On Me Holidays
‘Tis 5 in the morning in my time zone. I’m in England on holidays for a family wedding.
In an hour people will be surfacing and more work will be done before we all get dolled up for the wedding today.
It’s in big marquee outside the door here. You have to like a tent with a bar.
It’s an Irish-English wedding and last night we all felt sorry for the English Best Man - a loner in his own country was swamped by the family gan Fhéile from Ireland. The groom doesn’t count because he’s about to be one of us.
But anyway, here’s what I wrote for you lovely people yesterday on a train. Because living in Kansas City, one of the things I missed most about Ireland - was England.
After being in 3 countries in 3 days, once again I have no idea what yesterday means…
Unlike the Ireland I left a couple of hours ago, England has sunshine. I’m on a train heading north from London’s Stansted airport.
It was good to walk on Dublin’s dirty streets this morning, being handed free newspapers and inhaling what the buses put out.
For rush hour the traffic into town was so much easier than I remember it from years back. And in town it seemed as if more cyclists took more chances than I ever have.
England is so lucky it hasn’t had its placenames messed up the way it messed up ours. Audley End. 40 bicycles in the bike racks. Their owners probably working in London, an hour or so away, but they could be in Birmingham also. Or Cambridge I suppose.
I probably should have went to bed last night. It’s one thing to soldier on to Irish time and then going to bed, but soldiering through another 24 hours made little sense. I think I got a 2nd wind. And there was tea in the pot. I can always sleep on the plane.
Dublin airport charges for wireless access. 3 euro for 30 minutes. This compares with Chiacgo O’Hare’s wifi charging $6.50 or so for 24 hours. A full day pass in Dublin was 15 Euro, which I’m guessing is about $25. Kansas City International was free, though I didn’t have any time to even open my bag there.
An uncle an two aunts. We’re on the same flight. Now how have we managed 3 months of organising and not realised this before? It makes the wedding start 2 days early. I can always sleep on the train.
England’s fields are a lot more ordered than ours. Tidier. And browner. Much closer to Missouri than the fields of Ireland. Better not sleep or I’ll wake up in Birmingham.
Hungry. Should’ve eaten at the airport. Or the other airport. A bowl of Special K only goes so far. Yesterday’s fry went much further. And so did the brown bread. On the train I hear an Irish accent.
A rugby game and two soccer games warming up in the sun. Teenagers. The sidelines of all 3 games are not populated with parents. And now going past Cambridge University Press. It’s 2 o’clock. A bicycle boards the train. Not by itself you understand; even England isn’t that civilised.
Wind turbines. Three. One moving slowly; two motionless. The land is flatter now. Less Missouri and more Kansas. I was sure I saw a mosquito in Dublin airport this morning. And one yesterday in the baggage hall. Pehaps they’re my own personal escorts.
March. England does have great names for towns. 17 wind turbines. Haystacks like apartment blocks. The Gatwick Express seems abandoned. And lost. It’s a long way from gatwick airport. And the first train I’ve seen covered in graffiti on this trip.
More sun. Blasting everywhere. 8 wind turbines. They seem huge. Time to change trains. A station bigger than any in Ireland but yet so laid back. A chicken tikka ciabatta. Would you like a coffee or a smoothie? What happened to tea?
Nicer seats. Better not sleep though or I’ll end up in Nottingham, Sheffield, Manchester or Liverpool. It’d be nice to do that journey. Awake that is.
A sports car picks me up. A tiny sports car. I am doing the luge through England’s countryside. Coming from the grids of Kansas and Missouri it’s quite a shock to the system to be going around this many bends. Much tidier roads than Ireland’s though. And marked much more clearly.
Belvoir Castle. Pronounced “beaver”. Impressive on the hill among the trees. Under a bridge 20 swans are being thrown bread. Footpaths through the countryside are paved and signposted. The English have always been much better at that than us.
Sausage and Mash for dinner. Sausage heaven. And sweet potato. Nice to have sweet potato not smothered in sugar or caramel or some other gunk. And ordinary potato not swimming in butter and cheese. And milk in bottles. But I can’t get the top to stay on. Is it that long since I’ve held a foil top?
I keep saying pants instead of trousers. I must watch that. The honeymoon of my return will end very soon and people will be ruthless. So far nobody has said I have an American accent. Apart from that nun at the railway station before I killed her.
I have a lemonade. 3 countries in 3 days and the word lemonade means a different thing in each of them. In the US it’s a flat refeshing lemon-based drink. In Ireland it’s a reddish fizzy drink though it’s also the general term applied to all soft drinks similar to soda or pop. And here in England it’s a clear fizzy drink, like Sprite.
With a couple of hours before getting trains and buses back south to a farm with a large tent, I have no clothes for the wedding. That fit.
In the birthplace of Sir Isaac Newton what else would you do but go shopping in the Isaac Newton Shopping Centre?
A northern Irish accent walks past me on the street. No obvious monuments to Magaret Thatcher, though I do see a sign for Memorial Consultants.
Only able to remember what size my waist was, but clued in enough to be aware I have no idea what America has done to it since (albeit aided and abetted by myself), I ask the sales assistant for a tape measure and immediately wish Britain hadn’t won its fight to keep Imperial Measurements.
It’s what? Oh pants!
Eolaí gan Fhéile:
Great update. Nice to hear you’re doing well.
I’ve been going over the Internet looking for first-hand accounts of Ireland, and just wanted to say that I love your blog, and will certainly be back for more. Your writing has created in just a few sentences vivid pictures for someone who’s never seen England or Ireland.
Hello Eolaí, sounds like your discovering new countries compare to what we remember back when we were kids, i can smell the Brown Bread, say allo to Pete Waterman(Bhave) for us and the Sheilas! cause your going to hear alot about them start ing this monday on the radio……cheers Colm
Happy landings Eolai.
Thank you all very much.
When I get my camera going again (rechargeable batteries that need recharging but not in my American recharger) I’ll add regular pictures to whatever it is that I’m attempting to depict.
Need to unpack first.