Westward bound with travel observations

 A three hour trip west from Yorkshire to the Lakes District.  Does it require a separate blog post?  Perhaps - if I throw in a few travel observations.  For the non-traffic engineers, you can skip over the boring bits.

We check out of the Lower Pigsty on the dot of 10am.  No need to hurry - we've got all day.  We generally don't try and fit in a major activity when we're between BnBs - not enough time, and we don't like leaving the car loaded with all our possessions for too long.  The thought of the car being broken into doesn't bear thinking about.

As usual, Pauline has found some back roads that would bring a smile to any adventure motorcyclist, perhaps apart from the lack of gravel.  

This one's in Oxnop Scar on the Santon Moor, between Askrigg and Gunnerside.  Still doesn't mean much?  You'll have to check it out on Google Maps - but suffice to say we're still in the Yorkshire Dales National Park region.

We're enroute to the Aysgarth Falls before lunch - three broad limestone steps on the River Ure, spread over several hundred metres  We visit the Upper and Middle Falls, but decide to skip the Lower.

The river water appears quite brown as it flows over the limestone ledges.  I initially thought that it was some sort of staining from the moor rocks and vegetation, but sadly it's the same problem that afflicts NZ rivers -  high turbidity linked to agricultural inputs and sewage overflow events.

The Yore Mill sits just below the Upper Falls, powered by water via a stone race and wheel.  Originally built as a cotton mill, it transitioned to a corn mill and wool spinning (including uniforms for Garibaldi’s army).  The water wheel was replaced by turbines in the 1930s for ongoing flour production, but now everything is in a state of disrepair.  Looks like it'll be redeveloped into holiday apartments, but good if they could get the turbines spinning again for some local electricity generation.  And no, it's too historically and environmentally sensitive to turn this area into a hydro lake, though the thought did cross my mind. 

On to Hawes for lunch, and in the Tramp Abroad's ongoing search for the world's finest cheeses we spend half an hour at the Wensleydale Creamery.  The toothpick samples aren't as generous as back home so we have to accidentally spear two at once to get a decent sample.  We exit with a Kit Calvert Old-Style Wensleydale and a Wensleydale Blue.  Looking forward to cheese and crackers tomorrow.  

The odd objet d'art is also making its way into our suitcases in the form of tea towels.  Our old ones at home are getting a bit tatty, and who doesn't want a continual reminder of trip highlights when settling back into normality?

The Blacksmiths Arms to book Thursday night's dinner is the final stop before our destination - Janet's Broughton Mills cottage at Lind End.  Located on a working hill farm with cattle and sheep in the Lake District National Park, this place feels just right.  Not sure about the satellite reception though.

Now we've got to figure out what to do with six days in the Lakes District.  Bashing some balls around might get a look-in.

Driving in England

The little FWD Yaris isn't a great car to drive.  Its 1500cc 3-cylinder engine and CVT transmission is rough and noisy, but with its hybrid battery it has good torque off the line and is fine for the narrow back roads.  It shows its limitations on the larger and high speed A roads, but we rarely take those.  Compared to the Atto it's uncomfortable and unrefined, but one saving grace is that Apple Carplay works seamlessly, so we have navigation on the central screen.  Its transmission has a B (Braking) mode as well as a D (Drive) mode which makes it feel more like the Atto through regen braking.  Handy for downhills and slow roads.  It'll do for three weeks, but I'd never choose to own one.  Give me a full EV any day.

We're getting about 57mpg (miles per gallon for the youngsters) from our hybrid engine.  Yes, Brits still use miles for road distances.  They half‑completed metrication in the 1970s, then stopped - and roads were the one area politicians refused to convert due to cost and public pressure.  Distances are in miles and yards, speeds in mph, and everything else is metric.  Fuel consumption is still in mpg even though gallons disappeared years ago.  And 57mpg?  That's about 5L/100km - pretty damn good.  I remember as a kid learning:

• 20mpg - my Dad's Chrysler Valiant - thirsty
• 30mpg - pretty good
• 40mpg - so frugal it's gutless.

57mpg would be off the scale!

The cost of petrol is high, though.  The UK doesn't have a 91 octane fuel - the lowest is 95, which costs about £1.70/litre.  That's around $3.90, whereas the price in NZ is more like $3.20.  We may grumble about the price of fuel in NZ, but it's certainly higher here.

And talking about the price of fuel in NZ, I'm disappointed the Fuel Excise Duty increase scheduled to kick in next year has been watered down.  First Labour said they wouldn't increase it for three years, then for political expediency National fell into line with a delayed implementation supplemented by a taxpayer-funded rainy‑day fund to cover the shortfall.  So now we have increasing pressure on road maintenance, public transport funding, safety projects, and new transport infrastructure.  Just as bad, keeping the cost of petrol low reduces the incentive to decarbonise, and EV drivers who pay RUC are disproportionally affected.  It all smacks of short term-ism from our major parties, with no long term goal in mind.

I'm generalising, but compared to NZ's aggressive and impatient drivers, Brits are courteous and accommodating.  Part of it are ingrained Brit qualities - manners, restraint, and quiet cooperation.  Roads are narrow and heavily trafficked, so slowing down or stopping for a safe pass happens frequently.  Brits expect this and factor extra time into journey planning.  Vulnerable road users are well treated - pedestrians, cyclists and equestrians are given a wide berth at slow speed, and a friendly wave.  Compare that with the generally boorish behaviour we experience on kiwi roads.

Infrastructure plays an important part too.  Particularly in London, cyclists and pedestrians have well-designed separated or shared infrastructure, and safe crossings.  London's congestion charges have also kept a lot of traffic out of the city centre, which makes makes walking cycling and scootering much more pleasant.  There are frequent stands of hire bikes, and people in everyday clothes riding everywhere without helmets as the environment just feels safer.  There's still a downside - pollution is high, especially from diesel vehicles.  EVs haven't made much of an impact yet, but their time will come.

The Brits love their roundabouts.  Every 5km or so there's another one, and it can take some luck and skill picking the right approach lane.  They make sense - in a densely populated country with multi-leg intersections and roughly equal leg flows they much more efficient than traffic lights.

Road maintenance is on a par with NZ.  There are potholes, slumping, tar bleed, and traffic signs so faded you can barely read them.  Edge markers are few and far between too, as are approaching curve signs, and there are no advisory speeds for curves.  You're expected to work it out for yourself.  In rare cases you'll actually get a speed enforcement sign for a hazardous curve.

A couple of things we could take on in NZ - when approaching solid no overtaking lines there are curved arrows directing you back to the correct side of the road, and pedestrian crossings have zigzag edge markers indicating both no stopping and no overtaking.  Both effective traffic control devices as they're highly visual.

But perhaps the best thing about driving in England is the place names.  When you've got a Celtic - Roman - Anglo‑Saxon - Norse - Norman - modern English heritage there's a huge variety of naming.  Today we went past Ingleby Greenhow, Great Busby, Sexhow, Potto, Askrigg, Danby Wiske, Preston under Scar, and Aysgarth.  The Viking influence in Yorkshire is particularly apparent. 

Sexhow?  It's derived from Old Norse sexhou or sekkshaughr which means the hill of Sekk, a personal name.  Population 20.  Read into that what you will.  As an additional snippet, a legendary dragon that plagued the village is described in a folk tale as the Worm of Sexhow.  The Worm was described as being a beast that would feed on dairy and breathe out fire to burn farmers' crops.  One day an unknown knight came into the village, slew the dragon, and rode out again.  The beast's scaly skin was displayed inside nearby Hutton Rudby church until it was destroyed during the English Civil War.

I'm pleased we don't have a dragon like this in the Waikato.  It would grow rather fat, and I haven't seen any dragon-slaying knights around lately.

Next observations on supermarkets and the cost of living.  But a bit more experience to acquire first.

Three days in Yorkshire

We split our duties on arrival at a new BnB.  Pauline packs the supermarket supplies away and starts thinking about dinner, while I set up the charging stations and Internet connectivity.  For security I use a Unifi Travel Router (UTR) which joins the local wifi, then sets up an encrypted VPN tunnel back to my home network in Waihou.  All our devices then connect to the UTR.  Nice, simple, functional and secure.

Except at the Bottom Pigsty it wasn't.  They have an unencrypted public wifi network with a captive portal.  This introduces major privacy, security, and connectivity issues, exactly what the UTR is designed to overcome.  But not all portals are VPN-friendly, and this one certainly wasn't.  I could connect briefly, then dropouts.  After getting in touch and explaining the issues our host came to the rescue with a standard SSID/password, and all is now working fine.  I gave our host a bit of ICT consultancy advice so they could assist other guests - after Thomas this is starting to become a habit!

Day 1 - Yorkshire environs

Both Pauline and I had been to Yorkshire before, but in both cases it was a whistlestop transit through York enroute to Scotland.  We hadn't had the time to explore the moors, dales and little towns, and now we have our opportunity.  A dozen waypoints are mapped out via the back roads.

The North York Moors are a high plateau, not dissimilar to what you see from the Desert Road at home.  The general impression is tussock, but pink and purple heather add blotches of colour in amongst the bracken, sedges and grasses.  The dales (valleys) contain green pastures and meadows with stone walls dividing fields.

Local folklore says the Hole of Horcum was created when Wade the Giant scooped up a handful of earth to throw at his wife.  In reality it's a huge natural amphitheatre carved by water erosion.  I think I like the giant story better.

Sheep are everywhere.  The roads through the moors are unfenced, so sheep regularly cross the road or graze beside it.  Following my motorcycling instincts I initially slow right down and gave them a wide berth.  But they're used to cars and not nearly as skittery and unpredictable as NZ sheep, and over time I cautiously go a little faster.

Cast your mind back to 1993.  Were you a fan of Heartbeat on TV?  Goathland aka Aidensfield is a quintessential Yorkshire village.

Goathland also hosts a wonderful railway station as part of the North Yorkshire Moors Railway heritage services.  Unfortunately we miss the steam train by half an hour.

A different style of bridge down in the valleys.

Thornton‑le‑Dale is another beautiful, tranquil Yorkshire village - a must-see according to the guides.  And we can see why - looks just like a postcard.  But there's a caution for all the little villages sitting in valleys - they're prone to flooding.  The Thornton Beck (stream) flooded badly back in 2007, with water up to the windowsills.  With El Niño intensified by climate change imminent, I don't fancy their chances this winter.  Hope they're well-prepared. 

We come across a weird monolith in the middle of nowhere on Snod Hill.  Nothing is marked on the map.

After a bit of sleuthing and noting its proximity to the RAF Fylingdales base we determine it's a military radar station for ballistic missile detection and space surveillance.  Hope the Russians aren't reading this.

That completes Saturday 12 September.  On Sunday we stop looking at villages and go looking for rocks.

Day 2 - piles of rocks

Today we're off to see the Brimham Rocks, a bit north-west of Harrogate.  It's a fantastical jumble of rocks perched precariously on top of each other, formed from coarse sandstone laid down over 325 million years ago, and progressively worn away by wind, rain, frost and ice.

It's hugely popular with both tourists and families, and a perfect environment for kids to develop their risk management skills in comparative safety.  The rocks are solid enough, but not sharp or crumbly.

The slight drizzle adds to the great light and moodiness of the place.

The heather we see all over the moors is available for close inspection.

Next stop is Rievaulx Abbey not far from Helmsley, and as usual we've mapped out a route on narrow back roads.  The Yaris is great on these, but today there was an event on and caravans were forced onto them too. 

Needless to say, large vehicles coming the other way had no way through.  We lost half an hour while those in front decided who was best to reverse to a passing spot.

Founded in 1132 by monks, Rievaulx became one of the great Cistercian monasteries of medieval England.  It grew in land and wealth until sacked by the Scots and later dissolved by Henry VIII in 1538.  So all we have left is a pile of rocks, or more correctly, sandstone blocks.

But what's left is certainly impressive.  The monks were excellent water engineers too.  Fresh water was supplied from the River Rye in lead pipes, and waste water from the latrines was flushed away through a controlled river diversion, gravity‑fed channels, and purpose‑built drains.  People tend to underestimate the importance of sanitation and public health engineers, but they are hugely instrumental in civilisation's advancement.  

As a side note, the people of Helmsley downstream from the Abbey were not so impressed by their water quality!

The flying buttresses look very thin and fragile, but apart from some minor weathering over eight centuries they are as per design, and effective in keeping the thin unreinforced walls from toppling.

Pauline's working on improvements to the kitchen design.

Interesting that the monks ate in complete silence, apart from a sermon from a pulpit in the side wall.  Conversely, our conversation over dinner sees us bounce some ideas around, but the coast is definitely in the picture for tomorrow.

Day 3 - of wind turbines and other scenic things

Not again!  Haven't I been rabbiting on about wind turbines enough?!  Not quite...

We head towards Redcar Beach as Pauline sings "I Do Like to Be Beside the Seaside".  The turbines get larger and larger as we approach, and it's not surprising.  At just 1,500m off-shore you could just about swim out to them.  27 turbines form a tight cluster, and pump out 62MW, enough for around 50,000 homes.  So why don't we see more of these in NZ?  In the South Taranaki Bight, off Kawhia, Raglan or Port Waikato?  Don't get me started or I'll bore you with inadequate forward planning and policy settings, a broken electricity market and nimbyism.

Staithes is a lovely little town a bit to the south.  Essentially a village in a gorge.

It's also where we reacquaint ourselves with Captain James Cook.  As a teenager, Cook worked in a shop in Staithes before moving to Whitby to begin his maritime career.  Local tradition says that looking out from the Staithes coast inspired him to pursue a life at sea.

Interesting that the signboard says his voyages are reassessed for their role in colonial expansion and its impacts on indigenous peoples, echoing what we saw at the Maritime Museum in Greenwich.

Back in the 1600s-1800s this part of the coast was also important for alum (a double sulphate of aluminium and typically potassium) production, important for dyeing and tanning.  Shale was quarried from the nearby cliffs, burnt with water, urine (brought in from far and wide) and kelp.  It was labour‑intensive, extraordinarily smelly, and environmentally destructive, but extremely profitable.  Previously alum had to be imported from the Mediterranean - both expensive and politically uncomfortable.

The coffee isn't deteriorating as we head north - good news.  And sunny skies and balmy temperatures continue.

On to Whitby on the River Esk - a popular tourist spot so I'm glad we didn't visit in August.  The Whitby Abbey, a skeletal Gothic ruin, is worth the 199 steps up the hill.

Just like Rievaulx, Henry VIII dissolved the abbeys in the 1540s.  It was an audacious move that broke the power of the Catholic Church and secured huge wealth for the Crown.  Unfortunately centres of learning and manuscript production, hospitals, and architectural masterpieces were destroyed in the process.

Notice anything close to home?

That's harakeke growing in the foreground, and it's well-established around Whitby.  Ships returning from the Pacific in the early 19th century often carried botanical specimens, which is likely its source.

Talking of home, wouldn't it be lovely to send lots of postcards to friends and family back in NZ?  Blogs, emails, Messenger and WhatsApp are all very well, but nothing quite rivals the excitement of opening your letterbox and finding something other than a bill or leaflets.  Something hand-written, personalised, with love and care.  Sorry folks - we stopped in at a Post Office and the cost of a stamp to airmail a postcard to NZ is £3.60.  That's an outrageous $8.30.  So the grandkids might get lucky.  The rest of you can read the blog!

It's a lovely town, and we had to walk to the far end of the harbour entrance to take a look back.

The locals are friendly too.

That wraps up our third day in Yorkshire.  Our last view of the moors and dales before we head west tomorrow.

Cumbria has a reputation for being the wettest part of England.  Moist Atlantic air arrives from the southwest, straight off the Irish Sea, and dumps on the hills.  Sounds a bit like the west coast of the South Island.  We look at the long range weather on the Met Office app - misty tomorrow, but sunny breaks Tuesday to Thursday.  We may be in luck, at least initially.  Stay tuned.

More science, and a forgettable journey to Yorkshire

We spent a bit longer at Bletchley Park than anticipated, and it’s a fair hike to Judith's Madison's Barn in Newton, Lincolnshire, just east of Grantham.  We arrive at dinner time and find it’s a delightful cottage not dissimilar to Thomas’ place that we’ve just left.

One question I posed to a couple of attendants at Bletchley Park was, did the Germans ever break Typex, the cryptographic system used by the Allies?

I didn’t get an authoritative answer, so had to consult the Internet:

German cryptanalysts examined it, recognised its strength, and abandoned the effort - leaving Allied high‑level communications secure throughout the war.

Essentially, Typex used five rotors chosen from a set of 10-14, giving a vastly larger keyspace than Enigma’s three rotors (later upgraded to four for the Naval Enigma).  While the Allies cracking Enigma was significant, the Germans not cracking Typex was just as significant.

Our destination tomorrow is Woolsthorpe Manor, birthplace of Isaac Newton, arguably the greatest scientist that’s ever lived, though Albert Einstein is perhaps on a par.  Through school, through Engineering school, and more recently through my STEM teaching, Newton’s laws of motion, actions of forces and gravitational theory have been absolutely fundamental.  What he came up with in the 1600s is still highly relevant today, from building bridges to sending spaceships to Mars.  I’ve been wanting to visit his birthplace (and also his lab when the black plague disrupted his Cambridge studies) for as long as I can remember.

Day 1 - Woolsthorpe Manor

Another perfect autumn day.  There’s been some light rain overnight, but it’s cleared to mixed cloud and sunshine, and a comfortable 21 degrees.  We’re booked in to the 10.30am guided tour, and it's an absolute treat, even for Pauline.  Very little maths and science, but lots about Newton's birth, family, and upbringing.

From her teaching experience, Pauline speculates on whether Newton suffered from autism spectrum disorder, based on his intense focus, solitary habits, and difficulty with social interactions.  Our guide tends to agree, but there's never been a firm diagnosis.

It's awe-inspiring standing in his room and looking at his desk:

Apparently an Adelaide physics professor was so overcome seeing this that he had to sit down for half an hour and just take in the moment.

The famous apple tree is still there.  The original trunk blew down in a storm, but the base regrew, and the tree is still producing apples.

The story is that Newton was sitting under the apple tree in 1666.  He saw an apple fall from the tree and began wondering:

Why do apples always fall straight down towards the centre of the earth?  Why not sideways or upward?

This observation led him to connect the falling apple with the Moon’s orbit, inspiring the idea that the same force acts on both.  Over time he developed the theory that gravitational force between two bodies is proportional to their masses divided by the square of the distance between them.   Mind-blowing for the time, but Newton was quite modest about it.

He said later. “If I have seen further it is by standing on the shoulders of giants”, referring in particular to Copernicus, Galileo and Kepler.  It's a phrase I quote to my STEM students because it underpins the scientific method - new knowledge builds on prior knowledge.  Evidence is key!

Back to Judith's Madison Barn, and Pauline whips up dinner.  Our standard method of operation is that we buy ingredients at a supermarket and prepare dinner in-house around three nights out of four, and go out to dinner the other night.  Or we might have a slap-up lunch.  Depends a bit on the finances too - it's easy to spend pounds like dollars here, whereas in reality each pound is costing us $2.30.  But hey, we're travelling, so try not to think about it too much.

Day 2 - north to the Pigsty

We're in no big hurry, so have a bit of a sleep in and check out of Madison's Barn on the dot of 10am.  All we have to do today is get to the Bottom Pigsty at Fowl Green Farm House in Commondale, buried deep in the moors about 80km north of York.  I'm debating whether the name should get a marketing award, but can't decide whether it should be in the "best" or "worst" category.

It's a three hour trip, and as usual we create over half a dozen waypoints to keep us off the major arterials.  The little Yaris is nimble enough to cope with narrow country lanes without issue.  

It's time for a flat white as we hit Messingham, and as usual a horde of cyclists (just gone from the photo) indicates the best spot.  

As often happens, staff pick up on our non-local accents and try to guess where we're from.  This typically results in 10 minutes of conversation as we describe our journey, and they either recount their time in NZ, or their desire to visit.  I regret not bringing a bunch of Kahuimanu BnB business cards.

A forgettable journey?  Far from it.  We delight in passing through small villages off the beaten track, and also some huge wind and solar farms located on flat farmland around Goole, east of Leeds.  Around 100MW all up.  Good to see Britain embracing renewable energy on land as well as at sea, and idly speculate on the outrage if wind turbines sprang up in the middle of prime Waikato dairying land.  At least we have the Tauhei solar farm near Te Aroha built and ramping up to full production, but the wind farm on the slopes of the Kaimais near Paeroa remains unconsented.  Nimbyism is slowing down this one.

We arrive at Morrison's supermarket close to our destination and load up with supplies.  We're 25 minutes on the way to our BnB, Pauline's driving, and my phone rings.  It's Pauline.  I end the call so we don't incur roaming charges, and figure it must be a random "handbag" dial as we went over a bump.

I fossick in Pauline's handbag for a phone which isn't there.

Shades of Antigonish:

Yesterday, upon the stair,

I met a man who wasn't there!

He wasn't there again today,

I wish, I wish he'd go away!

I fossick again, every pocket, to find a phone which isn't there.

I ring Pauline on WhatsApp, and a lovely lady from Morrison's answers.   "Oh yes, we have your phone.  It was left at one of the self-checkout stations.  You can pick it up from Customer Services".

An hour later a rather sheepish Pauline is driving through the exact same spot.  But at least she has her phone - it could have been much worse.  Our first "forgettable" moment.

We get to the Pigsty, and of course an obligatory pic for the grandkids.

It is perfectly fine, and we settle in for our four night stay.  I just hope the people in the Upper Pigsty don't eat all the swill before it gets to us.

Judith has written us a great guest review on Airbnb.  In a private note she says that a small suction cow with a slot mouth was left behind in the bathroom.  Oh no!  I bought that cow in Vietnam 20 years ago and it has huge sentimental value.  It's accompanied me on every trip to keep my toothbrush off dirty surfaces, and I still use it to this day.  But unfortunately not today.  I ask Judith to ditch it - I can hardly ask her to post it on to some unknown address.  Now I just hope I don't pick up some horrible disease for the remainder of our travels due to a dirty toothbrush.

I look sheepishly at Pauline, and we reflect on our second forgettable moment of the day.  By the time you get to our age you don't make mistakes like this, or is it a sign of an increasing frequency of senior moments?

But hey, we're in Yorkshire for four days.  Lots to see and do.  We'll but this behind us.  Stay tuned.

Off to the Chilterns and Warwickshire

Day 1 - on the road

It’s Monday morning on 7 Sept as we check out of our Southall apartment.  An excellent neighbourhood, but the Airbnb itself had too many deficiencies to deserve a five-star rating, particularly as we ran out of toilet paper.  Thank goodness Pauline had the presence of mind to cover contingencies!

We walk for half an hour to Enterprise Rentals to pick up our pre-booked car – a Ford Focus or similar.  Large enough to take our suitcases in the boot, but small and economical enough to navigate narrow English lanes.  We decided against an EV – they’re great when you can reliably charge overnight, but introduce unnecessary complications when you’re on the road daily.  An economical hybrid will be fine.

We’ve done the online check-in, so it’s just a matter of showing drivers’ licences.  First problem.  “Oh, there are two drivers.  That’ll be £10 extra per day”.  We’re not impressed – nowhere in the booking process were we given the option to nominate a second driver.  Then we’re shown to the car.  A Toyota Yaris hybrid.  Not similar to a Focus.  Smaller, and really designed as a city car.  However it will be more economical, and given the price of petrol that’s a plus.

We’re in no hurry – all we need to do is get to our accommodation in Weedon Lois, not far from the Silverstone raceway.  I idly think of hiring a bike and doing some laps like I did at Phillip Island years ago, but think better of it.  Instead we head for Great Missendon for a morning coffee, and noting a peloton converging on a café the choice is obvious.  Travellers quickly learn that cyclists have an uncanny knack of sniffing out the best coffee in town.  And they weren’t wrong.

This is Roald Dahl country.  Sam has already quoted “The Pig” poem to us (a remarkably smart pig figures out that humans plan to turn him into bacon.  But the pig has other ideas…), so what better than to visit the local museum.  Sadly closed.  Sorry Sam – we’ll need to get a postcard from somewhere else.

On to the Ivinghoe beacon near Luton.  Long before telegraphs and radios were invented, beacons were used to signal emergencies such as approaching armies.  At 233m above the Chiltern escarpment this one was ideally located for long‑distance signalling by lighting beacon fires.  It’s also excellent for catching the wind, as Pauline ably demonstrates.

The image etched into the Chilterns chalk to the centre left is the Whipsnade White Lion, one of the largest and most striking chalk hill figures in Britain.

Of course the problem with beacons is that you knew there was some sort of emergency, but it might take a day for the detail to arrive on horseback.  This however was an improvement on today’s computer notifications, where you’re informed of an issue with an inane “Something went wrong”, with no supporting detail arriving at all.

We arrive at our destination Airbnb – Thomas’ Home in Lois Weedon.  Not a typo – the name is reversed!  What a contrast to our cheap London apartment.  Here we’re in an apartment in an early 1900s manor, recently renovated.  All mod cons, but in a quintessentially English setting.  Our host, Thomas, is very informative, and we later find he’s a master craftsman in mosaics.  Amazing the places you stay and the people you meet when choosing Airbnb for accommodation.

Day 2 – Warwick

We wake to light rain.  While the vegetation is delighted, it does put a bit of a dampener on our plans.  Or does it?  It’s forecast to clear at lunchtime, and the weather will put other people off.

I wasn’t sure whether I’d been to Warwick Castle 45 years ago.  A cynic might say that if you’ve seen one castle in Britain you’ve seen them all.  Alternatively, given I'm an old codger now, my memory might be failing me.  Pauline’s keen to go, so we set the GPS to avoid motorways and wind our way north west to Warwickshire.

The castle sits on the Avon, just upstream of Shakespeare country at Stratford‑upon‑Avon.  It's one of England’s most impressive medieval fortresses, shaped by nearly a thousand years of conflict and power plays.  Needless to say, it had a gaol.

Don't panic - Pauline's not about to lose her head for practicing witchcraft.

The armoured horse is a surprise.  It looks like a static display, but it realistically swishes its tail and blinks periodically, which is surprisingly unnerving, particularly with that lethal spike on its poll.

The live firing of the trebuchet was spectacular.  Used in medieval times, it could hurl huge stones, firepots, and dead pigs (to spread disease) into a castle under siege.  For the physics students, a trebuchet converts gravitational potential energy (a massive counterweight) into the kinetic energy of a long throwing arm.  Pigs were chosen as they were more aerodynamic.  In those days pigs really could fly.  In the pic below you can see the 18kg payload on its way.  It'll land 200m away.

Obligatory selfie, with monkey in tow.

And of course we had to climb the 500-odd steps up and down winding narrow staircases to get to the top of the highest tower for the view out over the town.

Back to Thomas' place in Lois Weedon.  Thomas has latched onto the fact that I work in IT, and could I help him with a little problem.  No worries - it's what I do.  Thomas has a CNC machine to cut and mill his mosaic pieces,  It's driven by an ancient and customised version of Windows XP, and he's having trouble transferring files into it via USB.  Could it be configured on his network?  We don't solve it, but we prove the concept and I leave him with exactly what he needs to do once he hears from the vendor.  We should get a good guest review!

Pauline meanwhile is somewhat bored by the conversation and looks at some of his amazing work.

He is one of England's finest mosaicists, and works on commission for large ornamental pieces that must run to hundreds of thousands of pounds.  He has done work for Westminster Abbey, the inlayed coat of arms for Richard III's new tomb, and is currently working on a huge piece for a house in Mayfair.

We leave as good friends, and will keep in touch.  Needless to say he has a standing invitation to visit us should he ever come to NZ.

Day 3 - Bletchley Park

We check out of Lois Weedon and head to Bletchley Park.  Anyone who works in IT, particularly encryption and AI, knows about Alan Turing.  During the Second World War he played a central role at Bletchley Park, developing techniques that helped crack the German Enigma cipher and significantly shortened the war. His later ideas on algorithms and machine intelligence shaped the entire field of computer science.

The Turing test is an enduring part of his legacy.  Can a machine be deemed intelligent?  To think like a human?  In the Turing test, a human judge engages in a text‑based conversation with both a person and a machine; if the judge cannot reliably tell which is which, the machine is said to have passed.  I think with the current state of AI we're pretty much at that point now.  Or is it just that humans are easily fooled?

Reading Richard Harris' 1995 novel "Enigma" and seeing the 2014 movie "The Imitation Game" starring Benedict Cumberbatch on the plane to Vancouver added impetus to seeing the actual location, especially the huts where everything took place.

Visiting Alan Turing's office coupled with the fictional accounts brought everything alive.

The exhibits were really well done, and the outside of the huts also realistically maintained.

Pauline indulged me.  She found it a little dry, but enjoyed the outdoor architecture of the Bletchley mansion which housed the initial code-breaking team.

Sadly, great minds are often persecuted.  In Galileo's case his publications defied the Catholic Church.  He was forced to recant and was subject to house arrest in 1633, dying eight years later.  He was pardoned by the church in 1992.

Despite being a war hero, Turing was convicted for homosexuality ("gross indecency") in 1952.  He was subjected to hormonal treatment as part of his sentence which deeply affected him both personally and professionally.  He took his own life two years later.  He was pardoned in 2013.  Oscar Wilde had earlier suffered a similar fate, and was pardoned in 2017.

Huge injustices meted out to brilliant minds.  A sad commentary on how society punishes those who challenge the moral, intellectual or social norms of their era.

Tomorrow I inflict more maths and science on Pauline as we head north to Lincolnshire.  Not far from Nottingham, but no, it's not Sherwood Forest and Robin Hood.  We're going to check out the birthplace of possibly the greatest scientist who's ever lived.  Stay tuned!

Three days in London

Sad leaving British Columbia, but hey we're heading for London to kick off our month's tiki tour of even more British England.  Pauline and I have both been to England before, but in separate lives.  Pauline was here in 1999 on a teacher exchange scheme.  I was here in 1981 - the year Chuck and Di got married.  That's 45 years ago.  I wonder what's changed?  I hear they've got a new ferris wheel thingy in the heart of London, and a bit of broken glass called a Shard.  But perhaps we'll see them from ground level - not really in the mood to blow over £30 per ticket on them.  £120 is $276!  Bad news that the kiwi dollar is so weak - will just have to live with it.  We've seen all the tourist attractions, so will focus on those more out of the way places.

It's mid-afternoon on 3 September as we circle Heathrow waiting for our landing slot.  Not a bad flight, but the seats were uncomfortable, made much more tolerable by 90 minutes of Billy Connolly's superb stand-up comedy.  Looking down, it's clear England is having a long, hot summer.  Grass is browned off, hedges and trees are dying, and it's a brisk and drying 24 degree breeze as we land.  After a wet early June England hasn't seen any significant rain since then.  July has been the driest on record since 1836, and August was similarly parched.  Apparently El Niño is expected to bring a wetter, stormier autumn and early winter, to the extent that the Brits are expecting food shortages and are being advised to stock up.  It doesn't bode well for our Ireland leg in October either.  Hopefully September will treat us to mild autumn conditions.  Might even sneak in a game of croquet.

But where to stay in London?  Our flight touches down in the afternoon, so we want a BnB not far from Heathrow, close to the Elizabeth Line to whisk us into the central city.  Somewhere where there's a cool ethnic vibe, and relatively safe.  Something that feels homely.  An apartment at 5 Samara Drive sounds nice:

After clearing customs and immigration without issue we head to the train station.  "Sorry, the Elizabeth Line is temporarily closed - you'll have to catch the bus".  Fortunately this isn't Vancouver Island.  We get seats and are treated to some back streets of West London you'd never see from a train.  

The Airbnb accommodation is only 8 years old, but it's in one of those five-story apartment blocks which has been built down to a price, not up to a quality standard.  Ventilation and air-conditioning are non-existent - just a single opening window and a door to the deck.  It's sweltering as we arrive, and a small fan doesn't cut it.  British architecture really don't know how to handle heat - the Brits will be suffering more as climate change increasingly bites.

A quick trip to a local ethnic corner store sees us with cheese and crackers for dinner, milk, bananas, yoghurt and porridge oats.  No muesli or coffee sachets in sight.  Sometimes you have to make sacrifices when you travel and drink tea.  But even the tea is marginal.  London water is very hard with dissolved calcium and magnesium bicarbonates and they leave scum in the cup as they combine with the polyphenols in the tea.  Perfectly safe, but disconcerting all the same.  Perhaps even beneficial for those on mineral supplements.

Good news - the Elizabeth Line has reopened after engineers isolated the burst water pipe that caused a signal failure.  All go for tomorrow.  Will I find a decent coffee?

Day 1 - the V&A

There's an indifferent forecast and light drizzle as we wake, so today we'll head for an indoor attraction.  It should have been the Bayeaux Tapestry temporarily on display at the British Museum.  I tried to buy tickets a few minutes after they went on sale on 1 July.  Went to bed when I was at 20,000 in the queue.  Got bumped.  Woke to find I was now at 30,000 in the queue.  Hours passed.  By the time I could make a choice all feasible slots aligned with our itinerary were gone.  Such is life.

The Tower of London?  Tower Bridge?  Buckingham Palace?  Madame Tussauds?  Westminster Abbey? Been there, done that.  We settle on the Victoria & Albert museum.  There are a few techy things in our itinerary, so this is Pauline's chance to indulge herself with art, sculpture, materials and design.  And absolutely brilliant it is too.

No, this isn't Pauline as she steps out of the shower.

We wander under Marble Arch to the expensive end of the Monopoly board - Oxford St, Park Lane, Mayfair, and criss-cross Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens.  Brown and parched, but the duck, geese, swans, magpies and crows are all surviving ok.  And the squirrels.  Less timid than the Canadian ones - one even came up to me and sniffed my finger, perhaps with the faint expectation of food.

Pauline has a thing about Mews - small, quiet, usually cobbled residential streets that were originally built in the 18th–19th centuries as service lanes of stables behind the grand homes of wealthy Londoners.  We visit half a dozen of them in Knightsbridge and Chelsea.  The stables have long since been converted into garages containing sleek black Mercs, BMWs and Range Rovers.  And the homes?  They start at £2-3m and go up from there.  Judging by the residents, there's a lot of Middle Eastern oil money here.  I suspect the English are not amewsed.  (Sorry - had to put that in for the grandkids).

A tea party going on near Paddington Station, our best stop on the Elizabeth Line.  This is new.  Obligatory pic for Sam as his monkey communes with another primate or two.

And the coffee?  A trendy cafe in Marylebone might be the answer, especially at £4.50 for a flat white.  Sadly no - it's lukewarm and bitter.  The search continues.

But I'm getting to enjoy the vibe around our accommodation.  Strangely, I feel right at home.

Day 2 - the markets

It's the weekend and we wake to blue skies and a sunny forecast.  Over breakfast I stream TVNZ1's 6pm news to see what's going to happen today.  Perhaps I'll buy a Lotto ticket.  I wait for the grandkids to expose the flaw in my reasoning.

On the agenda today is a gentle walk from Primrose Hill along the canal to the bustling Camden Markets.  It's a nice day so we'll walk through Regents Park, and find it greener than the rest of London which remains brown and parched.  They have a bore, and from there a lovely waterfall that feeds the Japanese garden.

A magic walk along the canal sees us at the markets, and I hopefully see a cafe advertising a flat white.  Then the upsell,  "Would you like our regular beans, or our special Peruvian beans?".  My mind goes back to the bitter coffee I had yesterday.  My mind also goes back to kopi luwak coffee we saw in Malaysia, where the best beans are eaten by civets and enhanced by their digestive enzymes, then sold for a fortune in London for the connoisseurs/gullible - you choose!  I take the plunge and go for the Peruvian beans at a modest price premium.  And bugger me it's the best flat white I've had in London to date.  

A Tramp Abroad also goes in search of fine cheeses.  Lunch was a selection from a conveyor belt - a Welsh brie, a Cornish gouda, and a Stilton-style Warwickshire blue made from raw milk.  All superb.  The Camden Markets are an excellent choice for the discerning epicurean.

Our return trip to the city took in Trafalgar Square (we have an appointment with Horatio tomorrow) and Buck House as they were an easy walk on the way back to Paddington, and you can't really say you've been to London without dropping by.

We arrive at Paddington Station to find all Elizabeth Line services have been cancelled due to a fire near the line.  Picture this.  You're in the middle of a huge city and need to find your way to the outer western suburbs by bus.  AI?  Useless.  Google Transit?  Useless.  A Jamaican bus driver with dreads to his waist?  A gold mine.  Note to self - switch phone to Rastafarian mode.

We make it back to Southall by the back roads - a bit later than planned, but definitely more scenic.  It's been a long day and Pauline checks the stats on her watch.  15km of walking and 27,000 steps.  We'll do an easier day tomorrow.

Day 3 - nautical London

I open my phone to dozens of messages.  Oh - of course - it's Sunday 6 September.  That means I've taken 70 trips around the sun.  What better reason to add a time component to this blog post.

After yesterday's near-half marathon effort we decide to use public transport to do the heavy lifting in getting us to Greenwich.  The trains are pretty full, but because I'm an old codger, youngsters are now a bit more inclined to offer me a seat.  An African woman with a young daughter in tow is carrying a placard, but we can't quite see the writing.  Perhaps there's a protest march on?  

We exit the train into a seething mass of humanity, most wearing running gear.  Yup, we've hit the Greenwich half-marathon, and multiple placards are showing support for their other halves who are running.  No worries, we're heading to the Royal Observatory up the hill, well away from the crowds.

In this day and age we think nothing of glancing at our phones to note the time to the nearest second and a little blue dot shows our position on the planet to within a metre.  Not so 400 years ago as ships were setting off to discover new worlds.  Determining latitude wasn't too hard, but out of sight of land longitude was a challenge, and mistakes deadly.  You've got to admire the scientists and engineers of the time in devising methods as complex as measuring Jupiter's moons to sophisticated chronometers set to Greenwich time.

Reminiscent of today's flat earthers and anti-vaxxers, there were a few less scientific ideas put forward too.

And the time we're here?

The gnomon indicates the correct time.  But hang on - we're on British Summer Time (BST), an hour ahead of UTC.  Ah - the Observatory uses two different base plates, and they swap them over when daylight savings finishes.  Clever!

Pauline's indecision to the fore - should choose the eastern hemisphere or the western?  Or have a foot in both camps?

It's my turn to straddle the meridian, and I check my location.

Not exactly zero degrees longitude?  What gives?  AI to the rescue:

Your phone uses GPS, which defines longitude using a modern global reference frame.

The historic Prime Meridian at Greenwich was defined in 1884 using a telescope — and that old line is about 102 metres west of the modern 0° longitude.

So your phone is correct for GPS, and the painted line is correct for history.

Down the hill to the Maritime Museum to learn more about Lord Horatio Nelson, 1st Viscount Nelson, 1st Duke of Bronte, KB.  Quite simply, he was the nation's saviour, destroying the combined French and Spanish fleets at the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805 and ensuring Britain’s command of the sea for a century. No wonder he's so revered.

There's a Pacific section at the Maritime Museum too, so what was there to learn about our European discoverer, James Cook?  Mostly good, but one image caught my eye - a copy of a 2013 work hanging in Sydney's Maritime Museum.

Something tells me this won't be hanging in our new Cook Straight ferries.

A visit to the Cutty Sark will finish off our trip to Greenwich nicely.  We fight our way through crowds of runners and supporters trying to find the entrance.  It's barricaded off.  After a fruitless half hour we discover it's closed due to the event.  Bummer!

At least the Elizabeth Line is open, and we're home in plenty of time to go out to dinner to celebrate my birthday.  Pauline's chosen Madhu's just up the road - one of Southall's finest Punjabi restaurants.  My ambition of having a curry in Southall has been realised.  We choose the banquet because it gives you a little bit of everything.  It also gives you twice as much as you can possibly eat.  Fortunately they do doggy bags on special request.

Some inspired gifts from Pauline too - a T-shirt from the Camden Markets, and a book of Bletchley Park cryptographic brainteasers.  More on Bletchley later.  For the sake of modesty, some fine woollen underpants to get me through Ireland aren't on display.

Well - that wraps up my birthday.  A Southall having his 70th in Southall is going to be memorable for more reasons than one.  It's been a great stay in London.

Tomorrow we pick up our hire car and head north for three weeks of driving around England. Stay tuned!