Woah. There has been a recent lack of activity on this blog, I apologize. I have had an unexpected hiatus from the internet for the last week and a half while staying in Southern England visiting family.
Now for updates. Before starting at Aberdeen it was decided that my Dad, sister, and I would travel to England to visit my family. These trips to England to visit the family have become ritual so this post may not be quite as exciting as you might expect. On the 15th my Dad, sister, and I left the Sault in the late afternoon and flew to Heathrow via Toronto, arriving as the sun rose. We rented a car (small w/ manual gearbox as is the European style) and drove south to the West Sussex county where we were staying and where most of the family lives. I won't give you a blow by blow detail of the whole trip as I did for Whistler as you will probably decide to discontinue reading this blog. Otherwise, I will give a synopsis and description of a few very interesting things that we spent time doing and, visiting as a "young adult", that I have not noticed in past visits.
As the purpose of the visit was to see family, we spent a lot of time with various aunts and uncles and of course Grandma and Grandpa Payne, which we all quite enjoyed. Most of the cousins in England are younger, so it was great to get to be the "old cousin" and to see how things have changed since I was here last. What with the watching of football matches, bell ringing and horse riding we had quite the time. We made our home base at Hurston Warren which was a cottage (house) with a very interesting history between Storington and Pulborough. Waking up to horses neighing and birds singing is quite a change from the harsh winter in Canada.
On a side note, for all those Southern Ont. haterz of "camp" and who much prefer to say, "ooo I'm going to my cottage in the Muskokas" LOOK WHO'S WRONG NOW. The Brit's cottages are their HOUSES, therefore, unless you live at your cottage year round, it is at the end of a small one lane drive, with cars going in both directions, with no street lights to be seen, with a cup of tea in your hand, rabbits everywhere, and an old man on a horse behind you as you drive in, I do not accept cottage as the proper term. Can't argue with history.
Anyways...
As we spent much of the time with family there wasn't a lot of time for independent travel but when we did find time we spent time running through the remarkably small laneways and roads around Hurston Warren, and once, on top of the "South Downs" which are actually beautiful rolling hills that rise up from the southern coast between the ocean and the valley of the River Itchen where we were staying. There were stunning views of the ocean and valley on either sides of the downs, with cattle and sheep grazing in sloping fields adjacent to the path.
Being in Britain, driving in Britain, made me realize that I really should be learning how to drive a manual sooner rather than later, so, off we went. Quite back country roads are in no shortage in England, so we found one and soon thereafter there was one less quiet back country road to be found. After realizing that driving a manual was a bit more complicated and delicate (and fun!) that I gave it credit for, I started using my head, learning how the clutch and engine and wheels worked in unison, and soon I was hill starting like a champ. I can safely say that if given a choice, I will never drive an automatic again.
Another great British thing we have learnt is Ibble Dibble! I actually am not sure if it's actually of British origins but this game is great either way. After having some wine with dinner at our relatives' house in Winchester, we were sitting round the table and our younger started lighting the cork on fire in the candle, the next thing we knew, we were rubbing burnt cork marks on our foreheads and trying to complete tongue twisters. The game goes like this: everyone round a table is numbered, in our case 1-6. Person number one starts, saying the rhyme "Ibble dibble number one, with zero ibble dibbles, calls ibble dibble number *, with zero ibble dibbles". An ibble dibble is a mark made on the forehead with the burnt end of a wine cork. The cork is passed to number * and they repeat "ibble dibble number *, with zero ibble dibbles calling ibble dibble number (?) with zero ibble dibbles". Without fail, someone will screw up this rhyme, whether it be with a pause, pronunciation or number of ibble dibbles on ones forehead, and whoever does, must add another ibble dibble. Then you must correctly name the number of ibble dibbles on your own and your successors forehead or you will have to add another! It's a fantastic game, try it!
Alas, things are not all smiles, manual gearboxes, ibble dibbles and tea in the UK as it may seem. Reading the newspaper and hearing the local buzz from family, much of the country has fallen on hard times. The economy hasn't recovered from the recession, which, to make it worse, was much more dramatic than ours. There is little in the way of exports to bring the United Kingdom out of the recession, and to top it off Scotland is trying to separate from the UK. This would mean a loss of the oil revenue from rigs off the coast's of Scotland which I would imagine is a major money maker. Despite it all, British culture remains as impressive as ever.
No matter, I will soon return for a cup of tea across from the London Bridge, a chime from Big Ben, and stiff soldiers at Buckingham Palace.
Well, that was rather lovely, but it's time for bed, next, neeps and tatties in Aberdeen!
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