of your hand. It dates back to the 13th Century, I walked into the Medieval Church, having to push the creaking door and suddenly going into musty darkness. The church yard was overgrown and simply perfect, I was walking into a Bronte novel.

Parts of the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice were filmed here, which simply blew me away, I couldn’t take the smile off my face. But also, parts of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince were also filmed here. Infact, this appeared to be one of the most popular sites to film historical dramas, and I didn’t wonder why.

It’s a beautiful little town and I wish I had more time, atleast an entire day, to take photos. The sun was fading which allowed little light for photgraphs, but the town will forever be etched into my memory. I crept almost humbly through the few streets, taking in the lantern street lights, the structure of the houses, slightly leaning, the wooden beams observed from the exterior of houses all astrew. They were houses for a purpose rather than for perfection, and in being so, they were beautiful.

A small stream ran through the town, weeping willows weeping over the banks, and a small stone bridge allowing passage from one side of the town to the other. I loved the miniature doors, the cobbled streets, everything awkward and nothing symmetrical. As you walked the streets you could see the town growing over the ages. Children played on their bikes, wide eyed taking in these visitors snapping their town – they must think they lived on another planet.

I needed to use the loo and the tour guide took me to the local pub. Oh so warm and welcoming, the fire was burning and as you walked in everyone smiled at you. The tour guide new the staff and was chatting away. There were photos of the productions that had taken place in the town, and sepia coloured prints of the town through the centuries. I went to the back garden and took some photos, what a place to come to on a war summer afternoon… again, if only I had a car. Near the fire were copper pots, I could just imagine stews brewing in them. Everything was so quiet and warm and… historical.

The light was turning pink, a striking pink, and the time had come to enjoy the journey back to Bath. When I reached the bus everyone was sitting and waiting, I laughed an apology, I felt like I was leaving a place I should stay, and I was sad to go.

On the way back the tour guide pointed out a particular hill… he asked everyone if they new who Peter Gabriel was – strangely enough I was the only one who knew, I think because the guy from California was asleep at the back of the bus, and the Spanish girls were busy brushing their hair and re-applying lipstick, I assumed for a night out in Bath – the tour guide proceeded to tell us that Gabriel was one day walking up this hill when he had an epiphany, a new realisation about life, about making a change to his career and his perspective. He apparently sat down on the hill and started writing the song. The song and the hill are named Solisbury Hill. The tour guide turned on his cassette player and the song started singing out. I was so happy, I was smiling and singing and enjoying every emotion that was now rushing through my body.

What a perfect way to end my Bath experience. I had a quick dinner at a local pub, returned to the B&B and packed my bag for my trip back to London in the morning.

It was a wonderful idea to come to Bath. When I came I was contemplating getting on a plane and going home, but this had completely rejuvenated me. I enjoyed interacting with new people, seeing new things, deciding to do what I wanted when I wanted to do it, and having this slight sense of accomplishment when I discovered new things. I knew that I wasn’t in some third world African country, and to so many people, this whole experience is nothing more than a rite of passage… but for me, it is the world, every moment is a learning curve, and I’m collecting memories that I, alone, am responsible for. To me – that’s enough.

So today… I am just looking forward to my continuing adventure. I cant wait to meet the person I am when I’m finished.

Bath - Another Day

The next morning, after another glorious shower, I headed down stairs to partake in the breakfast part of my bed and breakfast experience… quite nerve racking – I wasn’t quite sure of the process and there was no one else in the dining room. The owner asked me to take a seat and ‘what would you like then? Eggs, bacon? Would you like some sausages? And how about some tea?’, first thing in the morning, my eyes still puffy post-sleep, all these questions almost made me dizzy,
“Is it ok to just have cereal?”, I actually would have loved some eggs, but didn’t want her to go to any trouble,
‘Ofcourse and a cuppa?’,
I nodded and she potted off to the kitchen. I could hear her speaking with her husband and her son came in through the back door. It was like sitting in the house of a stranger, and for some maddening reason she was feeding me. I decided that the B&B thing might not be for me, prefer to have a little kitchen to make my own bits and pieces. When Mum and I went to Melbourne we didn’t have a mini-kitchen in our hotel room, which was even more frustrating to my mother than it was to me, you can’t let Linda go without her cup of tea! Luckily, we found the lovliest café that did some scrumptious omlettes… this is what I was thinking when my cereal came out with not enough milk and no sign of sugar to go on top, let alone a banana. Then I wasn’t quite sure whether I should pay for it – I don’t know how people get along having servants, you feel like you need to go in the kitchen and fix your own food, I’m not a fan of being served I decided.

Thanking the owner sincerely, I finished off my breakfast and headed out for another day of Bath excitement. I had to adjust my eyes, such a bright, sparkling and most marvellous day, it was almost a mild temperature (however gloves were still a necessity). I almost skipped along the road thinking, ‘yes, this was the right thing to do’. Going to Bath was certainly out of my budget, but I needed to rejuvenate myself, I needed to remember what I’d come this distance for and I’d always wanted to see Bath… Its probably the sort of place I would live if I was an English citizen, being quite large and relatively cultural, it also has a villiage feel to it and the people seem so genuine, welcoming and laid back.

Point 1 on my list was the Abbey, and I directed my attention there. There are only so many hours in the day and I wanted to make sure I used each one as effectively as possible, especially with the knowledge the sun would be descending about 3pm. Just walking up to the Abbey you feel completely inconsequential, the size of it is inspiring… and if one stares to long, can bring on vertigo (I tell you this from experience, I was trying to look carefully at the intricate details of the steeples when I felt as if I was falling and almost ended up crashing over). After laughing at myself I entered the Abbey Church of Saint Peter and Saint Paul. The Abbey is Anglican and was originally a Benedictine monastery, the area being funded in the 7th Century (let us take a moment for the age of this marvel of architecture… all those passing times, if only walls could talk). It’s actually a Gothic building and seats about 1200 people. Its not until you step inside though, that you get the sense of awe. I paid the kind priest at the door a few pound (you only needed to make a donation to enter), he handed me a pamphlet which is now safe and secure in what is now fondly known as ‘the bag of the pamphlet’ (already bursting at the seams). I wandered in through the hall to be greeted by sun shimmering through the enormous stain glass windows, you could see the dust in the air which was almost music like in its majesty.

The floor is a mosaic of marbel leading along the length of the main chapel. Pillars every few feet turn to form arches, and the main roof structure is arched also. Bath stone was used for the interior so it is a glowing off-white that brings out the brightness of the colours of the stain glass, and with the light shining through, its nothing short of humbling to stare upon it. Here and there are statues dedicated to priests, important people and Rome – One was of a woman, looking solemly inside a large vase, flowers falling from her hands, she is cloaked in flowing material that lapses over her feet. There are large dark-wooded pews for the choir, and behind the last pew a light wooden pane adorned by angels playing instruments. The organ is ridiculously huge, about the height of three people, stainless steel tubes… I wonder what it sounds like. There were two smaller separate chapels, each quiet with solitude. I sat for a while, staring about me, for once – not thinking. I think that’s what I like about churches, I’m usually thinking and find it difficult to just take a moment, to be blank, inside a church, something comes over a person, a certain level of tranquillity, regardless of whether you are religious or not… it’s a sincere sense of peace.

I headed outside to see if there was a garden between the Abbey and the walls that surrounded it, only to find another section of the abbey, an older part that is under the floor of the Abbey itself. Two very nice gentlement were there to greet visitors, they were so cheery and filled with information and simply delighted to see me. The warmly directed me to the beginning route through the museum and provided me with another wonderful leaflet. There was a quotation at the entry advising, ‘unless the Lord builds the house the builders have toiled in vain’, next to this was a small reconstruction of what the Abbey looked like originally. It took up such an area and included the Roman Baths next door. It looked more like a castle, no, a town even… surrounded by a wall. It looked all very pleasant, I was told that most Abbeys were like this in the 1700s until the reformation when most of those abbeys were taken over by Lords and converted into homes for the rich, or burned to the ground. They explained that it was very fortunate that this area survived as it has.

I came across some age old statues, one of an Angel crawling down Jacobs Ladder, which I found particularly intriguing… It was one of those images that you are not quite sure how it makes you feel there was something sad about it, like an emanating helplessness. Maybe the concept of something falling from heaven, or maybe just not being able to reach it so you give up… There were also statues dedicated to the Kings and Queens that had taken to the thrown during the Abbeys earlier years, these statues had been found in the ground under where the current abbey stands. Beyond this was an area dedicated to the history of Bath, with sound affects included. You listened to the Lords and Ladies, the Priests and commoners. There were books that were resurrected from the hidden library of the monks, and most shocking of all, skeletons in the floor. The skeletons had been found and left in the ground with glass over the top so you could stare through. It’s a strange sensation staring at something that had existed there… that was once flesh, and now was only bone. I stood there for quite some time… again unsure of how one should feel in such a circumstance.

After chatting with the very lovely gentlemen at the entrance I headed back out into the glorious day. It was the perfect day for a nice long walk and I wasn’t worried at all about getting lost. There is something homely about Bath, you feel like its opened its arms and embraced you. While in London I was getting the sense of being alone, but here, it was as if the characters of the past, of books… of my childhood dreams, were walking through the streets with me. I think it was also the softness of the stone used for the buildings, the way the light wasn’t so much reflected of it, but absorbed into it… the tree lined streets, and openness of space, the river running through the town and the teared hills that surrounded the town. It was quiet and warm and exactly what I needed.

I spent the rest of the day taking in everything around me, walking through parks, laying in the leaves, staring at the blue sky and then rushing water. I strolled through the markets and read the plaques on buildings about who lived where. I headed to the visitors centre and arranged to do a half day tour to Stonehenge the next day.

The afternoon was coming on and I’d been strolling around the streets for hours, I was desperate to get to those hills I’d been staring at. There were mansions with amazing landscaped gardens and I hoped I might get to see all of this. I jumped onto one of the tourist busses that would take me on a guided tour around the outskirts of Bath. I was the only one of the bus and wasn’t quite sure what the process was. I ended up getting into a hearty conversation with the tourguide and completely forgot to ask for them to stop the bus so I could go and walk. Along our trip we took in some of the oldest cottages in the area, observed the cemeteries and the industrial area. She pointed out where mines once were, and also main park-lands that were reknowned for debauchery in the 1800s.

All of a sudden 45 minutes had gone past and I was back where I started and didn’t get the chance to jump off and take time in the hills. I was a bit disappointed, but at the same time thought I would come back here one day, hopefully with a car so I could investigate the Coltwalds in greater depth.

Once I jumped off the bus I walked along the Avon toward a museum that the tour guide had pointed out. Unfortunately it was closed for renovations, but the gardens behind looked so enticing. I listened to my feet crunching into the leaves as I walked next to the path. I stood staring up into a tree for some time, just smiling and taking the moment in. A sense of peace was embracing me as I strolled further and further into the gardens, passing a tall Roman Roundhouse, and over a small green metal bridge, where, looking left and right, a stream flowed with small barges bobbing on the light current. This stream was apparently how people got to and from Bath before the roads were built. The streams run all the way to London and the rich and famous would make the trip down every year to take in the waters, to dance and socialise… Sounded like a nice way to spend a holiday. My sister and I, though, always conceded that if we had of lived in those days, we more than likely would be the ones changing the bed pans rather than wearing the Venetian Silk Dresses and gossiping about Mark Darcy.

Birds scatted along the winds and I ducked my head under the weeping willow branches, before coming to a house. It was more an abandoned mansion. I lay down on the thick balcony wall and let the sun warm my legs, closing my eyes and letting the reds and yellows flicker over my face.

I haven’t seen Kent yet, but at the moment, I will call Bath my garden of England. Walking back to my Bed and Breakfast I discovered yet another park, strewn with enormous trees, Mothers wandering along the path with their young children trying desperately to make their bikes go forward. There was an old couple sitting under a tree and laughing and one (there is always one) crazy man that I decided not to make eye contact, I didn’t want to interrupt the conversation he was having with what appeared to be… nothing what so ever.

I headed to the Jane Austen Museum, but unfortunately there was only 30minutes left until it closed and the horrible woman, who had what seemed an affected posh accent. I don’t think I’ve been looked at in such a way, its amazing how much can be said in a look. For me, this look said, ‘You know nothing about Austen… just another tourist who has heard the name but is not a true fan’. And due to this I thanked her very much for her time and decided not to ever go back. There are such things as Austen snobs, but this is the first I’d come across. I’ll keep my delight in certain books to myself for now on.

So that was slightly disappointing, but I was glad to just have the opportunity to be wandering the streets that inspired the great lady, who wrote about it in Sense and Sensibility and Mansfield Park.

All in all the day was going splendidly, I headed back to the Baths and decided to go in, hoping that with evening coming in, it wouldn’t be so busy. I was quite fortunate in the fact I’d decided to go to Bath during the winter, there were less tourists because of the fear of weather spoiling the holiday, Bath is a Spring destination. For me, however, I was exceptionally lucky in that the sun was still shining, very unusual for that time of year.

The Roman Baths are amazing. Breathtaking. Heart-warming that they still exist, that you can wander about on what was built hundreds of years before your own country. Older than some of the trees I climbed as a kid. It cost 10.50 pounds and was well worth it, I wandered about for about two hours. I couldn’t have chosen a better time, with the sun setting and the sky became a myriad of purples and pinks and blues all sweeping around the fire lit lamps that adorned each corner of the Roman Baths. Here, you were in the presence of ancient gods and goddesses who had the power to heal, to make a person walk again, to keep a person alive for an eternity. This is where the rich would come and flirt with one another, where the Romans worships heroes from across the waves and reminisce of a home they were unlikely to see again. So many worlds had already existed here, it makes you wonder who will be visiting this same place in centuries to come, will they be wondering what we were like, what ‘tourists’ were, why the Baths fascinated us so much? This area had survived wars, reformations and time…

It was so warm, the heat floating up in wafts of steam, statues staring down on the waters, you could see it streaming through the foundations of the buildings. Segregated rooms for different classes, different purposes, some open aired and some so enclosed that the only light that touched the walls was that from fire. The Abbey crept up from behind, and within there were cuttings of the original mosaics that decorated the floors. You could see the different levels of development, from the Celts who first found this spiritual place, to the Romans, through the reformations and a civil wars, to what we saw now that has existed from the late 1700s.

Walking out, I was on a high… I’d seen the Roman Baths, I was in Bath. The weather was being kind to me and I’d had yet another marvellous day. I decided the perfect way to finish my historical adventure day was to go to the oldest house in Bath and have some of the famous Bath-Bread. Apparently Lords, Ladies and even a King enjoyed this bread, and the recipe to this day is only handed down from chef to chef within the Oldest House in Bath.

The restaurant is called Sally Dunn. It was warm and ‘snuggley’, I have to use that word, it’s the only way I can describe it, like being embraced by the soft stone walls, the warm wooden furniture, the hangings on the wall. It was just snuggley. I popped upstairs to the loo, more to investigate than anything else. The stairs were warn and the wooden handrail was uneven, and it was all peacefully perfect, like walking into a Dickons’ novel. This house had even survived the blitz, and there was little sign of renovation. There is something endearing about having to bend through door frames, and slide into your seat.

I ordered a glass of red, the famous Sally Dunn bread and chicken with vegetables. It was light, refreshing and comforting… like a home made meal. The staff were delightful. I sat writing about my day by candlelight, nibbling at my food and enjoying the banter of a family in the corner, and glancing at a Japanese couple taking photo’s of themselves eating their food. There was, ofcourse, a few jabs of sadness that stung my heart, a feeling of loneliness in wanting to share this moment, but at the same time I was just glad to be there.

I headed home under the stars, feeling safe and at peace, making it back to my room and having a cup of tea in my adorable tea pot and cup. After a wonderfully long and exceptionally hot shower I enjoyed the buzz of excitement in my heels – tomorrow I was off to see Stone Henge, I couldn’t wait.

Bath - First Discoveries

I washed my face, changed my top, tied my bad back up and prayed that it would hold (was quite impressed with my ingenuity and momentarily considered becoming an inventor – my bag light concept is still on hold til I can raise enough money to get it pattoned, but when I’ll do I’ll be rich and be able to take Paris Hilton by the hand and have a chat about her behaviour… potentially send her to boarding school for discipline… people like that have no business being rich), putting my shoes back on I grabbed my map and made my way back out of my room. Locking the door with the little red key and taking in my surroundings once more, I stepped onto the delightfully quiet street. I took a moment. There were no sirens, no bustling people, the sun was shinning and it was as if I’d been in the dark for weeks… Bath is so open, spacious and perfectly white. They use Bath Stone for the buildings, specially made, it was also used for Buckingham Palace… It gives your heart a little lap of delight knowing that they make so much effort to keep Bath the way Bath was. It’s one of the only remaining UK towns on the History List for being as it was in the 1700 and 1800s… I could imagine myself dressed in a long flowing gown making my way to the great hall for the grand dance during the summer, could hear horses on the cobbled streets, all the time feeling the warmth of the sun on my back and thinking how lucky I was to be here, and proud, to be here alone.

My intention had to be to make my way into town, but instead I went in the opposite direction taking a whim of spontanaeity. Sometimes the feeling to walk left, rather than right can lead you to the most wonderful of places – maybe there is something more to us humans, that instinct that can lead to unexpected experiences, sometimes good and sometimes bad. In this case, it was perfectly perfect and I think the sun was not only shining down on me, but smiling as well. The afternoon was creeping in, but the house seemed slower here than in London. I wandered up a street only to discover I had come across the most picturesque… and enormous… park. It is named after Queen Victoria, given to her in honour of one of her birthdays before she had become Queen, and so is called “Princess Victoria Gardens”.

I wandered up ‘Royal Avenue’, suddenly wondering whether I was actually allowed to be here, it all seemed so grand. The flower beds running up along the road, thick granite walls with inscriptions dedicated to the fallen fathers of the World Wars, red poppies swaying in the wind around them. To my left the park swept down to a landscaped section with a pond, a fountain, trees in sets of three and little walk ways lined by rock beds with water running over them. The sun was whispering through the trees and birds danced in and out and up above. To my left the grounds stretched out with all the magnificent colours o autumn, those greens and browns, oranges and reds, crunchy in their cold leaf like manner. Simple as the site was, as reknowned and normal, it still forced me to stop and take a moment to appreciate the complexity of simplicity and perfection of a natural scene. I think I quite like forests better than landscaped gardens… but, I’m sure when I get to Leeds Castle I may change my mind by the sounds of things. The light seemed blue as it swung through the trees. I stepped in through branches to look at a small semi-circle stage, imagining that they would have musical concerts here during the summer months. There was a sculpture of a vase hidden in the bushes near the stage, snakes creeping up at its edges and what looked like Roman’s dancing around with grapes in their hands – obviously a tribute who are thought to be the founders of Bath, and ofcourse the Roman Spa’s. Apparently, though, the natural hot springs that exist in Bath were first discovered by the Celts, who, like the Romans, thought had Healing Powers (some people still spend exorbitant amounts of money to bathe in the waters today as well… I was not one of those people sadly… not til I get the Bag Light sorted at any rate, and then we might even see if it improves Paris Hilton?).

Carrying on along the road, before even broaching the main part of this almost-never-ending park, I came across an extravagantly sized semi-circular three storey building, completely pristine in condition. I’m not sure as to what this was, but by
the looks of things it had some governmentary purpose. I considered knocking on the door with my CV… what a place to work!

I finally reached another set of large steel gold tipped gates with Lioness’s overlooking the entryway which indicated the entry to the main park area. It was all so grand, so regal… It’s a strange thing about Bath, you miss what you’ve never known, I feel nostalgic about the 18th Century… maybe its something to do with communal memory that I’d read about all those years ago… that the memories of your ancestors were transferred down through generations which would explain the emotions we feel when we walk into the house of our grandparents, or to a larger extent, feel the pull of our ‘homeland’ so to speak… It is nice being able to put theory to practise, everything I read at university seems to be making so much sense, especially those courses on philosophy, culture, anthropology and globalisation. When imaginings become memory and transcend logic.

My head to the sky, I proudly walked through the grand gates, looking around and seeing no one was there, I swept from side to side, holding my imaginary skirt in my hand and bowing to the gentleman who stood by to greet me and take my cloak, I was offered a small glass of Pinot Noir before accepting the arm of my beloved (my beloved who I’d not confessed my feelings to but was hoping that through consultation with my brother, would hopefully ascertain whether my feelings were reciprocated!)… obviously I’ve read far too many Bronte and Austen books, but it was certainly fun – you can get yourself lost sometimes.

As I made my way through the gates there was the most quaint little house to my right, a great weeping willow shadowing it from the sun (and potentially the prying eye). With green awnings, brown slated room and three triangle peeks it seemed like Little Red Riding’s Grandmama’s home… It was just so quaint. I wanted to walk up and take a closer peek – very Goldie Locks of me – but there was a car out the front and I imagined that it wasn’t there for show. Turning back around I found an enormous pillar pointing to the sky, surrounded by a circular stone gate and lions facing East, West, North and South, with a main sculpture above the base of the pillar of Queen Victoria – the later years. Another tribute to the name giver of this delightful space.

I was incredibly snap happy as I made my way through the fields, in between trees, over stumps and crunching leaves, watching birds flitter and squirrels scurry. The sun seemed to be staying out jut for me, I nodded to a couple walking past me, and ‘Goodday’ to a mother, husband and their brood walking along the tree lined path. I felt at peace in this place and had a sense of never ever wanting to leave. Of setting up a little cottage and living off garden vegetables… it just seemed perfect. On the hill in the distance you could spot the most magnicifcent mansion – I found out later that many period films had been filmed there and it was now a very well-to-do Bed and Breakfast… maybe something I would save to go to at a later date… treat myself to some Bath-like Luxury… I wondered if they had theme weekends when you could actually dress up like a 1800s lady and wander about speaking with oh-so-appropriate manners… oh marvellous would that be?!

In the corner of my eye I spotted what appeared to be a small closed off area with a pond. Heading in this direction my mother suddenly appeared in my mind… Mum, I thought, I have found the Secret Garden. Years ago in Wynarling the back yard had grown over… and not in the normal sense of the word – it honestly looked like the beginning of the film, ‘the Secret Garden’, there were no flowers… you would have to dig for days to find earth… the garden had always been difficult to manage, but with thistles and weeds and branches with spikes and prickles… it was like a beast. Mum worked the whole day in the blaring sun (with some assistance from myself, though I think I was more a beverage runner than anything), until she had cleared all of the weeds. I remember the photo of her, sweat on her brow, pitch fork in her hand, smiling tiredly that she had finally conquered what was almost the Dragon of Wynarling… I was suddenly back there and so wanted her to be here to see this. She would love this… It was the garden she had always wanted (something that was not on top of a rock with hard soil that grew nothing but thistles and poisonous melons and horrible double gee-s).

What I thought was gated, was not… luckily. My first image – that I all but could take a photo to capture the breathtaking perfection of the image – was that of a lightly rippling pond through weeping willows (my favourite tree, along with Boabs… I doubt there are many Boabs in England though…) a park bench overlooking the scene. It drew you to it, peace suddenly swept over me, it was a lovers corner, a place for romance or writing, for quietitude and meditation. I wish I could describe more aptly how majestically the greens, browns and oranges swept into one another, the sense of feeling as if you were in a painting.

I walked toward it coming across a small tricking waterfall, listening to the flowing water as it made its way into the lake, looking up the sky had turned to leaves and branches, as if nature was embracing you. Walking along the solace tree lined path, with the sunlight slipping along the cobbles, desperately trying to move through the leaves, I came out to see the lake in all its glory. Three different types of ducks floated along the water, dipping and ducking and coming up again, sea gulls swooping and robbins tattering toward the waters edge. Yellow leaves curtained across the way, and green shrubs made the perfect hiding place for field mice and squirrels. I sat there for some time, just breathing, experiencing, enjoying. Knowing that in the end, this is the sort of place I wanted to find… I felt more at home here than I had in the weeks since I’d arrived, as if it was put here, just for me.

On my way back I stopped for a chat with the white swans, took a breath before exiting and took a moment for the desire to jump up and down with excitement and relief to subside and carried on my way into the main section of town.

As I walked through the streets of Bath I couldn’t get over the magnificent regality of the buildings, the pillars and the off-white stone, the arch windows and grand dark wood doors. The houses, the churches… everything. Like nothing I had witnessed before. Loved the cobbled streets, tripping over now and then, but enjoying watching my feet skate over them, moss in between the cobbles. Walking down another quiet street I discovered a theatre with a sculpture of an angel… wings outspread it looked like it was falling. There was a bat flying toward it and I enjoyed the fact such things were the ‘norm’ in England, that architecture could also be art.

The most important discovery I made was to ensure that I turned into the small streets that barely one person could pass through at a time, because there were secret places. One I came across led to a small courtyard with three little restaurants, all facing toward a water fountain with ivy leaves cascading over the three tears.

When I got to the more central part of the town it was just busy enough to be vibrant, but not to the point that it was uncomfortable or disturbing. People wandered happily, buying fruit from the market stall, sitting at the little jazz café, dashing off to catch a bus and wandering out of Sainsbury’s with bread and wine. Christmas was coming so the streets were lit with Christmas lights, holy and lanterns. Between the buildings hung long holy-like ropes with stars attached. I was so busy looking at the lights and peeking down alleys to find quaint little boutique shops that I didn’t notice the main structure of the town… the thing that everybody comes here to see…

Turning around after taking a photo of yet another light-filled holy encrusted and shining street my breath was taken away, a sheepish smile came across my face and the urge to jump up for delight came over me… There was the Abbey… Such a beautiful and yet daunting gothic structure, my head swivelled up up up to see its peak on the sky line… it was so close, it was there, merely 30 paces away and I’d not noticed it? Did I need to get my eyes checked? And then… oh! How am I going to fit all of that in my camera?!

The arched windows are… simply… beautiful, a feat to exist. The Abbey seems mostly window… so you can imagine how much light seeps into the building itself. I thought it must be heavenly in there, transcendent… I decided that the Abbey deserved more than just a quick afternoon gimpse, it would be the first thing on my list of things to do for tomorrow. Sadly, I turned away (wondering at the same time how lovely it would be to sneak inside and sleep there for the evening, maybe a flask of tea and a blanket… but to wake up in that light, in that building… something to dream about tonight, I thought).

Ofcourse, me being me, found the Bath Markets. A long street filled with Chocolataries, Olde Lolly Shopes, bits and bobs shops and everything else you’ve ever wanted to buy but wouldn’t buy because you ‘want’ it rather than ‘need’ it, and get angry at the fact that you cant just bob in and buy what you want, yelling at the logical part of your mind. Santa distracted me from this internal debate, he was waving from the top of another building across from a Victorian style Church. I waved back and he said he’d get me something very nice for Christmas indeed, I replied that a winning lotto ticket would be more than enough… at which point he laughed – so I’m not sure what that meant?!

Bath is built in a valley between seven hills, therefore its quite cold, and quite hilly in itself. I continued my walk from the main area of town only to discover that I was… as one would assume, at the edge of a very large, quite powerful, and most picturesque river. The river runs through Bath – stupidly I had not idea… not realising that maybe a at the bottom of a valley there would be a lake! From the street level you can look down on the lake, but looking straight you see the rest of Bath tearing up the hill. These lavish buldings set out like layers of a wedding cake, and above, the lushious green of the valley and the orange orbs of trees littering the landscape. It was just perfect, just beautiful… To be able to take it all in like this… I wondered if this is what I didn’t like about London… that everything seems so flat, its hard to take in the magesty of London because of its magnitude and situation. But here, you were fortunate enough to take it all in, all in a moment. Another thing to put on the list then, walk along that lovely river… The bridges across the river, bringing one part of Bath in contact with the other, are wide and tall so as to allow room for offices, or potentially homes? The bottom of the bridge, the part that dips into the water, became three large archways, the water flowed peacefully between them. It was all so ancient. I grabbed my pen and then decided it was far far far too cold to take my gloves off.

The darkness was setting in, though I was thankful for how long the light had lasted today. Rather than carrying on away from the centre of town, I made my way back up the hill. Deciding, ‘yes, this is in the right general direction’, I wandered up what seemed to be a main street which would lead me – hopefully – back to my accommodation. I hadn’t intended to infact come back across the Abbey, but from another angle, so I was walking right next to the Roman Pillars leading into the Roman Baths. How simple… people carrying their shopping, chatting to friends, scolding their child… drinking coffee and tea and laughing and being… modern. Didn’t they realise? Did they not know? There were treading ancient ground! Heavens, they should have been in awe… but no, this was their life. I on the other hand, was not being very ‘cool’ about the whole situation. My bag had slipped off my shoulder and was sitting precariously on my wrist threatening to fall to the ground, my hat had been taken off and was hanging off my other hand as I stood jaw-open in shock at what I was taking in… the Abbey, the Baths, the Pillars… all at one time, there they were, for me… they had stood here for 100s of years and here I was. How amazing. How… how my dreams had come true. I was finally in one of those history books that I used to read thinking, wouldn’t it be lovely to be in Egypt THEN, or be part of the Roman Empire… I was hidden in my imagination, thinking of the ladies and lords, but even before them, the Emporers, the Courtesans… the servants, the soothsayers and the gods and goddesses that were part of every day life.

What a day… the night was finally coming in, my stomach and I discussed whether we could do with a sandwich in our room, or whether we’d prefer to find a nice place to sit down and have pasta. Pasta won the discussion and so my stomach and I headed back to our room to have a shower and get changed again and then identify a suitable place for appropriate consumption.

The shower… was…magnificent. After weeks upon weeks of dribbling-sometimes-cold showers at Kelly’s house, I was shocked and unbelievably relieved to have a proper shower. I stood in there for what seemed like an hour, taking in the luxury. I felt like going down to thank the owners simply for having such a lovely shower. If you are reading this, please ensure you never ever again take a good powerful hot shower for granted, it is one of the most amazing mechanical advances of modern society. In looking for a house share at the moment, it will be the first question to escape my lips when I cross the threshold.

Lying down on my bed afterwards, feeling the steam float off my skin and watching my arms turn from red to pink to white again, I got changed into the best outfit I’d brought, put on my red-coloured lip balm and headed out for a dinner date… with my stomach. At first I couldn’t really find anything appropriate, in the darkness Bath seemed like a whole new place, I couldn’t find the little courtyards with the quaint restaurants, or the main Church… I followed a sign that pointed toward a shopping centre and found, to my surprise and joy, a lovely restaurant on the top floor. It was much posher than I had expected it to be. I was greeted by the maître who was quite shocked when I asked for a table for one. They smiled at me, sadly, almost apologetically, which led to my face turning strawberry-like. There was a reserved seat by the window in the corner, he took the reserved sign off and placed it at another table-for-two and let me have the window sweet. I wanted to explain that I was quite alright, I just wanted a nice meal and there was no microwave or kitchenette in my room – but considering he was very Italian, I doubt he would have understood my fumbling mumbling explanation. Instead I sat happily having been offered a glass of wine and bread for free. I was so entirely looked after I thought I should dine out alone more often! I took out my pad and paper and started writing a list of the days events and identifying the most appropriate approach to tomorrows discoveries.

My waiter came back and asked what I would like, I asked for a Pasta Marinara and when served… it was potentially the best marinara I’ve ever had, filled with the most enormous king prawns, succulent scallops and perfectly flavoured muscles. I was in heaven. I was asked whether it was alright, whether I needed more salt, more cheese… more wine… more anything? About three times during my meal – the staff were just lovely.

Once I’d finally finished my meal and felt completely satisfied, sitting sipping the last of my wine and looking at the church through the window, the people wandering about below, the lights and the night sky, I was offered desert. ‘Why not?’ I thought to myself and asked for the caramel covered strawberry luxury cheese cake… and although I could hardly walk home in my nice jeans, it was the most fabulous cheesecake, with whole real strawberries and warm thick caramel syrup… I was then given a free piece of watermelon to clean my pallet and a cup of tea as well.

What a lovely evening and a perfect meal. With the music and the sound of the waterfountain behind me, the lovely staff and the perfect seat. What a marvellous day. I wandered back to my room thrilled thus far with Bath, I watched Top Gear before having an early night at 9pm, ready for an early morning and a day filled with more discoveries tomorrow.

Bath - The Journey

I am currently sitting in First Class on the train to Bath… most exciting, however I am concerned that someone will ask to see my ticket and realise I aught not be sitting here. However there is hardly anyone in the First Class area so I will just feign stupidity – encourage the Australian accent and all.

I had intended to leave much earlier, its now 11.30am and I should be in bath by about 1pm. I don’t have a room booked in the hopes that spontaneity will prove fruitful and I will find the perfect hamlet as I wander the streets of Bath.

My journey here was rather long on the underground and during this experience my new handbag broke with the weight of my laptop. Rather than be frustrated by this I bought a turkey and cranberry pastry and was most impressed with the texture and taste. It cost 30 pence to go to the toilet… I wish I had of thought of that, I’d make a million.

Paddington Station is enormous with people bustling about and everyone appearing to know exactly where they should be going (a female voice just came over the speaker phone and announced that we will be fed soon! How marvellous. I think I could get used to first class).

I am looking out the window now and the sun is blaring down on London. As I make my way out of the main city you see more green opening up. The planes still flitter here and there in the air and I am now moving through a more industrialised area. I cant wait to see fields… I cant wait to breathe non-London air.

My inspiration to go via train was ofcourse an awfully romantic, yet somewhat art house film called “Before Sunrise”. Here two people meet on the Euro-rail and decide to get of in Vienna. They wander around discussing themselves, philosophy, reincarnation and the purpose of existence as a whole. I wanted to be a writer on a train, staring out of the window and taking in the world as it spun past me – such a romantic notion. If only the seats weren’t so comfortable and I’d have slept for more than five hours last night, would improve the experience as I’ve very intention of going to sleep very shortly – if only I could overcome the concern that someone is going to pop around the corner and ask for my ticket! And then throw me off the train for being so presumptuous – I wonder if I’d pass for a quirky rich girl?

Where I am sitting there are four large leather recline-able seats surrounding a wooden table with a long window by my side – I would hate to think what economy is. There is an emergency procedure pamphlet that neither I, nor I suspect anyone else on the train, will actually read. With my phone and camera situated on one and the other side of my laptop, I am typing away almost completely in bliss (still worried about getting moved on… not only due to the potential embarrassment, but also considering my bag is broken and therefore it will be a struggle in itself to get everything together and move to another seat – I don’t see hwy it would cause anyone concern).

Staring out of the window at the moment I can only see blue sky and clouds here and there. The refreshments gentleman has just wandered past and in my most “I’m rich and confident and should be sitting here” voice advised that I didn’t need anything at this time. I am dying to take a photo of myself in my lil chair before someone hauls me back to the lap of poverty!

Ahh and beyond my window England has appeared. We just moved passed a large lake, tudor houses with very large bright green yards, the trees are melting to gold and the small houses pop up here and there, almost peacefully. I cant wait to see more, to see more fields – its wonderful knowing that any minute I will look out my window and see a landscape I’ve only ever read about.

Many Australians, and travellers I suppose, get stuck in London when they come to the UK – I can understand why, but don’t think that’s for me. I have more of a desire to get a train ticket and hop off and on where ever I choose, wander around… from what I hear London and England are two separate entities, almost different countries, for the differences in people, culture… lifestyle. I’ve only been on the train 20minutes and already I see a whole new world with a mansion overlooking ploughed fields, market gardens – and another lake! It is picturesque, I am so lucky to see it in winter with all the colours of the world adorning the earth.

I am going to visit a recruitment agency when I get to Bath and see if they have any work and, potentially, situate myself there. Nigel also suggested that Hove in Brighton might be a better fit for me – I can always come up to London to see a play and visit the nightlife – but I am looking for more of a lifestyle – there is a certain level of embarrassment that I feel that I haven’t fallen for London – I wonder if maybe I just haven’t given it enough of a chance. There is a darkness about it that is hard to describe, with all of its wonders and history, there is still something… negative about it. Maybe it’s the dangerous side, the crime and homelessness, or potentially the echoes of the past. I have been spoilt I think living on a farm and then in the beautiful South Perth most recently. I said to Nigel that I expect Perth is infact the emerald city, being to pristine – but potentially lacking in heart. When it comes to finding the place you belong maybe there is no where completely perfect, maybe its about finding out which part of existence is more important to you. I have come to the initial conclusion that open space is more important to me than a good nightlife – you can go somewhere for a weekend if you are really desperate for that. I am hoping to find somewhere that has a bit of a cultural scene, drama and arts – however also holds some part of the romantic England, for it to be easy to go out into the landscape, to wander aimlessly for hours… I can hardly type now, we came out of Reading about 15 minutes ago and I just want to scream…. Do people scream about landscapes??? I think possibly not, but I’m exceptionally excited. Three trees, the hills, the houses spotted here and there… the boats on the river, the ducks. Oh, my heavens it is beautiful… I cant believe I’m here?! I’m in England – now there is a reaction I have been waiting to get since I got here. I am so glad I’ve done this before finding work – I suddenly feel like I haven’t breathed for the last four weeks and finally air has come flooding into my lounges.

I am going to stop writing for the moment and take in…. England.

Sheep! Mission accomplished, I’ve seen sheep. All of the paddocks are separated by hedges just as I expected… but seeing them brings a smile to your face. The train slides under old arches brown brick bridges. COWS! Now I’ve seen cows too!

Upon getting to Bath I decided to find a place to rest my now-broken bag. I needed accommodation and quickly. There was too much to see and I was getting frustrated that I had to use both hands to carry my pride and joy handbag and therefore was unable to take any photos or spend time perusing the streets. I wanted to “do” Bath and see everything as quickly as possible! There was no time to waste so I headed down a street that a lady at the tourist information place advised was the cheapest area to stay. I found a three storey town house among the guest houses, knocked on the door to be greeted by a lovely man with a ‘blood and bone’ accent. 99.75% of people will not know what I mean when I say a ‘blood and bone’ accent. Basically it refers to a television gardener I used to watch and his accent, he always advised to put ‘blood and bone’ on your soil to make your flowers bloom beautifully. I wish I knew the area, the people really roll their R’s and you mistake them for not being the brightest spark in the fire… infact he was friendly and welcoming and the place felt like home. It was warm, the interior is white and bright. There is a large room with tables and chairs where breakfast is served every morning, a lovely large lounge room to the front of the house with windows overlooking a small garden and the street beyond. There is a lamp post at the front of the house with a swinging sign advertising ‘vacancies at Waltons Guest House’. I’m assuming this was Mr Walton him very self.

After signing the guest book I was taken up the ivory green carpeted stairs, past the prize plates on the wall, the large ornate mirror and blue-white porceline glasses and into room 3, opened with a red key. My red key for the next few days. The room itself… well its like an Australian hallway, but equipped with an exceptionally small closet which acts as a toilet and shower (the settings were lovely however, shining porceline and I couldn’t wait to have a shower under that fabulously huge shower head), wooden dressing table, wooden chair, wooden single bed and television attached to the wall. Hanging from the ceiling was a small crystal and white-steel chandelier.

From the window the sun shone in over chimney tops across the way – I briefly smiled thinking of Mary Poppins dancing on the roof tops – and warmed the room. Ahh, peace… quiet… and safety.

But there was no time for relaxation (I had completely forgotten the purpose of this trip, which was to sit, read and write… not go crazy site seeing like I had been for the last three weeks!). I changed my jacket, brushed my hair, tied my bag together after taking out the dreaded laptop that had been the bane of my existence since I bought the damned thing, and headed out.

After being in London… and may I say… being in Tooting… my first impression of Bath was that it was:
a) clean… very very clean
b) quiet… there were quite a few people in Perth standards, but to me that suddenly felt empty
c) safe
d) easy – I felt that I could walk everywhere I wanted to go, could navigate the streets relatively well, the whole place seemed welcoming and pleasant.
I was happy, but there had been a cloud over me for the past few days… missing people, missing one person in particular. After spending every waking moment with one person, it is so unbelievably, indescribably, difficult to be without them, especially when you are doing things you have never done before, and wanting so much – with every element of your being – to share those moments with them, for me, with him. But I tried to push this to the side, along with all of the emotions that had been welling up for the past few weeks. I had to conquer, I had to enjoy – I was forcing myself but knew I would appreciate it in the long run.

I was off and intent on conquering Bath in a period of two or so days. What a feat – could I manage it? I was still thinking that if I tick everything off my list – ridiculous. I was loosing the purpose of my journey, it was not about ‘doing London’, ‘doing England’ or even getting the ‘travel thing’ over and done with. I have been waiting for this experience my whole life and here I was throwing it away. I needed to calm down – as everyone was telling me – but until this moment, in which I write to you, I didn’t realise what was happening, I was too wound up in my emotions, running in my mind… I was getting so tired and didn’t know why, but looking back I see that I’ve been racing the clock… for no reason at all.

But now… here… in this moment – I was rediscovering my desire and was determined to make the most of it…

Petticoat Lane - Spittafields & Brick Lane

I jumped off the tube at Liverpool Station… I hadn’t expected Liverpool Station to be quite like it was… ENORMOUS! There were people everywhere, and seven different exists that apparently led to seven different places. I stood in the centre of the hall, looking up at the glass paned ceiling and wondering which way to turn – I wanted to get to the markets but had no idea that simply getting out of the train station would be a feat in itself. As familiarity dictates I headed toward the McDonald sign, I assumed if there was a McDonald sign there was bound to be tourists, and thereby, markets… Unfortunately I was wrong.

After exiting the station I went left… and walked, for 10 minutes, realising that I was going in the wrong direction. I turned and went right for 10 minutes – no luck there either. I looked at my map which wasn’t very helpful at all and so decided to take a side street and simply hope for the best. It seemed to work quite well previously, just wandering about and then all of a sudden I’d be where I wanted to be.

Luckily this worked out quite well, as rain started to pour down I came across a sign advising “Petticoat Lane this way”. Perfect. I had heard of Petticoat Lane from a television show Nigel and I would watch most summer evenings, having seen the hubbub on the TV I decided it would be fabulous to be in amongst it all. You cant let the rain deter you in London… if you did, you would never leave the house. So, hat atop my head, and coat securely braced around my neck I followed the sign down another back alley way, and then another, a left and a right and a feeling of concern and frustration – where was it? Surely a key tourist attraction couldn’t be this hard to find? (I was to discover later that this was not really a tourist attraction, but more a place for locals to go bargain hunting…). Along my walk I came across a café called “TIFFINBITES”, finding that quite amusing I took a photo and made a mental note to send it to my sister. With the Georkin Building rising up on my right I was at a loss as to where I was situated. I’d some how thought I was on one side of the river, rather than the other, and not so close to the business district… London is smaller than one originally thinks, everything is within proximity… unusually, I was enjoying working out my bearings when finally, finally… after half an hour wandering aimlessly with hopeful eyes and very cold hands, I came across the back of the market.

Petticoat lane takes up a very long stretch of road, rammed with people running down the centre, taking in the hundreds of food, clothing and tat stalls. I was not overly impressed with the merchandise or the vibe. The people browsing seemed to be there with purpose, knowing where they were going and what they were getting. It was scary at times as well, feeling a little like the minority. I was hungry so decided to grab myself a hot dog and then find somewhere else to wander too. As I took my hot dog from the stall lady a gust of wind blew, the tarpolen roof of the stall slid and water poured on top of me and my hotdog. I was saturated and the poor woman didn’t know what to do, suddenly I was being pressed with toilet paper and an old wash cloth and shivering while advising that “It’s fine, its fine… don’t worry about it”, while the lady tried her best to dry me off. I continued through the market, bouncing off people and getting increasingly annoyed at the situation. I finally found a corned and tucked myself in, under a window pane in the hopes of preventing any further dousing of rain.

Chomping away on my wet hot dog I took a short video to remember the moment. I think that all the good should be recorded, along with all the ironic and the frustrating. I wasn’t mad, so much as concerned, considering it had taken me 45minutes to get here, I wanted to make the most of my day out. I’d made the effort to leave the warmth of the house and I had no intention of going home until I’d made a discovery of some sort.

Wandering along the road I found a sign, “Bishops Court”, this advertising Spittafields Market. Mark had made a comment about Spittafields being a nice area to wander through, not any further information other than that… I, personally, thought it was a very unfortunate name for something that was considered classy.

Well, I thought to myself, cant be worse than this, as I looked over at the rubbish along the road and the sound of fish heads being chopped from their boddies and people heckling over the price of a fake-leather jacket while the wind blew water through the street. Finding a rubbish bin I disposed of the serviets I’d been given to wipe myself off and continued in the direction of “Spittafields”.

As I turned onto a main street, people dressed elegantly and umbrella’s dancing in the air, I saw a beautiful white church at the end of the street, almost overlooking the crowd below. I walked toward it, hoping to take a moments solace in the warmth of the old building, when to my left a surprise greeted me.

A hall opened up, first with stores… flowers, jewellery, paintings, vases… all very to do, with marble floors and open, white, welcoming lighting. Long windowed stores and in the centre, shows of cartoonists and artists, sculpture. People dressed in their best, and milling around with smiles on their faces. As I continued down the white stone walkway I came to an opening, and beyond a great open space filled with beautiful stores with shining merchandise, delicious smelling foods from around the world, laughter and music, bars along the sides, and restaurants on the storey above over looking the hubbub. It was magnificent. For the first time that day I smiled and my heart skipped knowing that I’d be here for hours, exploring the ins and outs of this wonderful gallery. This was exactly what I wanted… but first, I needed money.

I headed across the road to a cash machine at Barclays Bank… the line was phenomenal, never has a line been so long! Or atleast that’s how it felt at the time, I wanted to get in there and play! There was so much to see and do and possibly, buy if the urge hit me. I took my place, taking in the area, looking over at the church that I would investigate later on. To the right of the church there was an entrance to what used to be an underground club, and was now a homeless / youth haunt (I made a mental note not to head in that general direction, the persons in attendance didn’t look overly welcoming).

As the line moved forward and I was the third next, I gave some money to the homeless woman that sat next to the cash machine, she said “Bless you, lady” in a husky voice as she pulled the thin blanket back over her hands. A man appeared from the street, dressed somewhat similar to Michael Jackson – the dark red coat with buttons, appearing somewhat like a member of the Red Coats back during the wars with the Jacobites. He looked slightly worse for wear, hair mangled with grease, face unshaven, dirt on his collar and boots. He wandered up in an unassuming manner with every intention of jumping the enormous cue.

“What you doin’? said a relatively robust woman, “You aint jumping the line”,
“I need to”, was his mumbled response,
“No! We been waitin’ here, you go to the back”, she said, getting slightly closer to the man,
“I need to get money”, he slurred,
“eh! Just because you had a night out, you aint got no right. Don’t make me get all negro up in ya face”, her voice was raised,

I looked at the people next to me, they looked back, shock and amazement. The crowd seemed to move forward to take in the exciting moment at hand. The man just shoved his way infront of her. She grabbed him, and swung him out of her way… He fell, or was forced to, the ground… mud being strewn across his jacket. The crowd continued to look on.
He hobbled back to his feet, slightly swaying after re-erecting himself.
“I’ll go behind you then”, he said, shuffling behind her in the que,
“No you aint!”, she said again… suddenly another, more robust and intimidating man presented himself – seeing his face, he actually looked jolly enough, it was the size of him that was intimidating,
“Come on mate”, the large man said, taking the Michael Jackson cue-jumper by the arm, “Just come to the back, eh?”
The cue-jumper mumbled and pulled his arm back and wandered off to the other side of the street, disappearing around the corner.
The lady who had protected the rights of all polite line standers finally got to the cash machine and started to take her money out when the crowd started to laugh and clapped, some people saying thankyou or commenting on her performance, she bowed and laughed shouting,
“Don’t be underestimating woman, I say”.

Well! What a wonderful show… almost better than going to the theatre. My spirits were high and my adrenalin running, the day was working out particularly well in a very unusual manner.

I headed back to markets, smiling at my compatriots as I left, everyone still discussing the exciting event. Spittafields Markets is lovely, its welcoming and filled with great bits and pieces from wine glasses made from Wine Bottles, to old 78 records, incense and incense holders, games and toys and clothes and oh so much delightful food. There is music playing on every corner. The light seeps through the glass roof, and stars were hanging from the ceiling along with Christmas lights and decorations. It was simply lovely… perfect.

I strolled around contentedly, buying some incense, a small wallet that would more easily fit in my pocket and thereby discourage the potential robber… I tasted different cheeses and chatted to a man selling his photography. A woman from Italy discussed her lovely coats with me, and an asain man with an English accent sold me a white 1960’s hat. My fingers were freezing and so I bought some very cheap gloves before chatting about records and CDs with another stall runner.

It was as if all these people were friends… I know that is the point, if you are friendly you will sell more, but for me, it was nice to feel so welcomed, so un-alone. If you caught another shoppers eye, they would smile back. Since that day I’ve been back to Spittafields twice, each time enjoying the vibe the area gives off, you are cloaked with a sense of relaxation. I don’t much like shopping, but give me a good market and I will be most content.

While taking a breather I’d heard some people discussing Brick Lane Markets,
“It’s just in the street behind”, said a woman
“Oh really? We could go for some food later”, said the gentleman with her.
Taking in this information I thought that I should go and have a look myself, considering I was in the vicinity. Brick Lane is quite famous for its Curry and also, Bars. Was definitely worth a look and I was in the investigative mood.

Heading away from the markets I almost felt the need to say goodbye, as if the market and I had become the greatest of friends. I headed across the street and popped into the church I’d seen earlier.

Chatting to the woman at the entrance she told me that it was a mish mash of different eras, a lot of it had been lost during the blitz and, while trying to keep with its original form, they had had to make use of modern materials. The church was beautiful, displays of gold alongside wood, the mish mash worked, old and new. I thanked her for her time and she gave me a pamphlet which has been safely stored away for memories sake and later – for the journal I will someday make of my travels.

As I headed out I noticed a very popular pub on the corner, there were people waiting to get in, “at this time of the day?” I pondered… “It must be a very good pub”, but as I headed across the road to take a photo of it I realised why so many people were frequenting the establishment,

THE TEN BELLS

The Ten Bells is where Jack the Ripper is said to have drunk, one of his victims frequented the place. It was an obvious tourist attraction, and here I was stumbling across it. How very topical, I thought, remembering my tours in the London Dungeons and London Bridge, where they had discussed the crimes and trial of Jack the Ripper.

I carried on merrily down the road, and just as the couple I’d eavesdropped on had said, there infront of me was yet another market. This one a little more alternate than the last, not so aesthetically pleasing, but filled with fun. Booths of oriental food, loud music and DJs rubbing their fingers along 78s, people dancing away while talking to the stall occupants. There was some beautiful jewellery stalls, and a painter who was sitting and painting as I walked past, I watched as he quickly stroked a blank paper with charcoal… suddenly I was staring at a scene from the market… to be here, to see someone do something like that, he was so intently drawing that I doubt he even noticed me.

I liked the feel of this whole area, like the church, with old and new some how merging, becoming something entirely different, not losing anything to modernity, yet not holding on too hard to the past. Ghosts walked along these streets, memories and imagery, life next to murder, poverty next to wealth, light next to dark… So tangible you could almost feel it as you walked through market halls, streets, next to churches and pubs.


I decided to continue down Brick Lane – do some more investigating, it was getting dark and lights starting to flick and flitter along the streets. Carrying on I looked in at the bars and pubs and restaurants, being stopped on the corner by an asian woman that asked if I’d like to purchase some new release DVDs… 5 for 10pound, she looked up and down the street anxiously, as if concerned the police would be along quickly… I wasn’t quite sure whether it was at all appropriate… potentially not legal, but I had a look at what she had and took a few films I’d been wanting to see, she thanked me, after advising which were better than the other and then pushing me on – I must have been bringing too much attention with my general discussion of what was a good film and what wasn’t. I felt liberated – a little sheepish and quite naughty – but liberated none-the-less.

My phone rang, just as I decided to head off, a girl that I’d worked with in Perth was calling to see how I was. I’d written her an email some time before advising of my London arrival. She was in the city and wanted to see if I’d like to go out for a drink,
“I’m in Brick Lane… is that close”,
“Yeah! Completely! Great”… not one for sentences,
“Umm, ok? So… where shall I meet you?”
“Can you see a place called ‘VIBE’?” I looked up and down the street… and then behind me. A large set of gates were behind me and on the red brick wall neon lights flickered ‘VIBE CLUB’,
“Oh! I’m right there! How bizarre!”
“Cool”, she said, “Go in, grab us a pims and I’ll be there in 15, yeah?”
So I wandered in. The Vibe Club is something out of a movie. As you walk in you are greeted by giant cartoons on the walls, music blaring and… as I entered, a cross-dresser smiling back at me. I smiled, and giggled and couldn’t believe my luck – a night out in London, how especially delightful.
Entering the main area of the club, or bar… or pub? I’m still not sure what defines what as what… there were red leather couches strewn here and there, tiny tables and a small stage. It was dark with red and orange lights bouncing on the broken stained wooden floors, I headed to the bar and asked for a ‘Pims’… apparently Pims can be taken in all sorts of manners, the bar woman told me with a laugh… ‘Lemonade then?’, I said, after being given the run down of possibilities,
‘And… umm, just a house wine for me?’
‘White or Red? Dry or Sweet? Large or Small’… never has it been so difficult to order a drink, I thought to myself.
‘Ummm… you know what? Surprise me’, the lady smiled and gave me the drinks for free, saying that I needed to get out more. She was an aspiring actress and said that this was one of the better clubs to make connections. I was quite excited by that possibility, and headed back into the clubs garden to wait for Julia to arrive.

The evening was exciting and like a dream… speaking to professional actors, writers, singers and dancers… it was wonderment. I enjoyed the tapestry of people that Julia and I met through the evening. When getting home I lay on my bed, contemplating the experience, savouring the possibility of making a group of friends and having more similar evenings, of meeting people with dreams like mine, interests like mine… just having fun.

What began as a very confusing and somewhat frustrating day resulted in being a most pleasurable experience, filled to the brim with discoveries… what a day, what an evening… what a world.