Fred and Ginger have *nothing* to worry about (except maybe getting knocked over...)

well, it's Valentines Day.

not being Catholic, nor a pawns of the greetings card industry, we don't "do" VD.  what we did do, however, was go to a Valentines dance.  yep, that's right - last night was our first proper dance, six weeks or so after beginning to learn how to do it properly.  well...  depending on the occasion, of course.  i've been shaking my booty on dancefloors for many a year but, as you know, we've been learning the more formal version.  specificaly the quickstep and the waltz, so far.  foxtrot lessons start tomorrow.  :)

N.B. hubby's a little apprehensive about this, but i'm looking forward to it.  just the name of it makes me smile, imagining woodland creatures galloping up and down kicking leaf litter about...

aaanyway, our ballroom class instructors run a lesson and dance on sunday nights at the Rolls Royce Pavillion in Derby, and we decided to amble on along, to see what it was like.  last night was themed along the lines of VD, of course, but i got the impression that it wasn't much different from what normally goes on. 

 this is the sight that greeted us as we walked in.  a little early, rather than to everyone canoodling under the tables, as someone on Twitter suggested (i'm looking at you, @twiteryeanot).  as we sat there looking around, hubby and i had the same thought.  my mum and dad and, indeed, my much-missed nana and grandad, would perhaps have had the same view, once upon a time.  about half of my immediate family, being almost solely from Derby, were employed by Rolls Royce at one time or another.  mum and dad met there, when mum was 15 and dad was 19. 

as it turns out, they wouldn't have had quite this view, since the building we were in had been built long after they had both left for pastures new (or South Africa as it's more usually known - they emigrated for three years not long after they were married, but that's another story)

nontheless, the sense of family and history was quite tangible, and sort of comforthing.

the evening started with a slight departure from the norm.  usually, there'll be, as i mentioned, a regular lesson for an hour, and then the dancefloor is opened up for dancing and practicing.  in honour of VD, however, last night's lesson was in how to smooch decorously.  it was interesting, and entertaining.  i had no idea there was so much involved in dancing on the spot... *grin*

 hubby had a haircut especially for the occasion.  it's shorter than i've ever seen it, but it suits him rather well, i think.  and it will be more of a shaggy mop by the time we go to france.  that's his plan, anyway...

following the lesson, we retired to the sidelines to watch as those braver / more experienced souls present began to strut their stuff.  and i disappeared to the ladies' to ensure i was still gorgeous....

...yep...  ;)

so we sat around for a while, marvelling at the skill of some of those present.  seriously - i wish i'd taken video of one particular couple (i didn't as it seemed impolite, somehow).  they were astonishing!  every single dance, no matter what it was, they kicked. its. ass.  and my gods, were they having a good time doing it!  

eventually, however, i persuaded hubby that since we were here, it might be nice to have a dance.  i was raring to go, but he was a little reluctant.  understandable, really.  having done it for most of my life, i'm somewhat better at making a fool of myself.

it was a waltz.

it was a disaster.

we were both a little flustered, and either one or the other would add an extra step, or forget one (i freely admit it was mostly my fault, BTW).  not long after i tripped over the stage (!), the instructor (who was playing DJ for the night), jumped in, and danced a figure or two with me, reminding me to stamp my feet to keep time.

it didn't work too well, i have to say.  fortunately, the song ended not long after, and we beat a hasty retreat.

i made another trip to the loo, and got lost in the warren of corridors and little rooms in the building.  i happened upon a teenyweeny little dancefloor in a deserted side room, and quickly went and grabbed hubby for a private practice to restore our confidence.

it worked.

the second dance we stood up for, a quickstep, went much, much better.  we still cocked it up, of course, but this time, we didn't really mind, and there was a fair bit of laughter.  this evening, hubby remarked that it's much easier to dance in public when it's more structured, since everyone who's ever learned to dance like this is aware that one has to learn, and one will make mistakes (or "variations", as our instructor calls them...)  when one's dancing freestyle, as in a club, etc, it's much easier to look a tit, because everyone knows that everything comes from you and you alone - there is no outside structure imposed - and any mistakes or idiocies are entirely one's own.

it was lovely.

i was at a dance, and my man was whisking me around the dance floor, and  i was happy and in love.  :)

the rest of the evening passed in relaxed good humour, and i am so very, very proud of both of us.

i can't wait to go again!  :)

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30 Day blog challenge: Day 17 — An art piece (painting, drawing, sculpture, etc.)

ooooh.... *rubs hands together*

i've been looking forward to this one.  not because i have a great deal to say about this subject.  as the saying goes:  "I don't know much about art, but i know what i like."  or rather, i don't.  stuff can grow on me (y'know, like mould), or it can flake off.  but there is an awful lot of strange beauty out there, and some of it fills me with bliss.  such as the piece i've chosen to share here.  it's a piece of sculpture that resides in St Pancras Station in London.  the station itself is, quite frankly, a work of art.  it is, essentially, a vast dead-end barn, with a sweepingly majestic arched glass roof, where the trains arrive forwards, and leave backwards.  it is the sation where the train that travels from Derby to London terminates.  i've only been been there twice in the last three years, but both times, i spent a lot of time just looking at the building and the sculpture in it, and the poetry inscribed on the floor.  the station has spent many years being lovingly restored to its Victorian glory, and my god, it's gorgeous! *sigh*  oh yes - and the beautiful iron beams (now painted a lovely sky-blue) were, i'm proud to say, manufactured not two miles from where i'm currently sitting.

oh, look - i can't just show you the sculpture - i have to share the station, too!  everything, in fact! :oD  lets face it - i consider the whole thing a work of art.

look, i'm not going to go on and on about this (actually, i might yet - stay tuned, funsters!), but there's a couple of things i really want to show you....

first is this:

this wonderful, and somewhat scruffy, chap (rendered in glorious life and wind-blown motion by martin jennings) is Sir John Betjeman - a beloved English "poet of the people". 

he led the fight to stop the demolition of the beautiful facade of the station (the Midland Hotel, which adorns the front of the station) in the 1960s and is, for that reason, commemorated here. (see this article for a little more info).  

it's his poetry you can see inscribed on the cumbrian slate  on which he stands.

it reads:

"And in the shadowless unclouded glare / Deep blue above us fades to whiteness where / A misty sea-line meets the wash of air."

 

he's gazing in wonder at the beautiful roof of the (unromantically named) Barlow Train Shed:

 trust me - the photo does not do it justice.

and so to the piece of sculpture that started all of this off.:

  "the meeting place" by paul day

again, the photos don't do it justice.  it's stunning, and brings tears to my eyes.

since i took these photos in 2008 (coincidentally on my way to meet Neil Gaiman, though i didn't know it at the time...), more has been added around the base of the plinth, depicting...  well, all sorts of railway-related things, and it. is. awesome.  astonishing in its detail and artistry.

so there you go - Saint Pancras Station.

oh, and one other thing, because i can rarely stop at one....

this painting, which has hung in our front room for many years, was painted by none other than my talented hubby *tries not to burst with pride*

 

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30 Day blog challenge: Day 12 - whatever tickles your fancy

blogging this at work today, in my dinner hour.  this is because i'm so fecking tired.  tonight's plan includes good food (chippy tea...NOM!!!), shower, jammies, snuggles with hubby and kitteh, Buffy The Vampire Slayer, Christopher Brookmyre's One Fine Day In The Middle Of The Night, and. nothing. else.  noooooo interwebz for Squeaky, oh no siree! 

i noticed amongst all of the "your favourite this" and "your favourite that" that there was nowhere for "your favourite poem" in the 30 Day blog challenge.  so here, for your delectation and delight, is my offering for day 12 (and the sharp-eyed amongst you may notice a developing theme - it's not my fault, i should have been born with feathers... )

High Flight

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth

And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;

Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth

Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things

You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung

High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there

I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung

My eager craft through footless halls of air.

Up, up the long delirious, burning blue,

I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace

Where never lark, or even eagle flew -

And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod

The high untresspassed sanctity of space,

Put out my hand and touched the face of God.

---

Pilot Officer Gillespie Magee

No 412 squadron, RCAF

Killed 11 December 1941

Rest in peace

---

---
N.B. the author of these beautiful words was, i believe, Canadian. 
which ought to please my sister-in-bloggery, over at .Square Mug. ;o)
---

this blog challenge has been fun so far, but i have discovered the downside.

we live in a teenytiny house with very little space for desks, tables, etc.  and certainly not enough space for the pooter to have a seat of it's very own.  so i fold it away somewhere convenient whenever it's not being used.  this means it's a flatout pain in the arse to get it out, find a comfy (or not-so-comfy if we're talking about our kitchen chairs >_<) seat, untangle the cables, plug everything in, wait for three hours whilst it goes through its customary warming-up-and-crashing cycle once or twice, and actually get the interwebz to work.  therefore, i rarely go on it if i haven't already got something i need to do (blogging, shopping, &c. &c.).  however, when i have done the needed thing, i usually find myself happily nattering away to people on Twitter and elsewhere, having half-a-dozen conversations at once, and then realizing that if i don't get to bed soon, i will turn into a pumpkin.  and then spend the next day being a rather grumpy zombie and throwing virtual food at @thextraman.

Squeaky needs her sleep.  so tonight she needs an early night.  and by golly, she ain't gonna get one unless she stays away from that damn machine!  i will likely, however, be tweeting from my phone, which is an altogether different prospect, since phonetweeting is a right royal pain in the arse (on mine, at least), therefore i don't natter nearly as much. 

so pleasepleaseplease, dear reader, if you see me tweeting after about 10 PM, tell me off and send me to beddybyes?

kthxbai! XXX

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30 Day blog challenge: Days 07 & 08 - cheating a little.

i'm going to stand up and proclam right now that i'm going to cheat.  day 07 was supposed to be a photo that makes you happy, and day 08 was supposed to be a photo that makes you angry or sad.  there's a couple of problems here. 

firstly, last night was mostly a cuddling-wih-hubby-and-kitty-in-front-of-the-telly night.  Friday of the first week back after christmas, an we were both fairly buggered and feeling snuggly, so i decided to give blogging a miss for the night.  i'm allowed to do that, right?  i just committed myself to doing two posts today. 

and then i realised that no matter how much i racked my brains, i couldn't come up with a photo that makes me angry or sad.  this is probably down to deeply ingrained habits of Black Dog avoidance.  i tend to blank out stuff like this.  so, y'know, just insert pics of abused animals and people, facist pride marches, tabloid front pages, &c, &c, and you'll get the idea.  i refuse to go searching for this shit, and if you want to, that's your bag.

so on to the happy pic.  there are many photos in my library that make me happy, but i guess i only get to pick one.  the winner is one that follows on (sort of) from the reason my last post was as it was, and has never actually been in my electronic archive, since i wasn't a member of the body electric when t was taken. the only reason i can post it here is that i used it to test my scanner one day (which is currently packed away, and i'm not of a mind to go rumaging)

as you may remember, two days ago was our wedding anniversary.  but that was just the day when we signed the bit of paper which the law recgnises as making us married, and it was just us and two friends as witnesses.  the really important day in a spiritual sense came six months later, on june 19th, 2005.   that was the day we were handfasted in our local woods, by a lake, surrounded by friends and family.  handfasting, by the way, is a Pagan wedding ceremony.  now, hubby and i are both athiests, but we both revere nature, and find all the wonder in the cosmos that we could possibly wish for, without the intervention of imaginary friends.  so i guess you might call us athiests wth Pagan leanings, if you wished to label us.

this was taken at the point in the ceremony when we were literally handfasted.  Martin the priest has just wrapped a plaited ribbon around our hands to symbolise our being bound together in love.  behind hubby's shoulder you can see The Most Wonderful Woman In The World, representing the element of water.

the thing that makes me happiest about this photo, apart from all the beautiful memories of the best day of my life, is the look on hubby's face.

NaNoWriMo again

so there you have it.  thirty days of slog, and here i am.  the proud author of my THIRD NOVEL!!!
i can hardly believe it, but i've done it again, and i'm a winner again! :D

and this year, i think i might actually have written something vaguely worth reading, after last year's debacle.  although to be fair, i haven't read it back yet, so time will, inevitably, tell.  but i have hopes.  not high ones, to be sure, as i'm quite aware it needs a damn good editorial kick in the arse to make it readable.  i'm also aware that since i didn't actually know who the murderer was until about the 23rd day (and this is one of the reasons that i love NaNoWriMo), there's a lot that needs tweaking to take into account foreshadowing, and certain characters' attitudes to certain things, but that's where the rolling-in-chocolate-sauce glory of editing comes in. *happy sigh*

speaking of, since it's my first snowday since i was about twelve years old (YIPPEEE!!!!) and we have about a foot of snow outside our front door, i think i might plunge into that right about now (the editing, that is, not the snow....brrrrr!!!).  but i'll leave you with the synopsis of my third novel (god, that phrase *never* gets old!!! :o):

Cirque Du Seul

It's almost time for the winter season at the Roundhouse Circus, and the performers are rehearsing hard.  When Seb, one of the trapeze artists has an accident and ends up in a coma, people are shocked, but they get on with their lives.  The show must go on, after all.  But it soon emerges that this was no accident - someone has tampered with the trapeze.  It's not common knowledge, however.  The incident could shut the circus down for weeks, and be a disaster for the livelihoods of many, many people.  So Shona, a costumier, and Bill, a morose and misanthropic clown, set out to work out who could have wished Seb ill.  And when opening night finally comes around, it becomes evident that it's not just Seb that the would-be murderer wants dead.

three stories and an introduction.

once upon a time, there was a little boy who lived with his grandparents.
one day, when he was playing outside, he met a stray cat.  he played with this cat, and they liked each other very much.  when the boy was called in for his tea, he excitedly told his grandparents about this lovely little black and white cat he'd met, and how she had no home to go to and pleasepleaseplease could he keep her? 
his grandad considered this, looking at his grandson's hopeful face and said: "all right - if you can go outside and find this cat, you can keep it."
the boy was thrilled, and rushed outside to find the little black and white cat.  he searched and he searched, high and low, but he couldn't find the little cat anywhere.  eventually, it got dark, and his grandma called him inside.  he walked inside slowly, his shoulders drooping with dejection.  he met his grandad in the living room.
"did you find the cat, then?"
the boy's shoulders sagged a little more. "no, i didn't" 
"well never mind" replied his grandad, kindly.   "go on upstairs and get ready for bed, lad"
the boy walked slowly and sadly into the hall, to the foot of the stairs.
where the little black and white cat was waiting for him.
it was only many years later, when he was telling his future wife the story of the little black and white cat, that he realised how the cat had got to the foot of those stairs.

---

once upon a time, there was a little girl who already had two cats.
it was a very bad winter.  it was very cold, and the snow lay thick on the ground.  she began to hear her mum and dad talking about "that bloody black thing" that, she gathered, was another cat that had taken to sneaking in through the cat flap at night, and sleeping on the kitchen table with the other two cats.  her dad kept throwing his slipper at it, but "that bloody black thing" was very persistent and, eventually, the family gave in and adopted the cat.
she was, actually, a beautiful longhaired tortoishell, and turned out to have the sweetest, most loving nature of any cat the little girl had ever, or (she suspects) would ever, encounter.  it was easy to tell when the cat was asleep, since that was the only time she ever stopped purring.
the little girl grew up with that cat, and they were very, very firm friends.
when the little girl was twenty, the beautiful cat died, and she was heartbroken.  a dozen years later, she still missed her and, very occasionally, dreamed about her.  when this happened, she would wake up crying, missing her friend terribly, wishing only to bury her face into that soft, sweet-smelling fur, and hear that thunderous, throbbing purr once more.

---

once upon a time, the little boy with the black and white cat grew up to have a son.  one day, whilst the (now) man and his (now) wife were visiting the son, his girlfriend and their son, in their new house, the man and his wife went outside for a smoke (so they wouldn't damage the health of the man's grandson).  whilst they were outside (along with the man's son and his other son, who was staying with his brother and family for a while), a big black and white cat jumped up on to the fence beside them and, with thunderous purrs and imperious and insistent headbutts, demanded as much fuss as they were prepared to give him.  delighted with this amazingly sweet natured animal, the man and his wife questioned the young men about this cat.  they were horrified to learn that the previous tennants had left the cat behind when they moved, and he was living in the garden of the abandoned house next door.  the brothers had been feeding him, but that was as far as it went, as they were all on a very low income, and couldn't afford to do any more than that.  and besides, living outside, the poor animal, of course, had fleas, and they didn't want the fleas in the house (especially with the baby) if they could help it, and couldn't afford to treat them properly.
the man and his wife's hearts melted.
they were on holiday that week, and were going away.  they decided, however, that as soon as they returned, they would adopt this sweet and abandoned animal, and give him the loving home that he deserved.

---

ladies and gentlemen, i take great pleasure in introducing you to Max The Cat. 

i never thought i would ever again meet a cat as sweet-natured and chilled out as my beloved and much-missed tortoishell.

but i think he comes pretty close.

this is the view i've had for much of the weekend, at least when i've sat still for more than five minutes, since he comes and lies contentedly on my chest:

accompanied with affectionate headbutts to the chin, and a purr like the throb of an engine.

i think i'm in love.

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freezing to death in Norfolk, with added fungus.

....well...not all the time...

from monday to friday this week, we've been on our annual it's-october-and-we've-got-a-week-off-let's-go-park-up-somewhere-beautiful-for-a-few-days jaunt.  this year, it was Thetford Forest in Norfolk.  it's been a favourite campervan haunt of ours since a friend mentioned it a few years ago.  we've been two or three times, now, though not for about three years, for various reasons.  and it was as quiet and peaceful as we remembered it.   it's managed by the forestry commission, and is basically a vast triangular tree farm, consisting of mainly pine, but with a few pockets of deciduous planting here and there.  as i said, we love it.  it's so vast that despite the public access to the many many rides and dirt tracks and pathways that crisscross it, you often get the impression that you've got the whole place to yourself (well - you and the wildlife, that is...)

as usual, i took lots of pics and, amateurish though they are, i think they might give a better impression of why we love the place than i could with twenty-six letters and a handful of punctuation.  therefore, a photostory of our holiday folows:

we arrived about four-ish, and parked up in our favourite spot under the trees, almost in the centre of the forest.  in case you're wondering, Talulah isn't an all-terrain vehicle, there's a dirt road that leads right through the heart of the forest.  the potholes in said road, however, had me gritting my teeth and screwing my eyes shut waiting for the crunch of a grounding.  thankfully, hubby managed to avoid the deepest ones.

off we went for a walk down the beech avenue in the fading light...

curses!

as often happens here, we ended up stumbling back in the dark, not entirely sure of the precise path to follow, but we made it back eventually.  a little later, when we were snuggled up in bed listening to the radio, the moon came up, and shone through the skylights...

the next day, we set off again into the forest, but this time, with a purpose.  a friend had loaned us a fantastic book on foraging for and identifying edible mushrooms, and both being mushroom lovers, we just couldn't resist.

however, something had got there before us...

but!  we proudly identified and gathered a hatful of common yellow rusula mushrooms

it being October, of course the forest was full of fungus, some of it very beautiful.

i have absolutely no idea what this one is, but it was soooo pretty!

so, on return to Talulah, we had, ta-DAAAAAH!!!!

mushrooms on toast, what we had picked our veryownselves! (*whisper* if i'm honest, they were a little bland, but salt and pepper helped, and the pride of foraging, identifying and cooking wild food adds a piquancy all of its own) accompanied, for me, at least, by yarrow tea (see top of pic), as i was developing a stinking cold, and yarrow can be very effecacious in knocking it on the head.

accompanied, of course, by a good might's sleep.

camper tip:  hats in bed = essential at this time of year - the wind was blowing straight across the North sea from Norway, and it was fecking FREEZING cold!

have to say though, the cold is kinda worth it when you get to wake up to this...

----

the next day, we headed off to a place charmingly named Wells-Next-The-Sea, on the north coast, because even we can get bored walking around a pine forest for five days, and i had very fond memories of the beach, and the deli on the seafront (which, i was sad to learn, no longer sell the delicious blueberry brownies we had the last time we were there :(

the beach, however, was as lovely as i remembered.  unfortunately, the Norwegian wind was still blowing hard.  the patterns you can see on the sand are, in fact, caused by a mist of fine grains being blown across the surface.  the effect of the brilliand sunlight on these streamers of sand was shimmeringly magical, and utterly mesmerising.  sadly, not quite enough to distract from the bone-chillingly cold wind, so we escaped into the trees to shelter from it.

a little piece of heaven.

----

it was so cold that night that we almost threw in the towel and buggered off home.  however, we decided not to, and were soooo glad that we did.

heading back to Thetford Forest, this is what greeted us:

the wind had died somewhat and, in amongst the trees, it was almost warm.  so off we went for another wander.

along the way, we encountered deer,, which we managed to sneak up on admirably (i thought) and photograph.....

 .....and this singular construction....

 it's not a sunken cabin, but one of several little constructions roofed with black-painted corrugated iron, created as a haven for the local adder population. 

and just across the way was this stunning specemin of fungushood:

we instantly recognised it.  here's one we found earlier:

these pics were taken the very first time we went there and, as you can see, these things are bloody ginormous! 

excitedly, i whipped out the mushroom ID book, and we were thrilled to discover that this was not only a parasol mushroom (of course!), but....it was edible!

we grabbed the prize, and hot-footed it back to Talulah to fry it up in breadcrumbs.

it. was. utterly. UTTERLY. delicious.

and so, with a sense of triumph and euphoria, we headed home the next day for something even more exciting than delicious wild food.

but that's the subject of the next post.........

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what i did on my holidays

...um...well...not a great deal, if i'm honest...

bearing in mind, though, that we haven't been away for a year, not doing much doesn't really matter, as we were too busy just chilling out.  of course, the rain didn't help all that much, either...  but it was nice and, forthwith, some pictorial representations:

first stop, the Headland Camping and Caravan Park, Tintagel, where the peace and quiet know no bounds.  you can just breathe in the tranquility.

that's Talulah at the back of the row - she has her roof up.  we hadn't been there ten minutes before the guy on the pitch next to us was taking pictures of his kids giving the VeeDub wave and saying "Duuuuude!" in their really tiny little voices.  sooooo cute!

then we headed off down the coast path and around the headland to Tintagel Haven.  it's one of my favourite places in the whole world - i would sit and watch the sea there for hours if i could get away with it...

as you can see, the tide was in.  the large cave in the centre of the picture is called Merlin's Cave (natch!).  when the tide is out, you can scramble over the slippery rocks in there and come right out on the other side of the headland.  this is the place hubby taught me to skim stones when we first came here about 12 years ago.  i'm pretty good at it, if i say so myself, and still ridiculously proud of being able to... *grin*

when hubby finally managed to drag me away from the border between earth and sea, we toddled off up to the cafe on the headland to have those cornwall essentials:  a pastie (for him) and a cream tea (for me).   oooh - heaven on a plate! :D

Talulah's bed, by the way, is totally awesome!

behind me you can see Mango The Rat's cage.  yup - she comes too!

later that evening, we discovered that we had a stowaway...

this handsome fellow is Spot The Spider.  a well-travelled fellow indeed, we found him in all sorts of unlikely places around Talulah, and he stayed with us for a day or two.  however, one night, he mysteriously disappeared, and hubby woke up feeling suspiciously fuller than he had when he went to sleep...

it also rained fairly hard that night.  as you can see - Squeaky is a genius when it comes to sorting out a leaky skylight...

the following day was beautiful, if extremely windy.  the pixie hat became my constant companion on this holiday - i rarely took it off, hence spent most of the holiday looking somewhat silly.  but then - there's really nothing new about that.

next stop:  St Ives. 

and the sun shone for our arrival.

(that sign we're making with our hands, BTW, is the VeeDub wave i mentioned earlier)

however, the following day...

it pissed it down. ALL DAY!!!  D:

at times like these, you make your own entertainment.  what we made was pouches for the magnets to hold Talulah's curtains up (which i'm still sewing on, BTW. a minimum of six on each curtain.  four curtains done, eight to go...*groan*).  it was a really lovely way to spend a rainy afternoon, and the time flew.

the following day, it had, thankfully, ceased to rain like the end of the world was nigh.  Talulah is lovely to spend time in but really, even i was getting cabin fever by the end of the day!

so we took advantage of the break in the weather and hotfooted it along the coast path to St Ives. 

 

...just...

...gorgeous!

there were many lovely things to be had in this ancient fishing village / haven for artists, the deli we found was quite heavenly (homemade brownies and gingerbread, delicious goats cheese, and charcoal biscuits - all organic and totally nommy!), but the little details of the town (which i believe is getting on for 700 years old) are utterly delightful.

seriously - how many places could this door lead to?  on this plane or any other?

this one delighted me beyond measure, being such a tea-obsessed slurper.  really, they ought to rename it Squeaky Street.  or possibly Teabelly Alley (a personal favourite)

*snigger*  no comment.  none whatsoever.  no cheap jokes, either.  ;)

following our days in St Ives it was, sadly, time to start making our way homewards.  but Talulah is an old girl, and needs to take her time when she's ambling around the country.  so we had to pick a place to stop for the night on our way home.  hubby, genius at picking new places to go that he is, picked a tiny little end-of-the-road place called Brean, on the Somerset coast - right at the edge of the levels.  the geography and scenery around there is awesome, but i don't think you can really appreciate its stunning beauty until you get yourself up high, and can see the whole world spread out beneath you.  we only discovered this when we climbed up Brean Down - a great chunk of turf-covered rock that thrusts up and into the sea between Brean and Weston-Super-Mare. 

look!  there's Talulah on the beach! :D

the vast expanse of sand was utterly breathtaking, and the land is just as flat for miles around, glowing with a million shades of green.

and the sun shone all day.

:)

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