High Juice

It seems that after 4 years, I'm still learning the native language. I was in the grocery store looking for juice concentrate (here referred to as squash-- yeah, don't get me started). I wanted 100% juice (none of those fillers for this house), which proved impossible to find. So I settled for the normal stuff until stumbling upons what in this country is called "High Juice." High meaning, lots-o-juice, apparently. It's still only 50% juice but hey, at least it's high.

The Peak District

Can we say breathtaking? We had an awesome weekend (a few weekends ago now...) in the Peak District in Derbyshire. And little did I know that the town we stayed in (Beeley) was the land of my ancestors. It neighbored the town of Endsor (pronounced "Ensor") which happens to be my grandmother's maiden name, and, we suspect, where her family originated. Too cool.

We stayed at a wonderful B&B called Fold Farm. Named because, well, it's a farm (and still a working farm). We learned from one of the proprietors (a retired major from the Welsh army-- and an absolutely charming man with a wicked-- err, dirty, sense of humor) that his partner was the only landowner on the Chatsworth estate aside from the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire themselves. Alas, we weren't able to get the story behind that one (we were sworn to secrecy), but intriguing all the same. The good old major Vince was the life of the party-- he greeted us with afternoon tea in the garden, and was our tour guide/waiter (he cheerily served breakfast alone with constant happy chatter). And what a spread breakfast was-- homemade butter and jams, a full English (that's 2 eggs sunnyside up, sausages, bacon, roasted tomato, mushroom and all the toast you can eat for all you non-Brits), fresh fruit, yogurt, cereal, fruit juices, water and bottomless pots of tea and coffee. Certainly better than any hotel (and terrific for the price). Major Vince is also a world champion fly fisherman and captained the Welsh team at the World Championships in Jackson Hole, WY in 1997. The farm house itself is full of character with low ceilings, exposed beams and quirky passageways.

Oh, and Chatsworth House. Pretty incredible. I don't have any good photos, partially because my iPhone battery was dying and partially because it was undergoing renovations, so the whole front side of the property was covered in scaffolding and tarps (an impressive feat!). The Devonshires have an impressive collection of art, both masters and modern, and the decor is a fabulous juxtaposition of old and new (my favorite thing). The property and gardens are equally impressive, and we very much enjoyed a tractor ride around the property and into the wooded hills behind where there are three vacation rentals that us lay-men can rent out (bit of trivia: Prince William lived in one of them for a few weeks during school as part of a work/study placement. Even royalty does stuff to get into college). Definitely something to look into for the next adventure in England.

Fold Farm-- the B&B

The Lane at Fold Farm

Private residence at Fold Farm

View of Chatsworth House from the garden

Dried thistles to discourage visitors from sitting on the fancy furniture

Cupola in the main stairway (previously obscured by a false ceiling that the Dowager Duchess had removed)

I loved the carpet

Wonderful sleeping lion in the sculpture gallery

The Hunter's Tower (Where Prince William stayed)

Instead of blogging...

...I've been doing! It's been a busy week. Between a weekend gallivanting around the Peak District with MRN and friends Liz and Kelvin as well as a few days off for hospital appointments and driving experiences (super cars and treks through the countryside), I've had no time to write. But oh, are there photos. I'll catch up this weekend since it's a BANK HOLIDAY. That's three day weekend in UK-speak. Rather than bother with the pretense of a day off celebrating things like Presidents or civil rights activists or veterans, the Brits just give everyone a day off-- well, just because. Hey-- who's to complain?

Off to the Peaks

Whoop-whoop! Wayfarin' weekend, and we're off to a part of England I've never been to: The Peak District. Located in north-central England (it's pretty big for a small country), The Peaks is the first national park in the British Isles. With an estimated 22 million visitors per year, the Peak District is thought to be the second most visited national park in the world (after the Mount Fuji National Park in Japan). Who knew?

Thanks to my "only friend in England" (the wonderful Liz), we're off for a weekend jaunt around the countryside with she and her equally wonderful Kelvin. The plan is to explore the little villages in the central eastern part of the Peaks today and then tomorrow spend the day at Chatsworth House, an historic home and estate where many a movie has been filmed, including The Duchess, Pride and Prejudice (The Keira Knightly version; The BBC Classic-Colin-Firth-*SIGH*-version was filmed at another historic Peaks home, Lyme Park) and The Wolfman (errr-- did anyone see that movie??).

It's a strange mix of sun and rain today, so I think it will be a Wellie kind of a day. And even though it's summer, it's 60 degrees (yes, people-- in August), so jackets and woolly socks will come along as well. Stay tuned for photos!

A bevy of activity

That's what my 'hood was this morning (and oh, what a 'hood it is).  It started with what sounded like someone trying to kick in a door. Glancing outside my office window (which happens to overlook the backyard), I saw a couple of kids holding tire irons in the neighbor's yard. Said neighbor doesn't live there anymore-- she moved into a retirement home a few years ago and her house has been empty ever since. It's unfortunately become a target for criminals and vandalized several times (most recently with people stealing PIPES and flooding the place). Then came the kicking and the pounding-- and my subsequent call to the police (following yesterday's call for the SAME THING). Lo and behold, the police showed up immediately! The little perps had already gone by then (they saw me through the window and took off), but the Police Officer was AWESOME. He came in for a chat, took some notes, said he'd patrol the area for a while and reassured me that I should call anytime I hear/see anything (and not call the Community "Police" who aren't really police, but pretend, because as suspected, they don't really do anything). When, about an hour later, the twerps came back, I called the police again and within minutes, the same (awesome) guy came screaming up to save the day (missed them again). I also found out that there are Indian plain clothes/unmarked car police officers that patrol the area regularly. Again? AWESOME. Finally feeling like someone is doing something in this 'hood.

Getting lost in the countryside

We live a few minutes drive in any direction from some of the most gorgeous countryside. One of my favorite things to do is to set off and "get lost" in the country. With no specific destination in mind, we see what we stumble upon-- from sleepy villages and 100+ year old pubs (there are pubs EVERYWHERE in England... even in the middle of nowhere), historic homes and National Trust treasures to rolling hills, shaded forests and running brooks-- there's a lot to discover. Roads that are barely wider than your car lined by old stone walls or trimmed hedges (which are sometimes TALLER than your car); Sleepy forests with rabbits and hedgehogs and owls and badgers and pheasants; Rolling hills dotted with sheep (or curly haired cows or majestic horses); and of course the terrific old stone farmhouses. Ahhh-- heavenly.

The best is finding a little pub in the middle of nowhere and stopping in for a snack (or meal-- depending on the time of day). We did just that yesterday and stopped into the Tempest Arms in Elsack-- which happens to be the 2011 Pub of the Year. Admittedly, this stop wasn't an accident, as we previously discovered it a year ago when we were on another similar drive around the countryside. Even though it's only about 30 minutes from where we live, it is nestled in the middle of pretty much nowhere, and this is the first time we've returned since last year (mostly because we couldn't find it again-- one of the downsides to wandering around in the countryside). It's an Inn in addition to a pub/restaurant. And it's one of my favorite kinds-- low ceilings, open fireplaces, cozy tables and a pub mascot-- a lovely old lab who wanders around and greets all the patrons. Dogs are allowed in the pub area, and it's amazing how well behaved they are (and that they don't beg at every table...). We had a mid-day snack-- this delish cheese and pate board. Yum-mee.

Most visitors to England don't get past London. But venture a little further, you'll discover a beautiful country that's much more than double-decker buses, red phone booths and fish and chips (although those are pretty good too).

And I moved to a war-torn country when?

Ummm... maybe you haven't heard about it, but there have been riots all across England for the last 4 days. What, you say? England-- the land of high-brow, sophisticated, and proper people? Ummm... yeah. What allegedly started as a reaction to the shooting of a peaceful protester by police in London turned into absolute ridiculousness of bored youth taking advantage of the situation to get free stuff. All. Around. The. Country.

People are speculating that it's this generation of entitlement brought on by lack of discipline, decent parenting and a "nanny state" where parents, schools or other authorities can't scold children for fear of being brought up on abuse charges. And boy, have these "kids" shown the results of this wise practice. Part of it is the kids themselves-- but I don't think any of us is innocent in this situation. How can you teach right and wrong when 1) the government is telling you that you can't; 2) babies are having babies with no support; 3) poor education; and, 4) no role models. And probably a billion other things.

Any way you slice it, it's just plain wrong. All these kids seriously need a good spanking. It would have probably done them good years ago.

Take THAT Mother Nature!

It's been a crazy cold summer (temps have not gone about about 68 degrees; and for the most part, have been hovering in the high 50s/low 60s. Welcome to England!). Which means none of the flowers I've planted have bloomed. The herbs and greens have flourished but other than the lilac tree, there have been no blooms. Entirely disappointing for me because I love flowers and have had to feed my fix through weekly purchases from the grocery story. So imagine my delight when taking the trash out over the weekend I spied two little sweet pea blossoms popping out on the trellis that MRN recently affixed to the garden shed. Whoop-whoop! It's still cold, but these little beauties are standing up against Mother Nature just the same. Maybe the rest of the garden will follow these little leaders.

(P.S. Don't be fooled by the begonias in the foreground-- those are recent purchases, already in bloom, from the garden store bound for MRN's dad's planter).

Oxymoron

Scott Park

I live a block away
from this wonderful park; Weather permitting, I walk around it a few times everyday (it's a little more than a half mile around the loop) and play tennis there (when I can bribe my husband into exercising-- usually with food). You can't tell from this drawing, but it's pretty hilly and towards the South end, and turns into a forest (as you can see by the trees), which makes it a really beautiful walk. With tennis courts, a bowling green, a playground and rolling hills (not to mention bicycle and skateboard bans), it's a pretty perfect retreat.

There are beautiful houses surrounding the park-- rambling old homes with original sash and stained glass windows and terrific English gardens in the front and back. They all face directly onto the park, separated only by a small, cobblestone lane. They're not huge houses-- 4 bedrooms, 1 bathroom (English houses are not big on multiple bathrooms), a relatively small kitchen, living room, den and dining room. But they're like walking back in time and I love them. I often find myself wondering what it would have been like to live in one when they were first built. So imagine my excitement when on one of my walks earlier this week I noticed that one was for sale. They NEVER go on the market. I went straight home and onto the realtor website and was shocked to see it was listed for nearly half a million (US) dollars.

If you've read any of my blog, you'll know that I live in a TERRIBLE neighborhood-- there are about 4 streets that are the worst, and I live on one of them. Seriously-- I'm not exaggerating. It's one of the most deprived areas in the country-- both from a poverty perspective, but also anti-social behavior (England's nice way of saying petty crime, vandalism, drug dealing, public drunkenness and fighting, neglect and general grossness. And don't even get me started about the amount of trash and dog poop all over the place-- it's everywhere.). You can literally buy a house for £9,000-- granted, you can't actually live in it. They're shells without running water or electricity (because the pipes have been stolen and wiring ripped out by vandals. Not kidding). But all things considered, not too bad for a small two-bedroom house when you could probably get it up and running with an investment of about £10K. Of course to make any money you'd have to sell it (which in the current market is impossible) or rent it (but to people who are drug dealers and criminals), making it more prudent to just board it up and let it sit rather than deal with the consequences (which we're seriously considering). And this neighborhood (my street included) is literally one block away from this gorgeous park and the beautiful expensive houses.

Now, I know that you'll often find poorer areas on the outskirts of high-rent districts. But THIS much of a divide, this close together? It's insane! Also insane that no one actually uses the park. It's virtually empty most of the time-- even when the sun is shining (which admittedly, is not often). When you live in absolute squalor and there's a little haven right next door, why not take advantage of it? Instead, the people in my neighborhood pull out their furniture in front of their houses and sit and drink and let their children play in the street and complete filth in front of abandoned and boarded-up houses. I realize that I grew up in a completely different world, but I simply do not get it. Any urban studies people out there care to comment?

English-isms

Three years in (yes! August marks my THIRD year living in England!), I still have my lost in translation moments. MRN gets a kick out of them as I continue to ask for translation assistance (sometimes it's words, sometimes it's that I just don't understand accents). I'm one of those annoying people who just laugh when I'm uncomfortable (or faced with confrontation), or grin and nod like an idiot when I don't understand what someone is saying-- at least in a party situation (one-on-one proves a bit more difficult so I have to ask people to repeat themselves). So at parties I still find myself sticking close to MRN so if I don't know what some one's said I can look at him inquisitively for interpretation. Sad, I know-- but once a pleaser, always a pleaser. Here are some of my favorite "English-isms" to date:

• Plonker (a dumb-*ss)
• Muppet (similar to plonker, but sometimes used more affectionately in a, "oh, bless" kind of way
• Oh, bless (when someone does something idiotic but they don't know any better because they ain't too bright)
• Rubbish (akin to "sucks"-- a nicer way to say it, I think)
• Snog (I've actually not heard anyone say this, but I love this word. So much more descriptive than just "kissing"
• Skip rats (I don't think this is actually an English-ism, but it's what MRN calls the people in our not-so-nice neighborhood)
• Blagging (akin to taking the piss)
• Taking the piss (Basically, "pulling your leg" but "piss" is also considered a bad word-- kids get in trouble for saying it; well, if they have [good] parents that care about that stuff)
• Bum (bootie-- also like bum bag, which is equivalent to our fanny pack. But fanny in British-English is not considered a nice word-- it's a euphemism for a female body part)
• Knackered (completely exhausted)
• Ginger (a red head-- my favorite)
• Queue (a line-- as in, "form an orderly queue")

There are loads more (there's one!) but that's all I'm able to rattle off at the moment. Of course my favorite word is the "W" word which is akin to the "F" word, but certainly doesn't sound as bad (maybe because I didn't grow up with it and so it doesn't seem like a bad word). MRN does go mental (there's another) if I say it because it is a pretty bad word apparently. Ah well-- I claim international ignorance.