Paris: The First Day

Saturday dawned in our Paris apartment. So much to do! But first we must eat. I had stuffed some cereal and fruit in a bag from England, but we needed bread - and indeed groceries for the day. Wayne had not found the supermarket last night, but after studying a map was confident of where it now lay.

The girls were still asleep. We considered briefly, but thought that the children would be safe enough if both parents went out for a while in search of sustenance. We gave Jack my mobile, and left him consuming wheaty bix while we strode out. A bright, crisp morning. Past the magnificent old palace of the Louvre we walked, and over the bridge. We passed the Musee d'Orsee, and stopped to photograph a tourist with her own camera. "It should be around here," mused Wayne. "Where's the map?" I asked. "All in my head," said he. Oh, dear...

Still, I was enjoying the architecture, and the occasional peek into little shop windows. We stopped to ask directions, and changed our course. And again. I started to get hungry. After one hour we admitted defeat and headed back to the flat. I demolished several wheat biscuits while Wayne pulled out the map again. Revelation! He had been reading north for south! I could only watch in wonder as he swept out again, taking Jack with him this time. The shop was about a block and a half away...

SO, at about 11 a.m. or so, we set out, looking for a guided tour. We have by now decided that the overview of the city on the first day is the way to go. We followed the now properly oriented map to the bus station and got tickets. Wayne discovered we could get discounted tickets for Disneyland here as well - a bonus. Soon we were on top of a double-decker, ears plugged with ear buds and the audio tour. (Here is Wayne with the academy of music behind him, at the back of the bus.)

It was a funny sort of tour... dry facts interrupted with strange French music when the bloke wasn't talking - sometimes interrupted mid-sentence. Not like the cheery in-the-flesh commentary of the London bus, or the anecdotal options of Bath. Still, it was certainly informative (although Eleanor went to sleep), and the sheer beauty of the place was enough. I don't know how the French had the foresight to make such wide avenues, unheard of in England. Stately buildings, lacy ironword, carved stone, gilded statues... I was impressed. Here we are, driving through a very narrow archway at the Louvre. And Jack and I in front of it.
The Arc de Triomphe, the military invalid hospital, the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame Cathedral passed us by. And that Egyptian obelisk thingy at the place where all the executions happened during the Revolution..




All very good. Home to another late lunch - french bread, of course. We had a little walk in the evening, and this last picture shows us in front of the Louvre, where many people were lounging around, enjoying the sunshine and company. It all felt very Parisien, somehow, strangely enough! 'Home' to a chicken dinner, and some French white wine for the big people.

A La France/ Bienvenue A Paris

Off to France! We had a 10 o'clock train, so it was not too bad a rush in the morning. (Some clothes were still hanging in front of the fire getting completely dry.)

A very enjoyable trip to London in the spring sunshine. The children were sitting a little apart, so the 'squashy car' fights were happily avoided. There was a time of uncomfortable crowding in an underground station, while Wayne fought his way to get tube tickets, but we arrived at the Eurostar station with plenty of time for a nice sandwich for our late lunch before our 4 pm start.

This part of the train trip was actually shorter than Liskeard to London. Through the Chunnel we went, and then looked out onto the green fields of France, looking for differences from England. Same trees, possibly more blossoms in a more southern clime... flatter fields maybe, and larger ones. None of the patchwork little fields that England still has from the middle ages. Pointier roofs on the village houses... We turned our clocks ahead one hour, and eventually pulled into Paris.

It was 7 pm, and still light. We just could not work out how to buy metro tickets for a family at this stage, so we gave in and got a taxi. This was probably a good thing, considering our luggage, and unfamiliarity with our destination (Rue de Saint Honore, smack in the middle of the 1st arrondisement, behind the Louvre.) The apartment man was waiting to let us in and tell us the ropes, thankfully. We were right up on the top floor, accessible by a tiny elevator that could only fit two people. We had four rooms, including a bathroom and a loft bedroom for the girls. Jack had to sleep on the sofa bed, but we were all grateful not to be all in the one room as we had to in Bath. We could cook our own meals, also. So, the dauntless Wayne and Jack set off in search of groceries while the girls unpacked and bathed. The boys could not find the large supermarket marked on our small map, but found a little shop with a few necessities. A quick omelette, and off to bed, as it was now very late.

Bath; Home, via Stonehenge

A beautiful sunny day dawned on our final morning in Bath. In we trooped for our final cooked breakfast. (I'm glad that the bathroom did not include a set of scales.) Then, packed and ready, we set off for the scenic route home.

We thought we would have a look at Stonehenge, even though it really wasn't on our way. Other places of interest would have taken longer to explore, and we really needed to get back and get some washing and other preparation done before going to France the next day. Perhaps we should have allowed more time at home, but we feel we have to pack everything we can into the school holidays.

So, we headed west. The whole concept of Sunday driving is now understandable to us; there are so many interesting little towns dotted along the way. Salisbury plain was noticeably different. Suddenly there was space all around us, and actually stretches of road with no sign of a house anywhere. There was a 'tanks crossing' sign...

And then, suddenly, there it was: the great Stonehenge. I thought there would be huge fences all around it, but was pleasantly surprised to see only knee-high barrier ropes that organised rather than forbade observers.

We drove into a huge car-park, able to take many buses as well as cars. Several people in heavy-metal black gear were noticeable. No druids, though...

Our National Trust cards allowed us free entry, surprisingly. It's only the second time we have used these. (We have been walking more than looking in old buildings, I suppose.) We had to walk through an underpass to the stones. We got audio tour radios again, with little talks at various points in a path all around the stones.

They were well worth the visit. Seeing them in the context of the plains, which were once a vast forest, made them more meaningful. It was a lovely day, too. Our camera battery ran out, but we did get a few photos.

Then back for rather a long drive home. It really did feel like coming 'home' to Cornwall. Suddenly, the fields were like green velvet with new growth. They looked splendid.

We had to take a detour because the A38 was closed.We found the reason only metres from our home: a really nasty accident at the Looe turn-off. We had to get permission from the police to get onto the road near our lane. A rather sobering return! We were glad that we were getting the train to France the next day.

Bath: Wednesday at Wells

We were up a bit later today after our late night, but not too late to miss our cooked breakfast in the elegant 'Victorian style' dining room, looking out onto hyacinths through the bay windows. You have to get your money's worth...

Today we thought we would drive to Wells, a picturesque place officially named a city only because it has a huge cathedral and bishop's palace in it, despite only 10 000 people.

We got a bit lost getting out of Bath. It is a very difficult place to drive around. (Perhaps we ought to get one of those sat. nav. things). However, get out we finally did and off we set through the pleasant Wiltshire countryside. It was cloudy, but the rain thankfully held off.
The cathedral was magnificent. So old, and so much to see! I was struck with how light it was inside, and how modern some of the architecture seemed even though it certainly was not new. There was a clock, circa 1390, which we were just in time to see strike 11. Clockwork miniature knights on horseback emerged from the wall and circled in a continuous joust while a harlequin higher up struck a bell. The bright and complex clock face had 24 hour divisions and a little sun marker that moved through the minutes. Brilliant!
We managed to get in on a free tour, which was very interesting. We loved the little stone faces carved above the pillars, some depicted with toothache, some in a comic sequence of some villains stealing grapes, and then suffering a farmers' wrath. I particularly enjoyed the bright embroidery in the choir stalls - some indication of all the colour that the cathedral would have originally enjoyed in painted walls and roof. And there was a fascinating tomb, with a carving of a grand bishop laid out in robes and splendour on top - but with an additional carving of his imagined decaying body below this statue, to prevent worldly Pride I suppose.
The acoustics were so marvellous I wanted to burst into song. (I refrained, to the children's relief.)
We watched the clock strike twelve, and wandered about a bit more before coming out into a very pretty village square, and a market in full force. Wayne sniffed out a stall selling fresh 'free - range' sausages in home-made buns. I declined one, my tum protesting several days of indulgent food, but ended up having to finish Eleanor's. It was certainly top quality. A town crier in full fig came out into the market and did his thing before all the tourists. I had had no idea this was such a visited spot. (He's the bloke in green behind Eleanor, there.)
We walked through an arch onto a green, and a moat around the bishop's palace. We took this photo, but did not fancy walking around inside it after our cathedral tour.

We hopped back into the car and headed up to the Cotswalds. I had intended to navigate us around Bath, but it sucked us into its Black Hole of traffic confusion, alas! However, once we got on them, it did not take us long to drive along the pleasant little country roads to Castle Combe.
This is reputedly the prettiest village in England. It has the sort of houses people model for miniatures, all stone and steep roofs. However, we spoilt people from Cornwall think we have seen equally pretty places, with more atmosphere and life. This one I think has suffered from tourist overload... plenty of 'private' signs, and other ones warning us away from innocent ducks, and playing children (in that order). Not very welcoming somehow. However, the loo in the pub here was very pretty and flowery... flowers even painted in the bowl! A world away from the nasty one in Bath's 'Huntsman'!
Back to a final pub meal at The Boathouse again. (I opted for trout, boiled spuds and salad - the healthiest looking thing I could find. Too much high living for me!)

Bath, Day Two

On Tuesday, we wanted to dive into Bath's watery origins, as it were, and go and see the Roman baths. We caught the bus to town on this day, and walked down near the Abbey to the old Pump room and the Roman baths.

I didn't expect such a sophisticated display. We were given an audio tour radio thingy, which thankfully I could hear very well. The children had their own program, complete with characters from old Roman times as guides - both on the audio and in various visual displays. They also had a sheet to put stickers on, and swap for a certificate at the end.

We started up high, looking down on a reconstructed Roman Bath full of warm, green water. It would have had a roof originally, to stop algae forming. It still looked splendid, with improvised modern-built statues of famous Romans about the promenade, and the Abbey Spire above us. We pressed buttons at various stages to hear commentary on our radios - including some informal stuff from Bill Bryson if we chose. It was very well done.

I really enjoyed looking at a frieze reconstructed from the temple of Sulis Minerva which was an interesting combination of the Celtic world and the Roman. (This photo does it no justice). Laser photography super-imposed on it showed its likely original looks. Also interesting were folded pieces of lead inscribed with curses, chucked into the springs invoking the wrath of the goddess on the most trivial of offenders...

We finished the tour with a taste of 'the waters.' I expected worse, but the children thought it was quite foul enough!

Out we came into the spring sunshine. Wayne and I were happy to sit down for a bit, looking at the front of the Abbey. Stone ladders are carved on either side of the door, right up the towers. Angels climb up these, looking like they don't enjoy it one bit, looking down in fear. A couple near the top are depicted falling down, upside down! Their wings don't appear to work. The children meanwhile watched a fire-juggling unicyclist near the Pump Room. We had some lunch, then took the children to a very large playground that we had spotted earlier. (Dangerous roundabouts haven't yet been banished from such places in England, we have found.) Then we went back to our room for a bit of a rest.

In the evening we drove down again. We had a little snack and a drink at The Huntsman pub, before joining a tour called 'Bizarre Bath'. It is a very popular tourist attraction, although not pretending to be historical... just a comedy routine and a few conjurer's tricks as we walked about. A plaque celebrating celebrating architect John Palmer in a bricked-in doorway led into a spiel about strange building ideas... every bricked in window and door from then on was labelled a 'Palmer'. (Luckily we knew from an earlier tour about taxes on windows being the real reason these bricks were there. ) So that was fun, anyway, except perhaps for Annie, who had not visited the loo before we started, and for whom we could do nothing until we got back to the pub. (And it was a very dingy old convenience, when we finally raced her into it!) It was a very late night for the children, but a very satisfactory day.

Taking the waters: Bath and beyond...

School holidays! Time for a really big adventure, rather than our day-trip excursions around Cornwall. Looking at maps and guides, we thought that Bath would be a good place to base ourselves for a few days. Apart from its inherent beauty and interest, it is close to several other places of interest. So, having booked a B&B that actually could accommodate a family of five, we set off on Easter Monday.

It was actually quite warm, and we were happy just to stow our coats in the car, rather than wear them on the trip. We largely drove along the same route we took to Bristol last time, noting the addition of daffodils and blossoming trees in the few weeks since we had driven here going to Ireland. There were also the primroses. Wayne was happily car spotting as we drove along... there do seem to be quite a few posh cars on the roads. I had to navigate, and did some Interesting Town Name spotting. We passed: St Erney, Notter Bridge, Botus Fleming and South Pill. We looked at the huge obvious nests in the still-bare trees. Jackdaws? Rooks? (Ernesettle, Sparkwell, Ivy Bridge and Rattery...) the stone walls started to give way to plainer hedges and fields. Eleanor, now an accomplished historian, pointed out some Tudor architecture. (Buckfastleigh, Goodstone, Bovey Tracey and Compton Dando...) finally we found our way to our guest house in Bath.
What a stately city. Georgian architecture, I pointed out to Eleanor, who is firmly fixed in the Middle Ages. Annie asked, why did our b&b brag of 'Victorian style, but modern comfort' then? That's inside, I said hastily. It was pretty inside, too, although a bit crowded with five people sleeping in the same room. (Wayne and I found the bed a bit short, too, with a foot board stopping us stretching right out. We're not THAT tall, really.)
We drove down to the town to find some lunch and explore. We rather foolishly left out coats behind; it was not that warm after all.. It took us a while to find a sandwich spot, probably just because we were hungry and cold. Once we had eaten, we found many places to eat as we made our way to a bus stop. Law of cussedness!
We opted for a bus tour - inside - to get the lie of the land. It was very interesting, although I had a few problems with the earphones. (Because we were inside and downstairs, we had the remote audio. I thought of Chaucer's Wife of Bath, who was 'somedeal deaf, and that were sothe'. Rats.) Bath has no large modern buildings, overshadowing the old ones. It is the large Abbey Church that dominates the town, just as it would have done for hundreds of years.
So, the church is where we wandered after the tour. The children were handed a things-to-look for sheet ('what animals are carved on the font?', etc), and happily went off to fill them in. Volunteers kept chatting to them, to see how they were going. Eleanor had no qualms about asking complete strangers about things like coats of arms... I guess she thought they were like school teachers. Anyway, it was very interesting, and amazingly light for an old church.
Back we went to the car park, and the house. We walked there to a nearby pub, The Boathouse, for dinner. All very good. It was a rather late night for the children, but we eventually got them all washed and tucked in. Then I had a nice deep bath... as you do, in Bath!
(These pictures are from Day 2. Bus tours and inside churches are not very photo-y spots!)

Easter

Easter time in England! When there actually are baby bunny rabbits and spring flowers and all that new life bit! Quinn the cat refrained from eating rabbits all weekend out of respect for the season.

We had planned on watching an Easter parade with Morris Dancers and everything in town, after an Easter service in the Methodist Church. Strangely, the children weren't all that keen on the idea of the Morris Dancers, even though we had shown them some last year at the Canberra Folk Festival. They thought they might score some more eggs at church though, the holy terrors.

As it happened, the farmer invited us on an Easter Egg hunt up on Mike's field at 11 oclock. The children were very keen on this idea, oddly enough. So we thought we'd check out the Anglicans instead, at an earlier service. We thought that ancient St Martins (where we had seen the bells) would be pretty special on Easter Day.

Well, the kids still got bribed with Easter eggs. Eleanor even went and painted some hard-boiled ones at the back of the church. It was beautiful and flower decked. BUT, they had a band, and modern soft-pop songs. We Bach choristers can only sniff at this sort of stuff...I mean, all the beaut Easter hymns to choose from ignored... but, as Wayne said, it could have been a lot worse. The band knew how to play, and it wasn't screaming and jumping stuff. What a missed opportunity, though, with such accoustics and an old organ. Ah, well.

Then home for the egg hunt. The Easter Bunny had already left the children a big egg filled with little cream eggs during the night. Also, the children's Nan and Grandad had sent over some Easter Bilbies; but you can never get enough chocolate, it seems. Off we trooped to the high field that Mike is turning into a fruit and vegetable garden, hindered only by the fact that Wayne's wellies had disappeared. Had the Bunny borrowed them?

The children from next door were there, with Mike, their Dad; and the farmer (Andrew) plus wife and brother, with his teenager and toddler. The grownups chatted, while the kids scurried about finding eggs. It worked out at about 20 little eggs each, so they even gave us one or two. We all trooped down to Andrews' for a cuppa afterwards. It was very nice just getting together with the neighbours. The sun was out, too, in the morning.

AND, Wayne's boots were in the field, with an egg in them. I suspect it was a child grabbing something to wear trudging up to the trampoline who had left them there. All's well that ends well.

Mevagissey and The Lost Gardens of Heligan

Another very wet week ended in a Saturday where the rain graciously held off for most of the day to allow families to get out and about!

This week we headed south and west to Mevagissey. It was not so picturesque as Polperro or Looe, not having the same steep slopes of houses wending their crooked way down to the river. It still had nice little winding streets and pretty boats. However, it was very much a working fishing village with two harbours. Behind our photographer here is a large wall with a lot of unattractive plastic boating containers. It still had a go at the tourist thingo - here is Jack in front of a 'pirate' shop...

We got here very late, and thus had a pub lunch without walking first. It felt like cheating, really. I had the most wonderful fresh mackerel, just off the boat I think. I had two huge fish, plus spuds and greens. I did not eat for the rest of the day, I can tell you. Wayne had a Ploughman's Lunch which included smoked mackerel, also very tasty he assured me.

After lunch we went off to the 'Lost Gardens of Heligan'. Luckily they were quite easy to find! They are magnificent Victorian working gardens in an old manor grounds. They were 'lost' because they fell into disrepair and disuse after World War One, when most of the staff went off and were killed, and 'The Family' drifted out of the place... it got all overgrown until the last 15 years or so. Anyway, it is now all fixed up and of great historical interest, as well as rather beautiful to walk around.

We were given a map and little plastic compasses to get our bearings, which were great fun. We saw an absolutely huge old magnolia in full bloom, maybe thirty feet tall and really thick, and the ground a pink carpet underneath it. There were lots of rhododendrons, but only one or two flowers out at the moment.

There were walled gardens with espaliered fruit trees, and large vegetable patches. There were home-made green houses and melon patches - even a place to grow pineapples, heated up with manure in surrounding boxes. There was a 'jungle' walk. There was a bird hide, where we saw all sorts of finches and other small birds, with a handy bird book provided. There were the ubiquitous daffodils, of course... (see Annie nobly posing on the wet ground). There were some strange wicker models of our children, exactly their height - how did the gardeners know?!

There were walks in 'wilder' countryside, near ponds, with all the primroses coming out.

Wayne tried taking some close-ups of plants. The primroses look good, and these odd fungi, but I will spare you some of the others!

And here is a picture of another, smaller, magnolia behind Eleanor and me. I may have to come back here, when the weather warms up and more things are in bloom. I wouldn't mind living here, if I had about 25 gardeners...

Lost In Austen At Lerryn

After a week of cloud and drizzle, Sunday dawned bright and clear again. Time for another Pub Walk! We aimed for an early start today, because Wayne had some marking to do this afternoon. (Alas! The year is not all holiday for the troops.)

This week's destination was Lerryn, a village on the other side of the Fowey river to that which we had explored a couple of weeks ago, when our ramble took us along some spectacular coast. This one promised river and fields. Mindful of the week's wet weather, we chose wellies rather than hiking boots as the footwear of choice - very wisely, as it turned out.

The drive was along tiny back lanes. We are never going to see all the delightful nooks and crannies of Cornwall, but we are trying our best! Lerryn was like a toy village. You could imagine rearranging all the block-like buildings to suit yourself, up and down the tidal river. It was very neat and little, bridges and lanes and stepping stones, daffodils and primroses making a brave display. We were very charmed. And, astonishingly, we did not have to pay to park!

Guidebook in hand, we walked through the village, then 'into a field.' Field! It looked like a carefully tended lawn. A spreading chestnut tree adorned one corner. At the top of the rise was a Georgian manor. It must not have changed in 200 years or so. In fact we are...(woo spooky music)...Lost in Austen *2.

"I am most grateful for these nylon jackets," mused Miss Elizabeth Bennet (much older than in "Pride and Prejudice", but still a handsome woman). "The weather is so changeable."

"Why did you not provide one for me!" demanded Lady Catherine, a.k.a. Annie, pulling off her winter coat with disgust. "I have always been in possession of a fine constitution, and have no need of furs when taking the air." She tucked it behind the satchel being carried by Mr. D... (er, no, sorry, can't picture it); carried by the second gardener, 'Hay-Wain' Foster.

"Hay, Wain," said Miss Bennet, "is that not a pheasant perched on that hedge?"

"That it be," said Foster, "same as one that flew roight out of bush and startled Master Jack and moiself, just now."

"Hay Wain, you nearly let me slip and spoil my new nankeens," said Jack; then, "I'll race you to that stile," he said to the girls.

Off the party went, seeing no animals at all in the supposed farm-land. The sprouting fields looked like a green coverlet quilted in double rows of brown thread. Wooden paling fences were around the base of the trees, perhaps to protect them from squirrels.

At the stile, the ground was very sloppy. "Miss Eleanor! Your petticoats will be three inches deep in mud!"

"But we've all got gumboots and trousers on, Mum..." (Oh, all right, end of fantasy, we're into the woods now, anyway.)

We followed a path through the wood, noting how it seemed lighter down the hill, where the light reflected from holly leaves. Soon we came upon an old mill (see picture). It was very pretty, except for a sick rabbit that huddled next to a sunny wall. We hurried a distressed Eleanor past it. A nearby bank still had snowdrops in bloom, as well as the daffodils to be seen everywhere at the moment. Here I am pictured near them.



We came out onto a high field, with the sky arching blue overhead. Underfoot it was very muddy. In the next field we saw cows. Eventually we saw the River Fowey, and the spires of St Winnow below us. Church bells started ringing on cue. We walked past the medieval church and graveyard. Here are Jack and Annie near the grave of one Loveday Lane Foster (no relation, we think, but a beautiful name.)

We walked along the beach for a while, then up into Ethy woods. Sometimes we were on a narrow path, sometimes a broad track. Here is a picture of the children at the junction of the River Fohey and the River Lerryn.

Although it was a wood, it has been built in by people for years. There were little drinking troughs and walls and seats that were very old. We went down to the river for the children to have a swing at one stage.

Eventually we came out into Lerryn again. Off to the pub, thinking about a Ploughman's Lunch. However, pubs are a bit classier than that on a Sunday, it seems. So, when Wayne had supped an ale, and I a 'still cider' from a local farm - very nice- we sat down to a pheasant casserole. (That's what happens to all those pheasants stalking over hedges...) The children had lasagne.

Then back again home, where Wayne happily settled in to mark some tests... It was hard to choose which was the more interesting activity, he thought, (I think).

I did the ironing. The children went on the trampoline. The cat killed another rabbit. A busy weekend!

Northern Ireland, day 3

On Saturday, the whole group assembled at the University for a bus tour along the north coast, finishing at the Giant's Causeway. We had the same lovely tour guide, who seems to be a walking encyclopedia of the country. We drove out of Belfast, past a mountain that is supposed to be remniscent of a giant reclining, and the inspiration of "Gulliver's Travels."

It doesn't take long to drive out of Belfast, which, like all British cities it seems, has houses very close together so a largish population is in a relatively small space. We passed Larne, and then got onto the very picturesque coast road. This is literally one or two metres away from the sea. The hills slope sharply towards it. The countryside is very craggy and rough, and the road had to be blasted out 150 years ago or so. Until then, the north of the country was completely isolated, and people tended to take the boat over 12 miles to Scotland, rather than try a trip to more southerly parts of Ireland. The beaches have black and white stones intermixed, basalt and limestone and a bit of chalk. It was lovely. Past the worst of the crags were so-called 'ladder' farms, with fields divided like the steps of a ladder down to the sea. Farmers could have the sheep in the top fields in the summer, and get bits of seaweed from their bits of beach to fertilise their crop.

We stopped at one little coastal village for a cup of coffee and stretch of leg. Here is a picture of Jack near the little harbour. We drove on to another spot which had a perilous rope bridge to a little island. Here is a picture of the family with the Scottish Mull of Kintire in the background.

Eventually we reached the Giant's Causeway. It is a series of pillars of rocks in angular shapes, stretching out into the sea towards the north. Scientists say it is volcanic, but students of Irish folk stories know it was the work of the giant Finn McCool who was building a path towards Scotland but got put off by a larger Scottish giant. I was very proud that Eleanor knew this story well from one of her picture books, and could instruct her inferiorly trained science teacher father in the legend.

Although the day had started out a bit cloudy and drizzly, it was beautiful sunshine at our destination. We actually enjoyed an ice cream at the tourist shop. (A nice honeycomb one was the local specialty.) We took the overland route back to Belfast, which was quicker, if not so spectacular.

Well, our day had not finished yet. A Ceili was arranged for our last night; dinner and dancing. It was to be at Malone House, a grand old manorial building. Several of us suffered some embarrassment, as a couple of Aussies had procured some leprechaun hats and beards, and we were afraid of being beaten up at the University bus stop on a busy Saturday night. Thankfully, we were unmolested.





Malone House was beautiful, and silver service was laid on. The children were now all friendly, so we quickly stuck them all on one table, the better to enjoy adult company. (Some childless Americans quickly snaffled the bottles of wine laid out on this same table before we parents were aware of it. We will never forgive them.)
It was a lovely meal. Then there was the Irish dancing, which was done with enthusiasm, if not expertise. Luckily it was guided set-dancing, rather than the 'River Dance' sort; so the locals were spared some leaping about of the 'Kath and Kim' variety which I think we were all gearing up for, lubricated by wine and Guiness. I embarrassed Annie by making her dance with a teenage boy... then she astonished me by doing a whole polka with one of the leprechauns.





We were all up until after midnight! It was a bit of a struggle getting the girls up to catch the plane the next morning. BUT, we made it back. Cornwall looked positively tropical after our trip north, and Spring is well on the way.