Our Baby Girl

6 weeks old 

Our daughter was born in June almost two weeks past her due date. I had to be induced, and unfortunately for us my body did not react well to the induction. She was born extremely fast and in a somewhat traumatic fashion, something which I am waiting to receive post-birth counselling for.

Anyway, trauma aside, our beautiful daughter entered the world covered in her own poo but screaming her head off - the best sound parents can hear, knowing that those lungs are working at full pelt! We had the briefest of contact before she was rushed over to the paediatrician to be cleaned up while I received stitches, and then we had a long skin to skin cuddle and the first breastfeed.

Everything had been such a dramatic whirlwind that I almost didn't know what to think. The only feeling I strongly remember experiencing was that of total joy. Joy that my baby had survived the traumatic birth and that despite it she was doing brilliantly. Joy that she was finally in my arms after what had felt like a very long pregnancy. Joy that I could see us in her - straightaway we could see that she had my nose and my husband's ears. Just pure, unadulterated joy. Our God had blessed us so richly and seen us through so much.

After I was all cleaned up and had some much needed refreshment, I was able to sit back in the bed and take it all in as I cuddled my little girl. This was it. She was here. She was here and she needed me. I'd wanted this for so long and now it was reality. I was definitely overwhelmed. I looked at her tiny eyes looking at mine and I began falling in love, knowing with every fibre of my being that I would always want her, always want what is best for her, and would always be there for her.

Now she is almost seven months old and I cannot imagine life without her. She has brought so much joy to my husband and I, to her grandparents, her great grannies, her uncles and their other halves, and to many of our friends.

In Italy

She is a smiley, chatty, sociable baby who loves attention. When she is happy she is very happy and when she is grumpy you certainly know about it!

At the moment she is attempting to crawl, loves putting her feet in her mouth, saying "Dadadadadada!" on repeat (guess that means she always wants my husband for a nappy change then...), and defying sleep both during the day and at night as much as she possibly can.

She loves her baths and her swimming lessons. She loves toys with faces that she can babble at and all other toys as long as she can chew them. She loves other people, is fascinated by toddlers and other babies, and enjoys whacking people in the chops, grabbing their noses, or pulling their hair. She is also a pro at removing glasses, and almost threw my husband's designer pair in the Kennet & Avon Canal when we were on holiday there in September.

She has already been abroad at 11 weeks old, when we travelled to Italy for one of my best friend's weddings. So she has now travelled in cars, buses, trains and planes, and spent a week on a barge - not bad for someone who is still less than a year old!

She has just started eating a bit of food. Her favourites so far are broccoli, carrot, banana, egg, and bread. She likes drinking water from her Doidy cup or just pouring it down her front. She enjoys catapulting spoonfuls of Weetabix or porridge around the room or in my direction.

She loves going to church and to mum & baby groups. She loves watching me sing nursery rhymes with actions, being tickled, and playing Peekaboo with her muslins. She loves going for walks either wrapped up against me in the sling or chilling out in her pram.

She doesn't like me leaving the room, things that are out of reach, or loud, sudden noises.

She is already such a wonderful little personality, prone to tantrums (if you can really call them that at this age), but always keen to play, dance, jump about, and chatter. She is exhausting yet amazing.

I look forward to the many adventures to come as we continue to get to know each other.

At the Sealife Centre, in awe of all the brightly coloured fish and other marine animals

Summer Distractions

Oh blog how I have missed thee... The honest truth is I want to write but I feel like I can't. I am busy, it is true, but I am also struggling and the two together tend to have a detrimental effect on my writing as a whole. If I'm going to let my writing slide then blogging is the format that drops off of the radar first.

This summer has been full of distractions, good and bad. The good has helped with the bad, and that is the stuff that I want to share right now. Behold, if you will, a look into my good summer distractions:

Urban Exploration
I've mentioned before that this is one my husband's favourite hobbies. He usually goes exploring with one of our friends as I'm a bit of a Hermione Granger about these things, but I decided to join them on a few adventures this summer. We went in search of three abandoned train tunnels on lines that were closed after the Beeching Axe in the 1960s, an old mill, and a nuclear bunker that wasn't quite accessible. It was fun, and on one of the days we went out the sky was darkening menacingly as a storm brewed, a highly effective atmosphere for sneaking around outside an abandoned building, and we got to see some pretty impressive fork lightning on the way home.

Fancy Dress
On average I probably attend one fancy dress party a year, but we've been to three this summer alone. The first was an 80s Night to raise money for Great Ormond Street Children's Hospital, the second a 'Music' themed party for a friend's 30th birthday, and the third a 90s Party (inspired by the 80s one, having decided that the 90s is just about credibly vintage) for another friend's birthday. Each night was great. The 80s party involved hilarious karaoke, the Music night threw up some brilliant costumes, and the 90s night had great costumes as well as a fab playlist, if I may say so myself as I put it together. There was a lot of nostalgia at that party aided by the consumption of Iced Gems and Party Rings!

 A Graduation
At the beginning of July we went to London for my husband's MSc graduation at the Royal Festival Hall. It meant an extremely early morning and extortionately priced train tickets. It was great to celebrate my husband's success. I am very proud of him.

Tomfoolery
Sometimes when I'm tired and when I'm low I get random bursts of energy where I enjoy messing around. For the most part this has involved my husband and I successfully creating amusing status updates on Facebook for a couple of our friends over and over again. It's provided quite a lot of giggling and much amusement. But leaping around abandoned tunnels, playing pranks on the youth and other youth leaders, and running around the park pretending to be goblins have all proven to be very silly yet welcome distractions.

And now autumn is not too far away, which means all of my family's birthdays to look forward to, a special christening, the changing colours of nature, and hopefully plenty of adventures. But first, I am happy to enjoy just a bit more summer!

There will be some more posts on Rome coming soon too!

Photos my own.

Vacanze Romane Day 1: 20 Degrees of Separation

We'd booked the third week of June off work to celebrate our third wedding anniversary. Initially we had planning lots of day trips near to home but after what happened in May and some other stresses at home we decided that we needed a break away further afield. We turned our sights to my favourite city in the world, Rome. We nabbed a pretty good last minute deal which included flights and a posh hotel on the Via Veneto.

So early one Monday morning we took the train to Gatwick for our flight, arriving in Rome at lunchtime. As we stepped off of the plane we were hit by a wall of heat which was a bit of a shock to the system. We knew it would be warm, but we what we hadn't expected was a difference of 20 degrees! England was cooler than average for June, but apparently Italy was hotter than average for June!

We took the airport shuttle bus to the city. I had been to Rome twice before so I let my husband take the window seat. We watched the suburbs flash by and before too long we were on the outskirts of the Vatican, and then across the river and through the centre, though not past any of the sites, to Termini Station.

My husband had worked out the route to our hotel, which was a blessing because I was already too hot and bothered to look at a map. My body was crying out for air conditioning, something it never ever does because normally I am an air conditioning hater.

It was so hot that the walk took forever, and we were enormously relieved to find the Via Veneto, which is on a hill no less. How dare it be so! Our hotel was only about half way up and we walked through the glass doors to be met by deliciously cool air and a marbled hallway.

The concierge showed us to our room which was bigger than our house, complete with an enormous bed and more lovely air con. Everything seemed rather posh, if a little dated. We were mildly intimidated by the apparent grandeur so I guess it put our minds at ease to see the chipped glass lamp shades and the the worn carpet. It was a 5 star hotel of a bygone era, but comfortable and cool and all that we needed for somewhere to freshen up and rest our heads.

After cooling down and unpacking we headed back out into the blazing sunshine, following the Via Veneto round in the direction of the Villa Borghese. There we wandered through the peaceful parkland, watching as tourists whizzed past on segways or on the rather disappointingly named chariots - I'll admit that when I read in the guide book that you could hire "chariots" I thought they meant Roman imitations, not glorified pedal bikes - wouldn't that be better don't you think? Or is it just me?

We stopped at a restaurant to buy ice cream. Italy has served me the best ice cream I have ever tried every time I've visited and I am pleased to say that I was not disappointed on this occasion. My husband had a scrumptious chocolate ice cream and I went for lemon which was as wonderfully sharp and refreshing as a glass of Victorian lemonade.

After making a bit of a mess of ourselves as the ice creams had begun to melt as soon as the sun looked at them, we continued onwards to the Pincio Gardens, which look out across the Piazza del Popolo across to St Peter's Basilica in one direction and the Il Vittoriano in another. We leant on the wall gazing at the views and settled deeper into holiday mode.

After relaxing for a while we made our way down the steps to the piazza and then onto the Spanish Steps which were predictably crawling with tourists and guys trying to sell us roses and weird squeaky monster things. We successfully bypassed them by firmly saying "No grazie," several times before we quickly disappeared into the maze of neighbouring cobbled streets.

After a while we found ourselves at the Mausoleum of Augustus which was unfortunately all fenced off so you couldn't get close to it. It was strange sight. I have written so many essays on Augustus, particularly during my MA. He has to be my favourite emperor simply because of how much I read and wrote about him, his household, his government and polices, his enemies, and the years before and after his rise to power. It was strange to see his mausoleum hidden amongst modern buildings, fenced off, looking forlorn.

We stopped by the giant glass cube that now houses the Ara Pacis, one of the great monuments in honour of Augustus, something else I read and wrote a lot about. Unfortunately it was closed. I would have liked to have seen it having dedicated an entire essay to it, as well as giving it a honourable mention in a short story! Instead we sat on the steps in the shade by the fountain and chilled out before it was time to search for dinner.

We stumbled across a pizzeria a couple of streets away called Al Leoncino. We were the first customers of the evening, and we didn't have to wait long for our two enormous pizzas to arrive. They were fantastic - Roman pizza is, after all, the very best! Soon the restaurant was full of other customers and the place was buzzing. I enjoyed putting my rusty Italian to use and quickly regained my confidence in it, unlike my nervous French on our trip to Paris last year!

The streets were still baking when we left, even though the sun had set, so we meandered slowly through the cobbled streets, past the Trevi Fountain that was swarming with tourists and more rose sellers, and across the markedly quieter Piazza Barberini and back up to our hotel where we soon crashed out into one of those wonderful holiday sleeps to prepare us for the next day's adventures.

Photos my own.

Farewell 2012!

The wind is howling, the rain is pouring, and I've got a masquerade ball themed wedding reception to get ready for. So that must mean it's time to wrap up 2012 on my blog! Initially I didn't think I had anything to say, but on reflection a lot has happened in the past twelve months:

2012 was a good year for:

Babies - Seven babies have been born this year to friends, six girls and one boy. Some of the births were tough, others more straightforward, but thankfully each baby is thriving. I have met four of these babies and they are such treasures, each with their own beautiful personality. I have a very special soft spot for my best friend's daughter, who was born in June, and who I finally got to meet at the beginning of December. We don't live close, which I find difficult as I want to be there to help and support my friend whenever I can, especially now that she has a child. The weekend I spent with them was just wonderful. I definitely have a new friend in her gorgeous little girl, who in less than an hour was crawling from her mummy onto my lap and giggling and smiling at me.

Sport - The Olympics and the Paralympics 2012! These two events were fantastic, and it is true that they inspired (most of) the nation. Initially my husband and I had no interest, even ignoring the revered torch's passage through our own hometown. But it was impossible not to become caught up in Olympic fever, particularly as Team GB began to win an ever impressive haul of medals. We found ourselves scouring the website for tickets and ended up going to see the Men's Freestyle Wrestling at the ExCel Centre in London.
We found ourselves back there again in September for the Paralympics to watch the Women's Sitting Volleyball medal matches! Both were a great experience. We didn't get to cheer on Team GB at either event, but the atmosphere was such that you could root for anyone.
Memories have definitely been made. From being caught up in the euphoria at Hyde Park as Mo Farah won his second gold 2012, in the Men's 5000m, to sitting on the edge of my chair in the work tea room as my colleagues and I watched the Brownlee brothers achieve gold and bronze in the Men's Triathlon, to sitting at home catching up on the Gymnastics on iPlayer, and cheering Beth Tweddle on for winning bronze in the Women's Uneven Bars, to watching in awe the outstanding achievements of the Paralympians.
Will I feel the same about Rio 2016? I hope so, and seeing as Brazil has a piece of my heart, I think that I will definitely want to engage in the Games again.

But it's not just been the Olympics and Paralympics that we've enjoyed in the sporting world. My husband has taken up running more seriously than ever, and he ran in his first ever half-marathon in November. We both joined the gym in September, and are both enjoying our improved fitness. I have developed a special fondness for the rowing machine, but I am not convinced that I will be the next Helen Glover or Heather Stanning, as much as I admire them!

Photography - My photography has only marginally improved, despite having complete ownership of one the cameras now. My husband has both the patience and the technical understanding to have mastered the art much better than I. His wildlife photos are brilliant, and he captured the fireworks on Bonfire Night beautifully. He's become so good that he was commissioned to take the official photos for our friends' wedding in Switzerland, and the results are fantastic. He's definitely got a gift there, to add to his long list of other talents!

Travel - Our holiday to Paris and Amsterdam in October was a brilliant break for us both. We had a great time, learnt a lot, and ate lots of different foods. I found using public transport in another country to be less scary than I thought it would be, and my husband found the same to be true of attempting to speak another language. We then went on a day-trip to Switzerland for our friends' wedding in December - crazy but totally worth it! We haven't gone far or wide, but three countries in one year isn't bad!

Academia - Both of my brothers had their graduation ceremonies this year. Brother 1 graduated with a Distinction in MSc Environmental Management with GIS in February, and Brother 2 graduated with a First in BA (Hons) Creative Writing with English Literature in October. I was lucky enough to be present at both ceremonies, and really enjoyed celebrating with my family. My husband completed his MSc in Clinical Biochemistry in June, and finally received his breakdown of results in November, achieving a very well earned Merit overall. His graduation ceremony will probably be in the summer next year, when we will undoubtedly celebrate in style.


2012 was a bad year for:

Weather - 2012 has now been declared the wettest year on record in England, and I definitely believe it! Much of the country has had bad floods, some places through the summer, but many more this winter. The rain and wind have been prevalent through so much of the year, and in 2012 Blighty has lived up to its rainy reputation more than ever.

Garden - Of course, the aforementioned bad weather has had a negative impact on the garden. Every food item we've tried to grow has failed, except for our strawberries, which grew surprisingly well. It was also a bad year for orchards, and my parents' pear trees yielded hardly any fruit so there was no perry brewing for us this year. The only plant that has done well, apart from wretched weeds, is the dark pink cyclamen that we thought we had killed last year. It's a little speck of brightly coloured joy in our otherwise grey and gloomy (and weedy) garden.

Colds - I mean, seriously, three in the space of two months? Not to mention the rest throughout the year. Come on immune system, buck up!

From left column to right - windmill in Amsterdam, USA vs China Women's Sitting Volleyball , Christmas gingerbread cookies for family and friends, fireworks at Newick Bonfire Night, Humboldt penguin at Drusilla's Zoo, Poppy Half Marathon at Bexhill-on-Sea, our exciting badges for our tour of Dover Castle's secret nuclear war tunnel network, birdwatching in late May, flower in the park on our 2nd wedding anniversary.

What will 2013 hold?

Weddings - My brother-in-law is getting married in March, and my husband will be his best man. It will be very much a family affair with quite a small number of guests. The bride gave me sneak-peek at the dress, and the reception venue looks beautiful, so I think it will be very lovely indeed. One of my best friends has recently got engaged, two of my cousins were engaged this year, and a family friend got engaged at Christmas last year, so there are potentially more weddings for 2013, or maybe 2014 - lots to look forward to in any case!

Running - My husband is running in the Brighton Half-Marathon in February, and the Beachy Head Marathon (the alleged hardest in the UK) in October. I will not be joining him, but I will be his most avid supporter. I will undoubtedly be running for the train every so often though...

Writing - I am now one of the official writers for the new church magazine, but more importantly I strongly hope that I can continue my fiction in 2013. I am missing it very much, and I know I need to make more time to write regularly.

I am sure there will be many more adventures, lots of stories, plenty of stress, intriguing developments, and an awful lot of tea drunk in 2013!

I wish you and yours a very blessed and Happy New Year!

Paris & Amsterdam Trip 2012 Day 3: From Paris to Amsterdam

Day 1 and Day 2 of the adventure can be found here and here.

The following morning we packed our bags and checked out of the hotel. We took the Metro to Anvers in Montmartre.

The place was heaving with tourists, backpackers, and traders. Traffic was zooming about everywhere. Our confidence of the previous night evaporated as we walked about in bewilderment, first searching for the Sacre Couer to orientate ourselves, and then looking for somewhere to buy some breakfast.

Eventually we found a small but inviting patisserie nestled amidst the madness. As we were both loaded up with bags we decided it was best if only one of us went into the shop, and as the one with the better French I had to step up to the challenge. My husband's only request was that I got him the creamiest, most ludicrous looking pastry I could find. The array of sweet treats in the patisserie was dazzling, and much of it looked excessively creamy. I was spoilt for choice. Eventually my eyes settled on a chocolate eclair, which I deemed good enough for me, and then I spotted the perfect pastry for my husband - a large choux bun with a smaller one on top of it, covered in chocolate sauce, purporting to be a religieuse. I ordered these in my broken French, along with two coffees, and then proceeded out of the shop clutching the two little cardboard cups, several sachets of sugar (the woman behind the counter obviously thought we must have a sweet tooth), and the paper bag containing our breakfast, my heavy rucksack wobbling on my back, my camera swinging around my neck. I couldn't have looked any more touristy if I'd tried! Well, maybe I could have worn a 'Paris' baseball cap on my head, but thankfully that's not my style!

My husband was delighted at the sight of the religieuse, and was even more pleased when he bit into it and rich chocolate cream oozed out of the middle. My eclair was equally tasty. I'm amazed we didn't spend the rest of the day with chocolate smeared all round our faces. Perhaps the rain washed it all off, for as on the previous days, the miserable drizzle continued to linger.

We considered taking the vernacular railway up to the Sacre Couer, but the queues were long and we hadn't bought Metro tickets that would cover the cost, so we chose to walk up the stairs of the Rue Foyatier. It was hard work with our luggage, but I suppose it was a good way to burn off those cream calories!

The Sacre Couer sits at the highest point in Paris. On a clear day the view must be fantastic, but fog once again sat like a veil over the city and we were unable to drink in much at that point in time, so we turned our attention to the basilica itself.

Like Notre Dame on the previous day, there were tourists absolutely everywhere, although there was much less of a queue to get in. There was also a bit more space to move around inside. There was a mass taking place, which you could join, or otherwise you were free to wander around as long as you didn't take photos or make noise. Of course we respected this, but I did see some excellent photo opportunities that I was disappointed that we had to miss. The art and architecture were simply breathtaking. The fact there was a mass taking place added to the very peaceful and solemn atmosphere. There was some beautiful singing, and I felt my mind instantly ease from the busyness of the city outside. It was also less stressful to wander around than Notre Dame had been as people were much less tightly packed together.

For a few euros you can buy a joint ticket to go up the tower and into the crypt, or just an individual ticket for one or the other. Although we would have loved to have seen the view from the tower, considering both the limited visibility outside and the weight of our bags, we thought it best not to go clambering up spiral stairs and instead opted just to go inside the crypt. This was even more tranquil, especially in the inner chapel, as very few tourists seemed to bother with this element.

Once we were back in the outside world, the fog had cleared enough for us to admire the view. The top of the Eiffel Tower was still hidden, and you couldn't see as far as you can on a clear day (I assume), but we stayed for several minutes gazing at the hundreds of rooftops, and pointing out famous landmarks that we recognised. It seemed to a fine way to finish off our stay in the city.

We then made our way towards the Gare du Nord for our journey north-east, stopping in a boulangerie to buy a couple of scrumptious filled baguettes for our lunch.

Before long we were settling into our comfortable red and purple seats on the Thalys train to Amsterdam. We spent the journey doing puzzles, practising snippets of Dutch from the phrase book we had, looking up places to go in our Lonely Planet guide, and admiring the view as the train zipped through the French countryside and on into Belgium where the sun was shining brightly. I inwardly shook my fist at it for its marked absence in Paris.

It was twilight by the time our train pulled into Amsterdam Centraal, but the sun had clearly been shining all day in Holland too. I hoped it would stay, at least for the next day. Although you don't really need good weather on a city break I have to admit that I was growing desperate for a little sunshine!

Stepping out of the station onto the cobbled pavement, people milling here and there, trams rumbling past, we both felt a little more relaxed. Amsterdam was definitely busy but it just seemed less frantic and more chilled than Paris had been.

We took a tram to the Southern Canal Ring in search of our hotel, which thankfully was very easy to find down a quiet side street off of Vijzelgracht. We walked up to the desk where we were met by a friendly woman. I took a deep breath and said, "Ik heb een reservatie," to which she replied in an explosion of Dutch, grinning broadly. I mumbled my name, hoping that's what she had asked for, and then I started to laugh and quickly explained that I actually knew very little Dutch. She laughed too and immediately switched to impeccable English. Amsterdam is often referred to as a bilingual city, so we knew that speaking in English wouldn't be a problem, but as with attempting to speak French in Paris, we wanted to have a go at Dutch in Amsterdam! We would later discover that if you spoke a bit of Dutch the assumption would be that you could speak a lot of Dutch, which led to some interesting conversations in restaurants!

Our room was on the top floor. It was lovely and spacious, set in the eaves of the roof, with a shuttered dormer window. The decor was an array of bright greens, purples, and pinks, and the inviting large double bed was covered in soft white linen with little sweets on each pillow. The room in Paris had been adequate for our needs, but we were both pleased to now be staying somewhere that felt a little more vibrant and luxurious - and it was the same price for three nights that the room in Paris had been for two nights!

We unpacked and freshened up before heading to the nearby Utrechtestraat in search of one of the Lonely Planet Guide's recommended Indonesian restaurants, Tujuh Maret, where we were lucky enough to nab a table as another couple were leaving. We went for the rijstaffel - 'rice table' or Indonesian Banquet. A selection of tiny bowls was laid out across two food warmers, with the dishes organised in order of hotness. We started eating at the milder end, making our way to the hottest, by which time our taste buds had become accustomed to more spice! There was also lots of rice and some delicious side dishes that unfortunately I can't remember the names of. The meal was very tasty. We'd never tried Indonesian cuisine before but were eager to as Indonesian restaurants to the Dutch are what Indian restaurants are to the British! It was also another type of cuisine for my husband to tick off of his foodie list!

After dinner we took a slow walk back to our hotel via the canals. The arches of the bridges were lit up beautifully, and whilst my husband stopped to take some fancy photography I lent on one of the railings breathing in the still night air, and watching as a barge sailed past. This was relaxation. Paris had been great, but I had a feeling that I was going to like Amsterdam that little bit more.

Photo my own.

Paris & Amsterdam Trip 2012 Day 2: Exploring the "Most Romantic City in the World"

Part 1 can be found here.

We woke up to another dreary day but we didn't let it dampen our spirits as we headed out to explore the city.

Our hotel was in the Opera District, and after my husband had consulted a map we made our way through a warren of streets towards the Seine, admiring the different shops and cafes dotted around. There was even a man sitting outside one of the cafes, wearing a beret and drinking a glass of red wine. At 9am in the morning. No, I am not joking.

We found a boulangerie near the Louvre where we purchased croissants and coffee for breakfast and went down to the banks of the river to eat them, admiring the view and trying to pretend that it wasn't raining. We then made our way across the Pont des Arts, a footbridge adorned with padlocks, down the road on the other side of the river, and across the Ile de la Cite until we reached Notre Dame. (Aargh, how do you add accents to letters on Blogger? Can't find a feature for it anywhere!)

The cathedral looked just as impressive as it had done when I was 13. With school we had only sailed past it on a boat trip down the Seine so this time I was determined to go inside and look around it properly. However the place was absolutely teeming with tourists. I guess like any major city in the world every season is peak season in Paris, so we shouldn't have been surprised! We joined the queue and eventually we were under the shelter of the grand stone walls. It was crammed with people inside, with more and more continuing to pour in, so that it was impossible to get close enough to anything, so we just strolled around gazing upwards. I often find in historical church buildings that my eyes are automatically drawn upwards anyway, and the ceilings and stained glass windows that you can see are usually the most impressive aspect, masterpieces of architecture and art that they are. Notre Dame is no exception to this rule. It is incredibly beautiful, and the windows, so full of vibrant colour, are of the most wonderful that I have ever seen. It was with some reluctance that we found ourselves back outside but neither of us are terribly at ease with large crowds. I would love to know a quieter time to go and visit it again in the future.

Outside there were even more tourists clamouring around the entrance, so we swiftly headed away towards the comparative tranquillity of the nearby Shakespeare & Company bookshop, a must-see recommended by a friend. It is in a fabulous old building, packed floor to ceiling with books. Downstairs was mostly full of brand new volumes sitting smartly on shelves and tables, from bestselling novels to various academic fodder with intriguing titles. Upstairs felt more olde worlde with ancient books mixed in with more recent publications. Crumbling chairs and softs sofas are scattered about, some tucked in alcoves, all surrounded by books, where you are free to sit and read for minutes or hours as long as you put your chosen book back where you found it. Had I ever studied in Paris this would have easily become a favourite haunt of mine. I would have loved to have stayed all day, but with the equivalent of one full day only left in Paris I had to tear my eyes away from the enticing dusty tomes and continue exploring the city.

The rain had stopped so we kept walking through a mix of quiet, narrow streets and busy main roads teeming with terrifyingly fast cars. They say Britain has the safest roads in the world, which I never believe until I am abroad and crossing the road becomes a game of luck more than a something you should expect to be able to do safely. We soon found ourselves in what appeared to be a university district, judging by a massive bookshop and the little places selling cool geeky merchandise from Studio Ghibli accessories to busts of Star Wars characters. I was tempted to start my Christmas shopping but then remembered that our bags were already bursting to capacity, and that travelling to Amsterdam the next day with extra would be something of a nuisance. So instead we found a little cafe for a croque monsieur. Glorified cheese and ham toastie it may be but I've always wanted to try one, and very tasty it was too.

Then it was more walking. We walked and walked. Along main roads, down passageways, by the river, through parkland. The Eiffel Tower was slowly becoming more and more visible as the morning's fog continued to lift, and it made from some very nice photo opportunities.

By this point we had reached a land of subterranean intrigue that my husband was eager to explore - the Musee des Egouts de Paris - the Parisian Sewers. I know, we're in the alleged most romantic city in the world, and he takes me on a tour of the sewers. Well, we are nothing if not adventurous! And I have to admit that, smelly as they were, I learnt quite a lot down there. Not about poo - ewww! - but about the history of Paris because there is a very good exhibition of how the city was formed and expanded over the centuries, and consequently how the water and sanitation systems have developed with technological advances from Roman rule through to modern times. I even learnt about the Great Flood of Paris in 1910, something I hadn't known about before. I should probably add that although this museum is above the modern sewer system, you are not actually having to wade through anything, or touch anything nasty. It's all clean and safe but it is a bit stinky in places!

After this we decided to continue our underground adventures by braving the Metro! The map was pretty easy to understand as each line had a number. Each line also has a colour, but a few of the colours are annoyingly similar, and without the numbers I would have got confused. The trains themselves were fine but I didn't like that we had to open the doors ourselves by bashing the handle. I prefer the automatic ones on the tube in London. It's like anything I suppose, you know what you're used to, and when you're faced with something different it always seems more intimidating than it actually is!

Anyway, we successfully made our way to Montparnasse where we intended to see the Catacombs. Unfortunately they were closed due to a ventilation problem, so we decided to go for a little walk. This was somewhat hindered by a very loud Confederation Generale du Travail (General Confederation of Labour) protest march taking place. There was music, shouting, and people bearing bright yellow and red banners for miles down the road. We eventually found some sanctuary in the cemetery. Had it been snowing, and had the nearby protest not been taking place, it would have been highly reminiscent of the cemetery scene in Phantom of the Opera. There were a vast number of mauseolea and elegant looking tombs packed closely together, bunches of flowers laid at various spots in memory of loved ones, a little spot of tranquillity away from the hustle and bustle of the city outside.

We took the Metro back across the city as the daylight was beginning to fade, and walked more, stopping to admire churches and grand buildings, window shopping, and people watching. Before too long it was time for dinner. We made our way back to Shakespeare & Company, as round the corner was a little restaurant called Le Ribouldingue, serving traditional French cuisine. My husband had chosen it thanks to an avid search on his mobile for Parisian restaurants serving offal.

The restaurant was small and cosy with a lovely intimate feel, although the very "Frenchness" of the place made us both a little scared. The waitress was incredibly helpful, explaining the menu to us in good English, although I think she was nervous that we may not have entirely understood what the 'specials' were referring to and that we could be in for a shock.

In the end I settled for the butternut squash soup, followed by the duck confit, followed by a chocolate and coffee pudding. My husband is the one who went for the offal, starting with lamb's testicles, followed by veal brain, but finishing with cheese. We also ordered a carafe of wine. Once we had chosen and sat back in our seats both we and the waitress began to relax. We might have been British tourists with a minimal knowledge of French, but we had gone to the restaurant with intention. And once my husband and I were both comfortable with our food choices and had taken a few sips of wine, we didn't feel so odd in the surroundings anymore.

The meal itself was absolutely delicious. I thoroughly enjoyed all of it, and the duck confit knocked the one from the previous evening out of the water. This was French cooking at it's finest (in my limited experience, although the restaurant does have very good reviews online). My husband also enjoyed his and assured me that it was exquisite. I tried the cheese but I was not brave enough to try the offal. He, on the other hand, is a self-proclaimed foodie, and therefore this was apparently an important step in his tasting adventures that he must take, and thankfully he liked it!

After so fine a dinner, feeling merry with wine, we happily walked back to our hotel in the now torrential rain. I was on map reading duty and I am very pleased to say that despite my tipsyness I did not get us lost, hurrah!

We collapsed into bed, feeling as though we had now conquered the city. We were much less scared of everything, felt like we knew which direction was what, and were content that we had seen and tasted some very interesting things!

Photos my own.

Paris & Amsterdam Trip Day 1: Newhaven to Paris

Last month, courtesy of a generous tax refund, my husband and I took a short holiday to Paris and Amsterdam. We've both needed a holiday for a little while, and as we don't currently have a car we set our sights on Europe for this year's adventure seeing as public transport over there seems to be altogether cheaper and better connected.

So because it was a fab little adventure, I wanted to share it on my blog over a selection of posts starting, of course, at the beginning:

We woke bright and early to get the train down to Newhaven where we hopped on the ferry to Dieppe. The sky was grey and gloomy and it was drizzling miserably. Just the send off one needs for a trip abroad, although we left under the knowledge that this kind of weather front would most likely be dominating northern France and Holland as well. That's what you get for holidaying in October.

Feeling bleurgh

Anyway despite the fact it was somewhat breezy the sea was only slightly choppy. I enjoy travelling by ferry, and I've sailed in very stormy conditions before and never once been ill so I knew I would be fine. Except this time I wasn't. I felt incredibly nauseous for the entire four hour journey. I tried everything from standing out on deck in the chilly wind and rain to sucking on sweets to wearing those stupid travel bands - nothing worked.

Although I wasn't actually sick at any point it was a great relief to finally arrive in Dieppe where the rain was coming down in buckets. Thankfully my sea sickness faded as we battled through the hostile weather under the shelter of my new umbrella that the wind kept trying to steal, to the town centre in search of a cafe to hide in, as we still had a couple of hours before the next leg of our journey.

Despite the foul weather we were still able to admire Dieppe's picturesque historical buildings. The town was lovely and quiet and we were able to let the remaining elements of tension disappear because we were finally on holiday, and come rain or shine we were going to enjoy it!

We were innocently wandering across the road at a pedestrian crossing when a musical yet alarming sound screeched into our ears. Both unsure of French crossings we thought that the traffic lights were emitting some strange alert but then we turned to see a fire engine bombing up the road towards us. We quickly got to the other side and watched, bemused, as this vaguely farcical yet serious sight tunefully zoomed past us. Because I work for the emergency services these bizarre sirens became a fascination of mine for the remainder of our trip, as we heard them frequently in Paris. My favourite comedian, Bill Bailey, describes it so well. We were in fits re-watching this when we returned home:

Anyway, after locating the station we found a nearby cafe and dived in for a coffee.* I nervously tried out my GCSE level French and realised that I remembered more than I thought, and that I could speak it correctly enough to be understood, huzzah!

Shortly after this we went back to the station to catch our train to Rouen, a rumbling monster complete with 80s style curtains at the window, and a slightly odd conductor who, whilst very jolly, would make loud train noises at random intervals throughout the journey. We sat back to admire the beautiful Normandy countryside. Stretches of fields, and numerous large farmhouses with shuttered windows flashed before us, making me nostalgic for my school French Exchange trips. I thought of Marie, who I had exchanged with, and the mildly terrifying but fascinating introduction to French life her family had given me. It was actually on one of these exchanges, when I was 13, that I first went on a trip to Paris, and I remember that I was distinctly unimpressed with this alleged "most romantic city in the world." I had found it grey and dull. And it was this that had made me want to return as an adult, convinced that I would appreciate it so much more through mature eyes and without being forced to visit the places my school teachers deemed the most interesting (translate: boring). This desire for me, combined with my husband's new interest in French cookery, helped us select Paris as one of our destinations for this holiday.

By the time we boarded our train from Rouen to Paris it was getting dark so there was far less to see but it wasn't too long before the bright lights of the capital city were before us and we alighted at St Lazare.

By this point we were both tired and hungry, and although we were glad to have finally arrived in Paris, we were a little overwhelmed by how busy the pavements and roads were. In essence it was just like London, but cars were driving on the other side of the road and we didn't know exactly where we were in relation to our hotel.

Clinging to each other, we got our bearings, and made our way through the busy streets. Even though all the shops were now closed there were still people milling about everywhere. It was with great relief that we found our hotel, a small place tucked away down a side street. My husband, who had been building up to this moment having never spoken French before, burst through the doors and bellowed, "J'ai une reservation!" causing the man seated behind the desk to leap up in surprise.

I nudged him for forgetting to say, "Bonsoir" first, but the man didn't seem to mind, and handed us our key card with a polite smile.

Our room was small but clean, comfy, and just right for what we needed. We quickly offloaded our luggage, freshened up, and then made our way back onto the busy streets in search of a restaurant.

We walked along a street of eateries, determined to find somewhere French, not somewhere British or American or Italian - there were a considerable number of recognisable chains, although as we were in a capital city I guess we shouldn't really have been surprised.

We eventually found a reasonable looking place that was busy enough to show it wasn't terrible yet quiet enough to hear ourselves think. We were able to practise more of our broken French, and let our brains stop whirring so we could plan our next day's excursions. After our delicious meals - duck confit for me, and steak tartare for him - we went for a wander along the streets, feeling much calmer once again and ready to face the rest of our trip.

We slept well that night ready for a big day of exploring ahead of us.

*I know I frequently blabber on about not being able to drink coffee. As a general rule this is true, but to be perfectly frank, the rest of Europe just has no idea how to make good tea, so when in Rome...

A Change is as Good as a Rest

Yesterday evening my husband and I arrived home from a short holiday in Paris and Amsterdam. We've been feeling the need for a holiday for some time, what with my husband completing his MSc, my change in job, and the other hectic happenings of twenty-somethings who struggle to say "no" to stuff!

Last Monday morning we set off with full rucksacks to the station where we took a train to Newhaven. There we hopped on the ferry to Dieppe where we took a train to Paris, changing briefly at Rouen. We arrived in the evening, and after a slightly overwhelming walk through busy streets in the pouring rain from St Lazare Station we eventually found the side street that housed our hotel.

We stayed in Paris for two nights, and on Wednesday morning we set off with our rucksacks again to hang out at Montmartre until it was time to get our train from the Gare du Nord to Amsterdam. The fast train took us speeding through French and Belgian countryside and on into Holland in just under three hours, and worked out cheaper for us both than peak tickets from our hometown to London (which takes just over an hour)! We then stayed in Amsterdam for three nights, before flying home yesterday evening.

So, we did lots of exploring, lots of walking, lots of eating, and lots of attempting to dodge the autumnal rain. We are both feeling the need to rest again, but in truth a change from the norm has definitely been what we needed. We haven't had to wake up early each day. We haven't had to travel to work and put up with the daily stresses. We haven't had to cook dinner for six days. We have had the opportunity to sit back and watch the world go by. We've been able to enjoy being somewhere different, to wander around with little pressure for time, and no demand for our attention or domestic responsibilities to concern us.

It's been great to have a rest of sorts, and now we both feel refreshed (if full of cold, sadly), and ready to go again. And I hope to write a little more about our adventures in the next couple of weeks.

An Adventure to London's Wildlife Haven

My husband's birthday treat was a trip to the Wildlife & Wetlands Trust in Barnes, London. Having gone to the one in Arundel for my birthday, I chose Barnes as it is a prime location for bird photography. Now that my husband has his very own fancy camera and has become pretty good at wildlife shots I thought he would enjoy spending a day at a place renowned as a haven for birds, as it is the largest wild green space in the capital.

Our adventure began much the same as usual - a large tea at the station before hopping on a train. We had to change at Clapham Junction, and then it was a ten minute walk from the station in Barnes to the wetlands.

We were thirsty on arrival so headed straight to the cafe for a cup of tea and a cookie, which we enjoyed outside on the water's edge, admiring a range of waterfowl splashing about. Of course, my husband had his camera out immediately, bravely ignoring the monstrosity belonging to the serious birding couple on the table next to us.

Our first stop after tea, however, was not to see more birds. It was the otter enclosure. The centre has recently introduce a family of four Asian short-clawed otters and I was eager to see them. However, they were nowhere to be seen in their specially landscaped area of rocks, waterfalls and pools. We peered through the portholes into their sleeping holt but they weren't in there either.

Not to be discouraged, as the day was yet young, we continued onto Wildside where native flora grows in abundance to create a habitat resembling an untouched area of English countryside, a far cry from the concrete jungle that is London. Indeed, the only reminder that we were in the city was the view of roofs beyond the main lagoon, and the occasional wail of sirens in the distance.

As soon as we entered through the tall double gates we were greeted by the musical trumpeting of marsh frogs. We scanned the reeds, attempting to make them out, and eventually we saw one out on the water and watched , fascinated by his bulging vocal sacs as he croaked. Eventually the peace was disrupted by a group of 'jolly hockey sticks' types on a tour, so we decided to disappear up a footpath into the relative tranquillity of the reed beds, after first attempting to photograph a rather majestic grey heron resting on a bridge.

We kept our eyes pealled for water voles but they were far more elusive than at Arundel, and unfortunately we didn't see any. There were plenty of brightly coloured damselflies and dragonflies flitting about however, which made me somewhat nostalgic for our honeymoon almost two years ago, as we'd several on our stays in both Devon and on the Kennet & Avon Canal.

We continued on to one of the many bird hides for some peaceful twitching until we became hungry. We walked back to the main picnic area with a quick diversion to the otter enclosure - they were still hiding.

After lunch we visited the other side of the wetlands, meandering through lush gardens full of brightly coloured June blooms. Eventually we stopped for a rest on a bench where the foliage thickened around one of the lakes, when my husband's eye was caught by a pretty little bird fluttering about the tree opposite. He got up to take a closer look and realised it was a long-tail tit feeding her six chicks all lined up on a branch. We were captivated by them for some time, and my husband began to take numerous photos. After a while I walked on ahead to practise my own photography in a slightly less committed manner, playing with the aperture and the macro features.

After some considerable time I managed to tear my husband away from the incredibly cute long-tail chicks and we continued on, visiting a few more bird hides, where we spied many birds from visiting Egyptian geese raising their young to sand martins flying back and forth on their hunt for food for their young.

It was then time for more tea, so we went back to the cafe, arriving just in time to see a greedy jackdaw demolishing the sandwich of one of the workers - occupational hazard I guess, tee hee.

We tried to see the otters again but they were still hiding, so we wandered around World Wetlands, looking at different wetland species from all around the world. My favourite was probably this puna teal, native to the Andes, because I think his blue beak is cool!

We did another circuit of Wildside but the water voles were still hiding, and even the dragonflies had disappeared as the sky grew greyer and the wind grew stronger. We decided it was time to head home before the rains hit, with one final stop by the otter enclosure on the way out.

This time they were there, hooray! They were playing in the water and on the rocks, clambering over each other and splashing about. We had unknowingly arrived at the enclosure just before feeding time, and so we watched as they excitedly scrambled for the food that the staff tossed into the water. It was definitely worth the wait to see them!

We then proceeded homewards, squished onto a commuter train reminiscent of both our days working in London. It was a relief to get eventually get off of the train, even into the torrential rain that had now hit. We hurried through town to our favourite Indian restaurant for a delicious meal to round off a lovely day, with a great deal of wildlife photos to show for it.

Photos my own.

Twitchers in the Making

I've been ill the past couple of weeks. What started with a mild sore throat  rapidly became a heavy cold that turned into sinusitis. It was unpleasant, made slightly worse by the need to be in bed right when the country was experiencing a heatwave.

After several days of feeling sorry for myself I began to feel a bit better, so on Saturday evening I decided to go on an adventure with my husband, and my youngest brother and his girlfriend.

Armed with two pairs of binoculars, two good cameras, and a picnic of epic proportions we headed to a village a few miles south of our hometown to go bird watching. We could have been partying. We could have been watching Eurovision. We could even have reinstalled World of Warcraft and been busy raiding. But no, we went bird watching. Because...we are cool.

Cool, I say!

We parked at the end of the village and began to walk along a bridleway that leads to the river. The sun was still pleasantly warm and the sky a clear blue. Luscious green fields and swathes of bright yellow oil seed rape stretched for miles before us, framed by the South Downs on either side of the river valley, the odd church spire poking up through the trees. It was the perfect rural idyll, and I instantly felt all stress and sick-related grumpiness melt away.

My brother and his girlfriend both had their binoculars out almost immediately, after we had spotted some swifts, scanning the horizon for anything of particular note. My husband played with the various fancy lenses on his camera, until he was satisfied that he could capture a fine shot, and I looked slightly mournfully at my less impressive version, knowing it was best for taking flower macros, not epic photos of birds in flight.

It was as I scuffed along the road ahead of the others that I spotted a bird on a power line. I pointed it out to my brother's girlfriend, fully expecting her to say that it was just a wood pigeon, when she squealed with delight. "That's a little owl!"

Suddenly we all had binoculars or a camera to our eyes and were taking a closer look. It was indeed a little owl, looking directly at us. I've explained before that we love owls, but this was the first time I'd ever seen an owl in real life that wasn't in captivity, and I don't care how cheesy this sounds - it was breathtaking.

Little Owl! 

Despite our excitement we were being as quiet as possible, but the little owl appeared to be glowering at us angrily, as if to berate us for interrupting its hunting. We had perhaps alerted its dinner to its fate. After several minutes it flew off, following the power lines north, in search of another small rodent that wouldn't have scarpered at the sound of our boots thumping along the ground.

Overjoyed that within the first few minutes of our expedition we had seen one of our favourite types of bird, we continued on towards the river, stopping every few yards for more bird watching. We eventually found a nice grassy spot at the edge of the bridleway to stop for our picnic, and relish in the peace and quiet of the countryside. Whilst we ate we were serenaded by sky larks and reed warblers, and every so often a heron, little egret, or swan would fly overhead. I'm surprised that the others didn't get indigestion as they continuously leapt up to investigate or photograph various birds, but it was a lovely way to enjoy a warm summer evening.

Shortly after the picnic we were engulfed by a swarm of midges that took to travelling with us all the way up to the river, and then all the way back to the car when we had given up any hope of seeing any more owls. Despite this storm cloud of insects we were still able to witness a stunning pink sunset behind the Downs, and once we were free of the flood plains they abandoned us. We were then treated to the dance of another one of my favourite animals - bats flitting right above our heads as we meandered through the darkened village to the pub for a much needed beverage.

Red sky at night, shepherd's delight

We figured out that we had seen and/or heard twenty-two different species of bird, which I don't think is too bad for a very amateur birdwatcher's first time, especially when one of those species is the Little Owl, squee!

I have to say, I don't know if I am ever likely to take up bird watching as a serious hobby, but I know how much my husband likes to photograph birds, so there's a good chance this could become a more regular thing.

In any case, it was a truly relaxing evening - a delicious picnic in the beautiful countryside with three of my favourite people, and no sound but that of the birdsong and the light breeze rustling the reeds. Sorry Eurovision, as much as I was sad I missed you this year, you can't beat that.

Photos my own.

Bayham Abbey

When I was younger my parents used to love taking my brothers and I out for the day to an English Heritage or National Trust property where we could spend quality time together as a family, learning about history, conservation, plants, or wildlife. My parents could also have some peace and quiet whilst my brothers and I ran around playing games in a safe yet adventurous environment.

One of their favourite places was Bayham Abbey, situated in the middle of nowhere on the Kent/Sussex border. The abbey was constructed in the 13th century, and is in ruins like the majority of abbeys and priories in England, thanks to Henry VIII. Despite being just a shell of its former self it was a brilliant place to explore. My brothers and I would make up all kinds of games, running between pillars, through doorways, and searching every nook and cranny for the best hiding places. The abbey is surrounded by beautiful countryside, so my parents would just sit back and relax, watching us play, absorbing the tranquillity.

It was this tranquillity that I was hankering after last weekend, when finally, amidst this wet spring, a sunny Saturday was upon us and it would have been criminal to stay indoors. My husband and I joined one of our friends with our picnic and we headed up to the abbey for some rest and relaxation.

It was just like I remembered, beautifully peaceful, and the perfect setting for forgetting life's stresses for a few hours.

We relaxed, chatted, soaked in the surroundings, and then ran around the ruins being very silly with our cameras. It was the best of both worlds.

I have very fond memories of many English Heritage and National Trust properties, but I love making new ones in them with my husband and friends.

PS. It was chillier than expected, so I tried out a new fashion - wrapping oneself in a picnic blanket - what do you think?

Photos my own.

In Memory of the Punto

On Sunday our car died. It was perhaps a bit past it, and it clearly brought the house values down in our parking zone, but we loved it and it shall be missed.

My husband passed his driving test in May 2009, shortly after we became engaged. His dad had a hunt around and found him a red Fiat Punto with decent mileage for a reasonable price. We went to pick it up one fine spring day after work, and my husband nervously but proudly drove it the twenty odd miles home. There would now be no stopping our adventuring as we finally had the ability to zip up and down the country exploring.

We've had some good times and some bad times with the Punto, and it has survived much. I wanted to share some memories of particular note:

Wiltshire, Summer 2009
We went on our first holiday together, camping with my husband's family. Thanks to the car we were able to go on many adventures throughout the beautiful county of Wiltshire, the windows down, and the mix tape blaring; the Punto was a true aide to our relaxation.

Honeymoon, Summer 2010
We spent the first week of our honeymoon in Devon, where the Punto coped admirably with the many narrow and winding country lanes. Honourable mention must go to our trip to Tarr Steps, a Medieval clapper bridge across the River Barle in Exmoor. We had decided to take the scenic route and thus approached from the less travelled side of the river. We were close to our destination when we saw a sign warning us of a ford ahead. I confidently declared that it couldn't possibly be referring to the river, but it was... We had no choice but to press on, so we crossed it with lots of bouncing but thankfully no water seeping into the car. We were just about to make it out onto the bank when the engine conked out. My husband laughing, said, "Don't panic, I'll get us out!" But my heart stopped as I silently pleaded with the car, "Not on our honeymoon, please Punto, not on our honeymoon!" A few seconds passed and then the engine suddenly juddered back to life, and we successfully made it into the car park, from whence we hurried into the nearby pub for a much needed cup of tea.
We sat out in the garden overlooking Tarr Steps and the river. We were admiring some playful chaffinches flitting around us when we heard a horrible roaring and the crunching of stones under tyres. We ran to the edge of the garden to see a landrover stuck in the middle of the river. We laughed most heartily, beaming with pride that our clunky old Punto had made it through where a landrover could not.
However, when we returned to the car to retrieve our picnic we noticed something significant was missing - the front number plate! We turned to see it glistening on the riverbed.

Can you spot the number plate sitting on the bottom of the river?

My husband took off his socks and shoes, and waded out to rescue it. The water came to his knees and was very chilly but at least it was a warm day! He triumphantly held the number plate up - it looked brand new, which was pretty funny as an advisory on the last MOT was that the front number plate was becoming illegible through years of grime! When we returned it to the car we were quite confused to find the screws still in place - the sheer force of the water had lifted the plate off of the screws! At least it was easy to fix...

A Little Crash, Autumn 2010
We had a (thankfully) minor crash on the way back from the in-laws' one afternoon. We'd hit a slippery patch as we neared a bend and unfortunately caught the back of another car as we swerved. Although the other person's car had minimal damage, the front wing and headlight of the driver's side of the Punto were completely smashed up. We were able to drive it back to the in-laws' where my husband's dad took care of it for us. It looked good as new after Christmas, although it was now sporting a green patch. We've always been trendsetters you know...

Shropshire, Summer 2011
Another holiday, but again the Punto coped admirably with narrow and winding country lanes, taking us on more adventures, including traversing another ford. Thankfully there was no getting stuck or loss of number plates this time!

View of our gorgeous limo from the tower of Stokesay Castle, Shropshire

So, thank you Punto for being a good car, for enabling us to go on many adventures, for getting my husband to work, for helping us gallivant around the country for weddings and for family gatherings, for taking us to high up points where we've seen the most amazing views, for keeping us dry as we cross rivers, for offering our missionary friends a mode of transport when they were back here, and for being a great first car. Your green wing, your fake V8 sticker, and your distinctive engine roar will be the stuff of legends. And never has a National Trust membership sticker been on display in a cooler car. RIP Punto.

Photos my own.

Dumpy - Dover Castle's Nuclear Bunker

On Thursday my husband and I headed off an adventure, back to our beloved Dover Castle. This place is particularly special to us as it was where we went for our first big day out together as a couple, after we'd told everyone that we were an item. It was a day where we were liberated to enjoy our relationship without feeling like we were hiding a big secret anymore.*

Anyway, I'd first been there with my family when I was 15, and fell in love with it. It has a history that spans back as far as the Iron Age all the way through to the Cold War, and it is a truly fascinating place. What makes it more unique than any other castle in the country is its the network of underground tunnels. The first of these is Medieval. Then more were built during the Napoleonic era, and really came into significant use during the Second World War. Operation Dynamo, to evacuate troops from Dunkirk in 1940, was conducted from Dover's secret tunnels. I learnt all about this on my first ever trip to Dover. I was intrigued when our guide mysteriously informed us of another set of tunnels, further below, that was used for the Cold War, named DUMPY (Deep Underground Military Position Yellow), but that it was closed to the public for reasons that were not really given...

Fast forward to that special day out when my husband and I were first an item. The tour of the Second World War tunnels was the first thing we did when we arrived that day, and my husband became instantly fascinated with this subterranean world of intrigue, but particularly in relation to the Cold War and nuclear bunkers. Ever since then we have both been really keen to see Dumpy. So, when we spotted that English Heritage were hosting an Exclusive Members tour, opening Dumpy to the public for the first time, of course we had to go!

We travelled up to Dover by train, and then huffed and puffed our way up the very steep hill to get there, only to find that the rest of the castle was closed and that we couldn't get into the grounds until just before the tour was due to start. It was a lovely warm spring day, but we couldn't bear the thought of going back into the town and then walking up that hill again so we stayed just outside the main gate and ate our picnic. With a couple of hours to go, our caffeine levels were beginning to ebb, so my wonderful husband did venture back down the hill to buy us some tea from Costa. It wasn't much longer after that, when more and more history fanatics, urban explorers, and fellow geeks had joined us just outside the gate, when we were allowed into the grounds.

We all convened in one of the site restaurants, where we received an introduction from a group of experts who would be leading our tour, and then we were finally on our way down to Dumpy itself. We were led to a concrete block where we were given yellow lanyards to keep track of us, and then through a door and down some steps to the lift that would take us down to the tunnels.

Our guides wanted us to imagine that we were important members of the civil service who had been called down into Dumpy in the middle of the night. Dumpy was to be a seat of regional government in the event of nuclear attack on Britain, and so personnel were required to kept somewhere 'safe' where they could plan for the aftermath, and communicate with similar bases across the country. Just standing there in front of the lift gave a real sense of the dread that nuclear war could bring. These personnel would have no contact with their families or friends for about a month in the event of a nuclear attack, and they would have no idea how their loved ones would be faring above ground. In fact, due to morale, the information regarding what would have been happening in the country was limited only to those who needed to know for the sake of their role. If you put yourselves in that position, isn't it a sinister feeling? I think I would want to run back and be with my family, and yet the sheer horror of the unknown when it comes to a nuclear bomb, a potential Armageddon, could be enough to freeze you to the spot. Certainly the last thing I would want to do is go and work, even if it was for the good of the country! I couldn't bear not knowing what kind of world I would emerge into at the end of the month. The amount of professionalism and resolve these people would have needed if this situation had ever occurred is really quite remarkable.

The lift down underground...

The personnel who would have been required to work in Dumpy did undertake exercises down there during the 1960s, which apparently felt very real. I found a video by English Heritage on YouTube about this. If this is the sort of thing that you're interested in as well, it's only 10 minutes, so worth a look.

Down in Dumpy itself we were treated to explanations of how communications would have taken place between the other nuclear bunkers and ROC posts in the region and the wider country, how the air conditioning and ventilation worked in such a way as to minimise any potential radiation absorption, the limitations of the water supply and how 28 days was about the maximum time that could 'comfortably' be spent down there, and how the Chief Commander would have managed the staff and dealt with the information that came through to him.

We were taken through a series of corridors, and shown the air conditioning units, the Commander's office, the cabinet meeting room, the science room, the communications area, the small radio broadcasting room, and finally the toilets! Our guides were very informative about what life would be like down there, but they also gave us an insight into what it could be like up above. For example, the BBC would only broadcast a radio announcement at particular times, as people had to conserve batteries, advising people to ration their food and water sensibly, and to stay calm. And that was pretty much it. I can't even begin to imagine how difficult that advice would be when the fear of fallout must be truly terrifying, and that's if you were far enough away from the initial blast!

One of the comms rooms that once was full of teleprinters etc

Unlike the other main visitor tunnels at Dover - Annexe (used as a hospital during the Second World War), and Casemate (used for Operation Dynamo and other important communications) - Dumpy has not been dressed up or designed to create a visitor experience. Whilst I love that about the other tunnels, I also appreciated seeing Dumpy in such a raw format, and understanding just a little more about the Cold War and what the threat of nuclear attack really meant, thanks to our brilliant tour guides, I think it came to life just as much as if the rooms had been recreated as the other tunnels had been. Some visual aids were used, which were greatl, and we got to see plenty of real artefacts which was a treat.

After the tour we were taken up to the old mess hall, which is now used as a wartime themed tea room, where we were treated to tea and coffee, along with some delicious sandwiches and cakes.

I think the tour vividly created a sense of what a terrifying prospect nuclear attack once was, although it also raises many questions about just how capable the government would really have been if it had ever happened. With the kind of disaster they perceived, would any of their planned methods of governance have made any difference? And would they really have operated that efficiently? How could a few people underground cope with the masses above ground who were fighting to survive with limited resources and fear of radiation? I guess that's why the nuclear holocaust is such a popular topic for books and films, there are lots of 'what ifs?' I know so little about the Cold War generally, and indeed our parents have never mentioned what they thought of it back in their youth, or if the idea of a nuclear attack ever really bothered them. But I have decided to investigate the topic further and learn at least a little more about it.

And we had a great day out, courtesy of another brilliant English Heritage Members Event, huzzah!

Photos my own.

*I appreciate that this may sound quite cryptic. I do intend to explain it on my blog one day, I promise!

A Science Date!

On Thursday my husband and I went on a science date. No, it wasn't a tour of his lab (done that), or a trip to the Science Museum (done that too), or even to view the stars at the Herstmonceux Observatory (on the 'to do' list). Nope, we went out for dinner. But it was dinner with a difference.

Menu for the evening

February is the month of the Brighton Science Festival. A range of science themed events are held in the city and surrounding area throughout the month, and especially in half-term to inspire kids to be more interested in the subject. My husband had already been to an exciting talk on neutrinos which I had bailed on, not being much of a physicist and all, so the thing we decided to do together was go for a date at the restaurant, Due South, for on an evening named 'Weird Science', where we were promised an "evening of edible theatrical delights" - "deconstructing  flavours, taste and textures using the latest in cooking technology and technique" (Brighton Science Festival 2012).

We both smartened ourselves up and headed down on the train, enjoying the unusually mild temperatures as we walked down to the seafront. Being the nerds that we are we were the first to arrive for the evening. We were greeted by the head chef preparing apple and basil mojitos in liquid nitrogen. We were passed our little frozen blobs in a paper cup and momentarily stood there entranced, unsure how we were supposed to eat them. The chef advised us just to "pop them in our mouths in one go", which we did, and my, what an explosion of flavours! I got a temporary cold burn on my tongue, but it was worth it because it was delicious.

We were then led upstairs to our table by the window, where we had a perfect view of the sea, the crests of the waves only just visible against the nighttime blackness. We ordered champagne as it was the first time we had been on a proper date in ages, and who doesn't want to celebrate science anyway? We supped and chatted happily, watching the late evening runners, cyclists, and skateboarders zoom past on the promenade below, as the rest of the restaurant filled with other eager science foodies.

The next course was beetroot jellied, pickled, and coffee-roasted served with capers and creme fraiche. I don't like beetroot but I decided that this was the evening for trying new things, so I tucked in until I couldn't eat any more and had to discreetly shovel the rest onto my husband's plate, who thankfully found it delicious!

Beetroot prepared in three different ways

The next course more than made up for it, however: mackerel and shiitake mushroom ravioli served with horseradish snow and anise foam. The mackerel was the best I have ever tried, really fantastic. It was so tasty it was like I hadn't tried real seafood until that evening!

Next up was pheasant served with squash, blue cheese, pear, and sage, as well as a generous side dish of crunchy greens and rosemary potatoes. All of it was scrumptious.

The mouthwatering pheasant dish

Then the puddings began. The first of these was an apple sorbet served with a frozen pastry stick, powdered butterscotch, and cinnamon jelly. It was experiencing an apple pie in a whole new way, and very yummy indeed.

And as a chocoholic the final course was probably the best (followed very closely by the mackerel in my opinion). It was a chocolate brownie served with an incredibly light hazelnut sponge. It was gorgeous. This also came with chocolate cream that had been frozen in liquid nitrogen, like the mojito, and a hazelnut biscuit that had been made using the Maillard reaction (non-enzymatic browning).

This was so good I'd already begun to demolish it before I remembered to take a photo!

We finished up with a good old hot beverage before making our way home. Our bill was accompanied by fizzy lemon jellies, another tasty explosion of flavours in the mouth!

It was a lovely evening. As food lovers it was fantastic, and eating a meal where the science of the cooking and preparation methods, however gimmicky, were explained to us made it all the more enjoyable. It was a fun little adventure, and we'll definitely be keeping Due South in mind for future dates!

Photos my own.