England

This blog is intended to capture our memories of our recent trip to England, both to hold onto them for ourselves and to share with others.

Our trip actually began on May 10th (Mark’s 20th birthday).   Cait and Mark both had returned from university (with their respective baggage and furniture) just days prior.  There were lots of things to trip over and many loose ends to tie up, and we had to deliver Sasha the cat into the capable hands of our friend Gerry and get the minivan to off-airport parking.  On the whole, everything went smoothly.

The flight itself was fine, as well, despite a detour to the north to avoid the worst of the volcanic ash.  That detour extended the flight by a bit but, more interestingly, kept it from ever getting quite dark.  It was as though we went from departure at dusk to arrival at dawn without ever seeing the sun set.   Mark has already written some lyrics about that phenomenon.

No squalling babies, a decent movie selection, and even good food.  The preferred chicken entree was snapped up before the crew got to us, at which time they apologized and provided vegetarian lasagna — which was delicious.   And the flight attendants were top-notch.  It left me favorably disposed to the folks at British Airways despite what happened on the return trip.

We arrived before 7 a.m. at Heathrow Terminal 5, at a bit of a loss for sleep but otherwise well. With Oyster cards and British currency already in hand, we were ready to hit the City of London.

As Oyster cards aren’t good on the Heathrow Express, we decided to brave the Tube. May I just say this — I have come to love the Tube. This was to become our benchmark departure point for the next five days:

A couple of route changes and a short ferry ride later, we found ourselves at the Hilton Docklands.

A friend had cautioned me that I wouldn’t like the Hilton Docklands. The hotel is in the heart of an old, run-down industrial area being replaced by chrome and glass renewal. But I thought it was great. The shells of the old buildings have been kept, with new interiors and bridge walkways between, so the hotel literally spans a dry dock and a regular dock. It makes for a warren of a hotel with bridges and turns and tiny elevators at different points, but the overall effect is bright and welcoming, with lovely views of the river.

View from a walkway at night

    
Views from our balcony

It turned out that the ferry trip we’d used to arrive could have been avoided — the Hilton Docklands has its own courtesy shuttle that takes you to the nearest tube station, that being Canada Water. But it was still neat to think that we’d used car, plane, train, ferry, and foot to get there. Henceforth, though, we used the courtesy shuttle, as it was faster and free.

As timing would have it, we had arrived at the Hilton Docklands more than five hours before the check-in time of 3 p.m. I hadn’t given much thought to that, as it would have been pointless to book a room for the night before arrival, but neither had I considered how sleep-deprived and disoriented we would be. The staff was great — they assured us that we could have the room as soon as it was ready, and shooed us over to the restaurant area to have a soft drink in the meantime.

That resulted in a bit of confusion, as it wasn’t yet 10 a.m., and the staff there was just clearing breakfast and didn’t know what we were doing there. The host was our hero, though — once he realized the situation, he had the bar provide us with Cokes at no charge, and welcomed us to have a seat. Every morning afterward, it was a cheery “Good morning, Hennesseys!’ from that fellow.

We also needed to pick up some small supplies we’d forgotten, so we got directions to a nearby shopping area (our first use of the courtesy shuttle); ran our errands; and returned to a room fully ready for three, right down to an extended and made-up sofa bed. That was good, because we really needed sleep.

After a much-needed nap, I set up the internet and found a message from our friend Terry — “If you have time get over to Downing Street – history is in the making!” So we decided to launch in with both feet — checked the tube maps and headed to Downing Street, just in time to catch Gordon Brown’s departure.

Alas, the camera card was faulty and I lost my favorite photo, just before the one on the right, above. But the important thing was being there at a pivotal moment in British history. Thanks for the tip, Terry!

On the return we decided to stop at Waterloo Station, as we were getting a bit hungry. We had a lovely supper at The Fire Station, looked around a bit there, and decided to call it a night.

Day 1 having concluded with some setting of priorities on what to see, Day 2 started out with a site at the top of each of our lists — the backstage tour of the Globe Theatre reconstruction.

It made for a great start. The theatre is not far from London Bridge, and we not only improved our city navigation skills — we passed a number of interesting sites on the way there.

The Anchor — the site of a misadventure to be recounted later

The Rose Window — all that remains of the 80-acre Winchester Palace

  
Replica of Sir Francis Drake’s “The Golden Hinde”

Random sighting

Then, on to the Globe:

It was an excellent and informative tour. The guide explained that that side of the Thames was “party town” back in the day, free from the propriety and rules on the “civilized” side. It was, basically, the red light district, but where even the upper-class would go to cut loose and catch some theatre. Admission was a penny, with separate admissions charged for each level of seating higher or away from the “penny stinkards” standing shoulder-to-shoulder, swigging beer all day, unwashed, chewing raw garlic for health reasons, and with no restrooms available.

A lot of theatrical conventions remain unchanged (though the technology has; a message driven home later when we took the National Theatre’s backstage tour). For instance, people still descend from the “heavens” — but in Shakespeare’s day, the crew would use brightly colored ropes. The last thing they wanted, the guide explained, was for some tipsy bureaucrat to begin muttering about witchcraft.

You’ll note that the sun is shining brightly. We had no rain to speak of the entire trip. There was one overcast day in Salisbury, but the balance were either a mix of clouds and sun or full sun. The weather was cool at the start, even to a frost warning, but it was much warmer the second week. All in all, a lovely time to be in England. I think I’ll be saying “lovely” a lot in these posts.

The complimentary breakfasts at the Hilton Docklands were so satisfying that we found ourselves rapidly falling into a pattern of skipping lunch and having breakfast and supper only. That worked out well, for the most part. It gave us more time to explore.

Lots of construction, with the Swiss Re Tower (also known as ‘The Gherkin’ and ‘The Towering Innuendo’) in the skyline

  
St. Paul’s Cathedral

  
Time for a stroll across the Millennium Bridge

The Tower Bridge in the distance

And so, after our time at the Globe, we decided to check out the nearby Tate Modern.

The Tate Modern lives up to its name. It has some stuff I loved and some stuff I could have done without. I feel a bit silly wielding a camera in a museum, even when it’s permitted, so I have only a few shots.

  

Scenes from the Tate Modern

Much as I love museums, the downside is that we are within a reasonable drive of some of the best in the world from right here at home, as both New York City and Washington, D.C. can be day trips. And we were there to see London and England. So, though I know the museums in London are amongst the best in the world, we found our enthusiasm for museums as destinations flagging. As for the Tate Modern, my son put it well in his own blog — “Needless to say, by the time I got to the self-mutilation videos, I felt that it was time to go.”

Given the long, chilly day and the somewhat threatening skies by the time we left the Tate Modern, we wanted to both head back to our hotel and to eat. But we knew there wasn’t much moderately-priced food available at the Docklands, so I had scouted ahead on the Internet and found Castello’s, an Italian place in Bermondsey, one tube stop before ours. After a good meal, we headed “home” for more itinerary planning and sleep.

Thursday was an up-and-down day. I had been thinking it would be good to get some music-related stops in. Our passes offered free admission to the British Music Experience, which sounded a bit like a UK version of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. The BME was located in something called “The Dome,” or O2 entertainment complex, which Jim Hendricks had mentioned, so I was a bit curious. And the Maritime Museum was just a short bus trip away.

So we were up early, had another fine breakfast, and took the tube to North Greenwich, arriving a few minutes before the 10 a.m. opening of the British Music Experience. An overheard bit of “Don’t Stop Me Now” by Queen seemed portentious.

It wasn’t.

Scenes from the O2

The O2 was like something out of Star Trek. It was big, expensive, garish — and deserted. We saw only a couple of workmen doing maintenance, plus some security folks and a random individual apparently late for work yet still in no hurry to get there. The same few songs kept looping on an animated display overhead. After about 15 minutes, we decided we would leave with the next loop.

And so we braved a double-decker bus for the first time and headed for the Maritime Museum. That was great.

  
The Maritime Museum

  
The Naval College across the street

You could easily have spent a lot of time there really taking in the displays and detail. The school tour groups were a bit of a hassle but they came and went quickly. And we realized that the observatory was just up the hill. Our guide book hadn’t mentioned that — probably because there is no offer made to London Pass holders — but we mentally added it to our list of must-see sites.

Some hours having passed, we decided to attempt the British Music Experience again. That’s a 15-pound admission. Our London Passes covered it, or I would have been a lot more perturbed about what happened next.

The venue was finally staffed and open, and we found ourselves amongst a small group of visitors. We quickly found that the hype was hollow. I sew, and could immediately spot problems with the “worn by” claims. Mark was finding questionable claims about gear. And, it seems, the big focus is on playing and recording — a “play time” studio experience. But Mark is a recording major and is already working with the real thing — a mock experience didn’t hold any appeal for him. Still, some of the displays were nicely presented, and we were just beginning to have a look around … when an alarm sounded, and we were instructed to leave by any exit we could find. It’s mostly rather dark, so that was a bit of an adventure, but eventually everyone exited and milled about in the outer walkway.

The staff themselves seemed flustered and could offer neither an explanation of what had happened, or a target time for readmission. So we waited a bit more. After about 15 minutes a staff member advised us that we might as well go get something to eat and come back later, as they still had no information to offer.

We’d already done the “go away and come back later” thing once, and decided to treat the mis-occurrence as time returned to us. There was still time for music! So we headed back into London, to the George Frideric Handel House.

The Handel House

Don’t let the lack of photos fool you. The Handel House was pretty darned cool. It’s still very much alive with activity and music. There were friendly hosts with informational hand-outs in various languages for each room, and a quartet of young folks in the front parlor practicing for a concert. There was even a wall with photos devoted to one-time neighbor Jimi Hendrix. It’s in an old, pretty neighborhood near Hanover Square — not a part of London we’d have been likely to explore, otherwise.

We’d hoped to see the HMS Belfast but arrived a bit too late for the final admission. We’d covered a lot of ground by then and wanted rest and food. Cait suggested fish and chips. (She eventually was to down a LOT of fish and chips, though once was enough for Mark and myself.) We’re in London, I thought — how hard can it be to find fish and chips? But nearly all of the “true” places are take-out — no tables — and we needed rest as well.

The quest took longer than we planned. Cait suggested The Anchor, a site we had spotted the day before near the Golden Hinde replica. And so we walked …

  000

  
The Belfast, the London and Tower Bridges, modern architecture

Unfortunately, the Anchor’s fish and chip shop was closed for a private party. So we set off again, and finally decided simply to hit the fish and chip shop near the Italian restaurant in Bermondsey that we had eaten at the night before. There was a nearby park area with benches, so even though it was a counter shop only, we could get off our feet.

And so we did. It was no doubt authentic (Mark noted that bugs kept landing in his open food paper), but we had found what we were looking for. Having consumed some fish and chips, we headed back to the Docklands for a good foot soak in a bathtub full of water, followed by sleep.

It was odd to wake up and think that we were beginning our last full day at the Hilton Docklands. So much to see yet … but we consoled ourselves with the thought that we’d be back in London in a week, and — as Mark noted — it was beginning to feel like it was time to move on.

The first order of business, we decided, would be the National Theatre backstage tour. We put our names on the waiting list and strolled the river front a bit until our tour time. We considered the London Eye, but the lines were prohibitively long, so we just strolled and observed … the human statues, the well-behaved children, and a woman pushing a large enclosed pram with every bin full of cats.

  
  A statue / a workman

  
The Houses of Parliament and Big Ben / The London Eye

The National Theatre backstage tour was magnificent. We toured each of the three venues as the guide discussed the features of each that defined the space. The first and largest, the Olivier, is an open stage with more lights than seats, she said. The second is a large traditional proscenium stage with the capability to move entire sets off to the left wing or backstage — or up or down. It was awe-inspiring to think that, as you’re watching what seems to be a fixed set, by all appearances permanent, entire other sets — even from other plays — are poised beneath, or overhead, or to the side or behind. And the third area was a smaller “black box” flexible space mostly used for experimental works.

We also toured the construction, design and props areas. I’d have liked to have seen costuming, which is also done on site (the guide said costuming took up the fourth floor) but that wasn’t part of the tour. Even with some gaps in what we could visit, it was great. I would highly recommend the tour to anyone interested in how plays are presented. I didn’t take photos, but here’s a video (a commercial, really) that will give you an idea of what it’s like:

Afterward, we headed to the HMS Belfast. We’d seen only the exterior the day before. That was another thoroughly satisfying tour, apart from the fact that the engine rooms were closed for maintenance. Here are a few photos:

  
Scenes on the HMS Belfast

More photos … Page 1 / Page 2 / Page 3 / Page 4

We still had a bit of time left during the business day (most attractions close at 5 or 6 p.m.) so we decided to have a look at the Tower of London. We had tickets to the Ceremony of the Keys at 10 p.m. that night, and I wanted to see the Tower during the regular visiting time, first.

It’s a grand site, but I was a bit disappointed. That’s probably our own fault; we were tired, we didn’t have points of reference, and I was not in the mood to deal with the crowds, which were massive. There was no time or place for contemplation. I’d very much like to visit again under calmer circumstances.

  
The Tower of London

Needing rest and repast, we headed back to the Docklands. For supper, we decided to visit the small establishment at the end of the block down the street — The Clipper. It was a good choice; an old neighborhood place with casual, friendly service and filling food. By the array of “Hilton Docklands” postcards gathering dust in a nearby card display, I suspect The Clipper proprietors had been hoping for more of a boost from the tourist trade than they were getting (I’m sure most folks take the free shuttle right past their location), but I’m glad it is what it is, and I owe the staff thanks for a friendly welcome.

We even had time for a nap at the hotel before venturing back into the city for the Ceremony of the Keys. Alas, we couldn’t cross through the grounds by the time we arrived, as the East Gate had already closed, but a brisk walk got us to the assembly point on time. (I couldn’t help wondering if there is a superstition about dashing around the Tower grounds counter-clockwise in the moonlight.)

A nice gentleman identifying himself as “Shady” outlined the procedures. His delivery perfectly combined a cheerful self-mockery with a stern insistence that protocol be followed. No cameras, no filming, no disruptions. The crowd (rather large, I thought) of ticket-holders was joined by another group of guests, and the short ceremony proceeded. You’d have to be there. Write well in advance for tickets. It’s not that the ceremony itself is grand (it’s quite modest); it’s all that it carries with it. (Thanks to MikeB for letting us know about it.)

Then back to the Docklands for one more night. We’d found that the hotel shuttle became increasingly crowded as the nights wore on, so, as we had Oyster passes, we found ourselves opting for municipal buses more and more. Getting around London was becoming second nature.

We’d debated heading to the Greenwich Observatory before we left for Liverpool. It having been a late night at the Ceremony of the Keys, though, we opted for sleeping in, having a leisurely breakfast, and packing. It proved to be a good plan.

If you expand the photo and look closely, you’ll see Cait and Mark on our balcony (the lowest).

So it was back to Canada Water one last time, then to Euston Station for the train to Liverpool – Lime Street. We passed by many well-kept farms and a few small industrial areas that had seen better days, arriving in Liverpool at about 4 p.m. Then a short hike to our destination — Roscoe House. Our friend Jean Catharell had spent a good bit of time reviewing lodging options with us, and I had settled on that site as ideal both in atmosphere and in location.

View from the back window

There was a bit of a mix-up with the room that doesn’t bear repeating here, as everything was eventually sorted out satisfactorily, and I was able to place a call to Jean. Jean was one of those friends I knew only by voice and writing; we had never met, and I was excited to have the chance at last. In fact, I was so excited, it never occurred to me to snap a photo or two with her.

Jean met us downstairs and we headed out on foot for Mathew Street and other areas of note. The restaurant we stopped out turned out to have had a major overhaul in management and theme, with a hostess who looked as though she’d stepped out of “The Jetsons,” but we were able to chat and the food was tasty. Jean outlined various sites that might fit our interests and we took a leisurely walk back — just enough to help us keep our bearings when we set out on our own the next day. (Thank you, Jean!)

Liverpool is quite insane on a Saturday night. We saw partiers dressed as the Mario Brothers, Wizard of Oz characters, and lots of boas and tinsel. Jean explained that it’s a big town for hen and stag parties, and that everyone is just there to have a good time. Considering the scanty dresses on the young women in the 40 degrees Fahrenheit temperatures, I suppose they had to keep warm somehow! Jean also noted the heavy police presence, and explained that they’re not there to intimidate the partiers — they’re there to make sure no one causes trouble for them. That did seem to be the case, and put things in a happier perspective. It reminded me of if Mardi Gras were every weekend, but everyone there seems to take it in stride.

The Roscoe House is not a bed and breakfast, but our room was a studio apartment with kitchenette, which suited us well. After supper we bought some small supplies for the kitchen and headed back to plan our next day. Cait was ready to turn in, but Mark and I wanted to sample at least a bit of the night life. One Guinness later at a raucous pub playing all-American 50s and 60s music later, though, we were ready to call it a night.

For once, we were waking to a modest breakfast. I had made eggs on toast, and we had juice, coffee, tea, and milk. We ate, cleaned up, and headed out into the town of Liverpool. We didn’t have any real destinations in mind, beyond the Maritime Museum and Beatles-related sites. We just wanted to, basically, see Liverpool as much as we could on foot.

St. Luke’s Church, just down the block

We were very near “the bombed-out church,” St. Luke’s. I’m glad to say that it’s been cleaned up and nicely landscaped; Jean told us they have teas there and the space sees quite a bit of use. What a strange but satisfying way to turn destruction into beauty.

The Jacaranda Club

The town was a bit quieter that Sunday morning. We passed the Jacaranda Club on our way to the waterfront, but it wasn’t yet open. After some wandering, we found our way to the Merseyside Maritime Museum. That was another excellent collection of artifacts, artwork and history, with a strong focus on Liverpool’s role as a port and its fate in World War II.

Design model of the Titanic, also used in “A Night to Remember”

“The Beatles Story,” an interactive exhibit. It looked promising … but, once again, just after we began the tour, a fire alarm sounded and we were evacuated. Shades of the “British Music Experience” on Thursday — but, this time, we didn’t plan to walk away.

I’m glad we didn’t. It’s a nicely presented exhibit with some information new to me and lots of context missing from your usual account. A topper was when Mark, who was listening to the audio commentary, tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Jean’s on 11.” And so she was, though the ever-modest Jean hadn’t mentioned it. She is on at least one other track as well.

  
  Museum sights

  
Two views of the “Imagine” room replica

  
The Hard Day’s Night Hotel

  
The Cavern Pub and the Cavern Club
(Apparently, if it’s “Cavern,” it sells)

  
The actual location of the original Cavern Club entrance

  
The Grapes, from which John Lennon was barred for non-payment of his tab, and the White Star, to which he switched his business, per Jean.

The White Star held particular interest for us on another account, as White Star was the company behind the Titanic. That was a must-see.

  
Wall in back room of the White Star

We enjoyed a pint of Guinness in the back room there, accompanied by a couple of elderly regulars and a young man performing acoustic tunes. It was a nice place to be.

  
The Old Post Office

The lack of a giant English breakfast catching up with us, we decided to dine at the Old Post Office. It was another old and casual venue with good food at reasonable prices, and (as always, in Liverpool) lots of ales from which to select.

On our return trip, we popped into the now-open Jacaranda. It was an interesting scene — more of a youthful bohemian atmosphere than a place of nostalgia. We’d had enough ale for the day but we took a look around a bit.

  
View from the Jac stairwell

We then headed back to the Roscoe to pack for the next destination — Stratford-Upon-Avon — and to get some rest.

It was to be another day in travel status. Cait and I wanted to see the Liverpool Philharmonic Building (and, specifically, to locate a plaque dedicated to the memory of the musicians of the Titanic). So we ventured out early, to the Philharmonic Hall just a couple of blocks away. Sightings:

The ‘Fly in the Loaf.’ I wish we’d had time to stop in. Maybe next time.

  
The Philharmonic Hall exterior, and the plaque from the lobby

Mission accomplished, we headed back to the Roscoe, passing this along the way:

It’s not all Beatles.

After a change between trains, we arrived in Stratford-Upon-Avon at about 3:30 p.m. It’s a lovely little town, a bit too pretentious and geared toward the tourists to suit me, but a pleasant place on the whole. Unfortunately, our first order of business after checking in was to find a laundrette.

Our host at the bed and breakfast (I’ll refer to him as “P”) was unavailable but his partner directed us to the nearest laundrette. After paying a fee to exchange paper for coins at a nearby pub, we were ready to do some much-needed laundry. These places really are efficient — if you buy washing-up powder, it doesn’t come in a box or bottle; it’s dispensed directly into space, and you’d best have a plastic cup or something else underneath to catch it all.

Once the laundry was underway, we walked to a Shell station and bought some pre-made sandwiches and drinks. It was probably the most “American” portion of the entire trip.

On returning to the laundrette, I picked up a discarded newspaper and read a story about an incident in Warwick. One fellow thought another had broken his car’s windows, so he went after him with a friend. He didn’t find him, at first, but along the way the pursuit involved machetes, a Samurai sword, a cricket bat, nunchucks, and planks of wood. And, in the end, no one was hurt. That story would have had a different ending in Pennsylvania.

We gathered up our clean laundry and returned to the bed and breakfast and our cramped room (it was impossible to walk across as one person, never mind trying to pass two other adults). I’d read about the host (P) on line. I should have read between the lines … some folks may be at ease with extreme unctuousness and chattering along as though all silence must be avoided, but we’re not. I suppose we truly are dour Americans who wish to be left alone — and P was not the man to do it. He’d repeat the rules three times, then later invite us to break them, and be miffed when we wouldn’t take him up on it. But I digress …

The chemist’s shop – a typical street

After a bit of a nap, we decided to head over to The Vintner for a true supper. A 400-year-old building (the site claims, “It is more than likely that William Shakespeare purchased his wine from here!”) was a bit upscale compared to our other dining, but very nice, and a pleasant way to end our first night in Stratford. Then back to the B&B for much-needed sleep.

Our eighth day had the busiest agenda. We were to head to Warwick to visit Warwick Castle; try to catch up with a pen pal at the station there; and return to Stratford for “Romeo and Juliet” as performed by the Royal Shakespeare Company.

One nice aspect about the B&B was that there was a “garden” (what we would normally call a park — a green area with little or no landscaping) across the way. It provided a nice short cut and a welcome quiet space.

After a not particularly good breakfast we headed to the train station and made the short journey to Warwick Castle. I had been a bit concerned about having another castle on the agenda (we had already seen the Tower of London) but I was very pleasantly surprised. The grounds were beautiful, there were gardens, the halls were well-maintained, and the throngs of young school visitors were kept engaged and enthralled by the skilled staff.

We spent more time on the outside grounds than inside. We also had tickets to the dungeon. I was hoping for more of a historical overview, not a “haunted house,” and was dismayed to find the latter is what’s pitched. But it was great. Instead of a whole host of acting students jumping out at you, there were just four characters, each with a lengthy role requiring quick thinking depending on audience responses. In particular, I noted the work of the young woman playing the cook, who was quite insane and discussed how the doctor had succumbed to the bubonic plague. I thought she was great, and was a bit embarrassed when another tourist ahead of us turned to her companion and said, “I cain’t unnerstan a word she’s sayin! Kin you?” — right in front of her during the performance (!). But the actress just kept going.

Mark was pressed into a trebuchet loading commitment even before we began the dungeon tour. Essentially, teams of able-bodied runners imitate hamsters in wheels to coil and uncoil the trebuchet ropes. Most of the eager volunteers are too young or too irresponsible, so the trebuchet master has scouts roaming the grounds with release forms, looking for proper candidates.

  
The Victorian Rose Garden

  
Views from inside the walls

  
Down by the mill

  
More views near the mill

A giant crossbow

  
Main hall from trebuchet island / Trebuchet

  
Trebuchet master arming trebuchet / Trebuchet crew #2

It’s quite a bit of work.

(Mark is on the far side)

After a successful launch (and an attempt to recruit crew #2 for a later performance) we headed into the interior for a bit.

    
Castle interiors

It’s quite a beautiful interior, well-kept and comfortable, with many portraits and other artwork. I’d like to visit again sometime. But we had to be on our way.

The view to the valley and garden

We had a friend to meet. Chris from Nuneaton, whose acquaintance I had made at the BeatGear Cavern, had suggested the Warwick visit to us, and I wanted to thank him. We had a train to catch and Chris didn’t have much time, either, but it was very nice of him to take time out of his day to drive to the station just to say hello. A pleasure meeting you, Chris!

Correspondents meet

And back to Stratford for “Romeo and Juliet.” We didn’t want to eat until after the play, but most places close early, so we settled on reservations at “The Dirty Duck,” also known as “The Black Swan.”

The play itself was well worth the trip. There were some modern elements introduced that accented certain aspects of the characters, but for the most part it was a traditional presentation with excellent performances — and music, which I hadn’t thought of playing as a big role in Shakespeare, but it did on this night. I won’t think of “Romeo and Juliet” the same way again. It’s there through August, if you can catch it.

“The Dirty Duck” wasn’t very crowded after all. No actor sightings, but that wasn’t important. We had a light supper and headed back to the B&B.