A few years ago John bought me these wonderful, leather-bound Penguin editions. I had read all but one of them and those six books are among the best and most enjoyable books I have ever read. So I thought it was time to take on the one volume that I hadn’t read, The Big Sleep by Raymond Chandler. Not being able to bring myself to subject one of these beautiful editions to my less than delicate hands, I went to the public library and found a beat up old paperback edition to read.

I knew even before I started that The Big Sleep wasn’t going to be my cup of tea. But, since so many you love the book and think that Chandler is a master at what he does, I at least thought that I could appreciate it for what it is. I was wrong. By page 94 (of 231) I was so bored (and annoyed) by all the sexy dames and the corny, clichéd, Cagney-like dialogue I couldn’t imagine enduring one more minute of it.

What is worse is that my urge to check this one off my list was so strong that I kept forcing myself to plod through it at the expense of other more interesting books. So to save myself the boredom and free myself to read other things I put the library reading copy into the DNF (did not finish) pile. Meanwhile, I put the beautiful Bill Amberg edition back on my shelf next to the others. But in my mind I put the title in a new DNR (do not resuscitate) pile. I won’t be giving this one a second go. I will never be in the mood for it.

Another book joining the DNF/DNR piles
After a run of good books recently, I was a little nonplussed that The Big Sleep wasn’t the only book that was slowing my reading pace.  Although I found bits of Mrs. Miniver by Jan Struther charming, it is more of a collection of vignettes than it is a novel and it just wasn’t enough to keep my attention.

When the Forward is more like a Forewarned
I normally don’t normally read forwards or prefaces and for good reason. As much as I tried, I could not get into Margaret Bonham’s collection of short stories, The Casino. I fear it was the preface that did me in. It was written by Bonham’s daughter Cary Bazalgette and told how Bonham was an unfeeling, neglectful, abandoning, selfish, self-involved mother. Normally this wouldn’t have much of an effect on me but when slivers of the truth emerged in the stories I had a hard time having any sympathy for the some of the characters. I may return to this one at some point but no time soon.

Lucky me I finally finished Lucky Jim
Another “this should have been my thing” kind of book but my overall impression was ambivalence at best. I had even read half of this book many months ago and lost interest. When I picked it back up, I decided to start over. I enjoyed it slightly more, but not enough to care. Frankly, I think David Lodge does the comic academic novel better than Kingsley Amis, yet Lucky Jim is on the Modern Libraries list of the top 100 novels of the 20th century. Hmph.

Virago saves the day
I guess I could characterize this all as a reading slump. After all the Struthers and the Bonham should  have been right up my alley. But it didn’t feel like a classic slump–the urge to read was too strong. The Janet Frame book I mentioned last week was part of pile of stuff that wasn’t doing it for me. But I also have two or three started that just aren’t going anywhere for me. After The Ladies of Lyndon, I had a strong urge for another Virago but was resisting picking up another one because I wanted to do a bit of clean-up by finishing all of the books in progress. When I realized the effect this was having on my urge to read I tossed them all aside in favor of The Tortoise and the Hare by Elizabeth Jenkins which I am loving. Thanks Virago.

When good trees go bad
Last Friday we had quite the storm in our neighborhood. I say our neighbhorhood because it really was a bit of a microburst that didn’t seem to have much effect on adjacent neighborhoods or the rest of the city. Three doors down and across the street from us, one giant oak decided to attack two houses. Thakfully the big storm that hit the DC area this weekend didn’t do too much in our neck of the woods.

Gratutitous Photos
More of John’s garden…

That’s Lucy in the background

Reading T. Tembarom

Mapp and Lucia on Facebook
Until this week I didn’t realize there was a Mapp and Lucia group on Facebook. And the folks there are so friendly. With about 600 members it is a cozy little subculture chatting about all things Benson. I certainly haven’t read all of Benson’s work but my recent return to Rye has re-kindled my interest and now I have a hankering to start the Lucia series from the beginning.

Frances Hodgson Burnett flirts with Wilkie Collins
I bought Frances Hodgson Burnett’s novel T. Tembarom without knowing a thing about it. I wasn’t sure what to make of the title but I love FHB in general so I thought it was a good gamble. Turns out it was a pretty good gamble. Orphaned at an early age, T. Tembarom is slowly making his way in the world, working his way from a newsie to a beat reporter in Harlem. That is until he finds out that he is the only surviving heir of a great estate in Lancashire. Next thing you know it he is on a boat headed to England and his future–and not knowing a thing about either. But then the fantastic rags to riches story turns into a bit of a Wilkie Collins type mystery. You can kind of see it coming for miles but that doesn’t mean its not interesting. I definitely think FHB could have used a more judicious editor. There were some passages that could have used some cutting and the novel would not have suffered one bit. Still, for FHB fans, this one is worth a read. And the good news is, it is available on Project Gutenburg so this probably out of print 1913 bestseller need not elude you.

Janet Frame may not get a second chance
There are two things I know about Janet Frame, the 1990 bio-pic Angel at My Table and the first 40 pages of her novel Daughter Buffalo. And I must say I don’t really like either of them. I haven’t seen the film since it first came out, but all I remember is a very depressed person and electric shock therapy. Until now, I had never read any of her novels. I don’t know if Daughter Buffalo is representative of her work, but it was a rather depressing treatise on death. That, in itself, would not necessarily make dislike a book, but when the main character, a medical student, practices operating on his pet dog–something that is eventually fatal to the dog–I drew the line and tossed the book aside. And unless someone can recommend a Frame novel that doesn’t require mood altering chemicals, I don’t think I am going to try anymore of her work.

The Ladies of Lyndon is unputdownable
Although I regularly enjoy most of what I read, it is always nice to come across a book that makes one want to forget about everything else and just read. T. Tembarom did that, but I was really entranced by Margaret Kennedy’s The Ladies of Lyndon. Ostensibly about the various wives, sisters, mothers who kind of orbit around an Edwardian estate (Lyndon), I think the real breakout star is the protagonist’s brother-in-law James a wannabe artist who is portrayed as developmentally disabled. In reality he turns out to be a real artist whose main problem is that he speaks his mind regardless of consequences. Such an enjoyable book.

Gratuitous Photos
After all of those photos of English gardens, I thought I would share some of John’s garden. And couldn’t resist throwing in a few of Lucy.

  
[For a little music while you read, scroll to the bottom of this post and play the video.]

As we awoke to rainy looking skies on day 8, it seemed appropriate to leave behind our sheep-filled rural idyll for the teeming metropolis of Oxford. By chance, our chosen driving route passed right by Blenheim Palace. I had been there once before on a lovely summer day in 1992, but John had never been. While I knew the grounds were beautiful, I also knew that the gardens were a bit on the formal side to be terribly ingteresting to John. But then I remembered the long library in the palace. Not only is it a magnificent library full of books and comfy furniture, but it also has a pipe organ. Like a dream for me. So, we turned in and had a look.

Books and a pipe organ. Sigh.

Despite its enormous size, this is actually a very cozy library.

I hadn’t realized that John had had a childhood fascination for Winston Churchill so the visit turned out to be quite interesting for him. And the library, although it contains lots of very fancy looking volumes had a few modern books here and there that gave one the impression that people actually use this library–that it isn’t just an historic artifact to look at. A comforting feeling for bibliophiles.

We arrived in Oxford just after 1:00 pm. After a fairly annoying parking situation which put my OCD into overdrive (would the car have a clamp on it the next morning when we needed to get to the airport?!), we walked around dodging tourists and townies for about an hour before I went back to the hotel to meet up with the inimitable Simon. Thankfully one of the concierges on duty was able to put my mind at ease about the car before I went into The Drawing Room at the Randolph Hotel for tea.

Before I say anything about meeting up with Simon, let me just say a word about the tea itself. The Drawing Room was a pleasant space with comfy chairs that weren’t too close together so we never felt jostled by people at other tables. This might have been the best thing about the tea because (in my humble opinion) the scones sure weren’t up to snuff. Although I had a piece of Victoria Sponge earlier that day at Blenheim, which might have put a damper on my hunger, I had also consumed seven scones at four different places in the preceding seven days, so I had good scone data for comparison for making a comparison, and the Randolph did not fare very well. If you want a comfy, elegant setting for tea while you are in Oxford, go to the Randolph. It you want a good scone, go somewhere else.

He will correct me if I am wrong, but I believe this is the way Simon assembles his scones. No, wait, I take that back I think he does one side jam first and one side clotted cream first. I, on the other had tend to do clotted cream first and then jam. Although I didn’t do much of either at the Randolph.

But in the end I didn’t mind the dry scone because that was secondary to the engaging conversation with Simon. We had met once before in 2010 at a much better tea at the British Museum in London, but on that occasion the scones were good, but being in a large group I didn’t have much opportunity to talk much with Simon.

Originally, this meet up in Oxford was to include voracious reader, librarian, swimmer, and soon-to-be Olympic torch bearer Verity. Unfortunately, she had a relative who was not well and made the right choice to spend time with her family. She was there in absentia in the form of a lovely gift that she and Simon gave to me. This wonderful book about the Bodleian Library. I am not sure how they knew I would love it.

And what to say about Simon? I could say a lot, but chatting with people in real life, unless expressly on the record, is an off the record kind of thing. As Simon has noted in his account of the afternoon, we didn’t talk all that much about books. Which is true. Although if we were typical of the population at large, it probably would have been enough book talk for a year. In some ways not talking about books was much more fun because we discussed things that wouldn’t necessarily come up on either of our blogs, and also because it proves that our shared love of books is not the only thing there is to talk about. I might have put my foot in it once or twice. It is always hard for me to tell in the UK. If I did, Simon must have forgiven me by now. For those who haven’t met him, Simon is as funny and charming (and quirky) as his blog.

We certainly could have talked longer than the mere 2.5 hours we were together. But I had to take off to meet John so we could go to Evensong at New College Chapel. Since I hate feeling like a tourist, and I love going to a good choral Evensong, I thought it would be a good opportunity to experience one of Oxford’s colleges without just being a gawker. I also knew that they were doing Zadok the Priest that day, no doubt in honor of the impending Jubilee. Zadok was written by Handel and has been performed at every British coronation since it was written.  For those of you who know it, I don’t have to say much, but for those who don’t have a gander at the YouTube clip. It is a very different setting than New College (the wedding of a Danish prince in 2004) but it is a pretty darn good performance of the piece. Plus, it is with full orchestra which makes the opening so much more dramatic–starting out quite softly and building to a lovely great crescendo as the choir makes its entrance. The organ-only version that they did at New College lacked subtly in the organ intro, but the opening line of the choir left with a smile on my face and watery eyes.

And so ends our UK trip.  We had a rainy drive to Heathrow on day 9 and were very happy to get home to our darling pup Lucy.

Rather than quench our thirst for British travel, it has only re-whetted our appetite. No doubt there will be many future trips.

 
After our morning jaunt to the Slaughters we headed back to our B&B so we could take advantage of our final day in the Cotswolds by walking into Winchcombe via the Cotswold Way. It wasn’t so much to see Winchcombe, which, while pretty, is not one of the idyllic villages that made the Cotswolds famous. The main idea was to just soak in the countryside one last time, and what better way to do it then to go for a ramble through the countryside?

When all was said and done, it took about an hour and twenty minutes each way. While we were in Winchcombe we visited Sudley Castle, but, not being run by the National Trust, it was such a lame, lowest common denominator kind of place that I wouldn’t recommend it.

Everything reminds us of Lucy.

About 15 minutes walk from the B&B is Hailes Abbey

I’d love to know the construction chronology of this arch. It looks like an older rounded arch was supplanted by one or two more gothic ones over the centuries, but how in the world did that one piece of the rounded arch end up in that position?

These cows decided to stand on the only bridge over the water.

Like a group of street toughs on a deserted street at night, these cattle were a little daunting.

Cattle panic subsided long enough to snap this photo.

He wasn’t smiling so much as calling for his mom, who eventually came over to claim him.

The sky varied greatly during the walk, but no rain fell.

Winchcombe

I’m realizing you all may need a break from the travel photos. (Although for you who aren’t bored, I did add some great pictures of the Cotswolds today.) I promise there is only maybe about two more days to go. So I thought I would have a little Bits and Bobs interlude.

The Books

My reading has been very slow so far this year. Here we are only about 20 days from the halfway point and I am only at 25 books. No doubt I will make up some time, but all the company we have had this spring has really kept me from reading. And even on our recent trip, I didn’t get much reading done. Normally garden visits means that John goes around taking pictures while I sit in a pretty spot on a bench reading a book. But this time the gardens were all so beautiful and interesting, that I found myself almost as interested as John.

I did, however, recently finish The Flame Trees of Thika, Elspeth Huxley’s novel/memoir of her childhood in Kenya before the outbreak of WWI. It really was a fantastic book and I think there were lots of sensitive, insightful observations about Kenya especially given the British colonial context in which Huxley lived.

I also finished A Game of Hide and Seek, my first Elizbeth Taylor novel. There was one patch where I didn’t think too much of it, but overall I really enjoyed it. I think I may even want to read it a second time.

The Giveaway
On our recent trip to the UK we were witness to Jubliee mania (we returned to the US the day of the flotilla) and all of the wonderful Jubilee memorabilia. There certainly was some tat, but I was surprised overall at the quality of the souvenirs. I think marketers have finally realized that good design can accompany jingoistic fervor. I could have really gone crazy buying stuff, but there was so much of it I think I felt a little overwhelmed by the choices and so kind of stayed away from most of it.

However, I do have two of these tea towels to giveaway by random drawing. Drawing is only open to those living OUTSIDE the UK. You people have had enough.  Just leave me a comment and let me know you want one.

Food Consumed in 8 Days in the UK

This list is not inclusive of everyting I ate, merely a recap of the my quest to eat some UK favorites, or in some cases try things for the first time.

Fruit scones with jam and clotted cream: 8

Slices of Victoria Sponge: 6
It was really two slices and then an entire cake I purshased from M&S.

Full English Breakfasts: 4

Slices of Melrose and Morgan Jubilee Battenberg: 2
Thanks Miranda and Donna

Fish pies: 2

Mini pork pies: 1

Cornish pasties: 1

Black pudding: 1

Appletiser: 1
Mmmm. Didn’t Eddy make fun of Saffy for drinking Appletiser instead of alcohol

Scotch eggs: 0
I can’t believe I missed out this time. I always seemed to be full when I saw them.

Something I shouldn’t have to miss
I saw this picture of Emma Thompson as the Queen in an advert before we left England. Some dramatization of the night in the 1980s that Michael Fagan made his way into the Queen’s bedroom. I think it aired last week. I wonder if it will make it across the pond?

 
When I was in junior high school, I used to check out all kinds of travel books on England from the library. I would pour over all the amazing photos of grand houses and little country villages, thinking that surely such beautiful places couldn’t really exist. (I think the U.S. has lots of natural beauty, but our additions to the landscape in most places have made it uglier not prettier.) The pictures that most captured my attention were of the Cotswolds. Chipping this and Chipping that, and of course, the Slaughters.  Since those early days fantasizing over the unbelievably picturesque Cotswolds I have been to the UK many times. But until this last trip, I had never truly gotten out into the countryside (just country towns with train stations). And, though I had been to the nearby cathedral towns of Gloucester and Worcester I had never gotten to the Cotswolds.

It is a little hard to describe what makes the setting so damned pretty. Certainly it is the color of the warm honey stone most of the buildings are made of. And the scale of the buildings and their juxtaposition with the idyllic landscape. They all just seem cozy. The reality of the situation is that there are cars and tour buses in the Cotswolds. And the towns seem to be playgrounds for the rich, which takes away some of the Miss Buncle quality. But overall these little Cotswolds towns are absolutely charming and did not disappoint in the slightest.

We didn’t get to as many towns as I thought we would have, but the slower pace was better for enjoying them anyway, so no loss there. And we didn’t take as many pictures as we would have liked. It was misting from time to time and we didn’t want to get the camera wet. But I think the pictures below of the Slaughters and a few of Chipping Campden will give you a feel for the magic of the Cotswolds.

The traffic sign may take away from this picture of Upper Slaughter, but its warning that the road ahead has a ford and is not suitable for cars helps explain one of the photos below.

Upper Slaughter

Upper Slaughter

Upper Slaughter

Upper Slaughter

I mean, really. Are you serious? Can one place really be this pretty? And do people actually get to live here? Notice the river branching off in the foreground. That is the aforementioned ford where the road goes right through the river. Upper Slaughter

Upper Slaughter

A slightly better picture of the ford in Upper Slaughter.

Hello

On the trail from Upper to Lower Slaughter

Checking my flank for rogue sheep.

Someone posted a picture of this commemorative stile, or one very much like it, a while back on their blog. Was it Rachel?

Entering Lower Slaughter

Lower Slaughter

Lower Slaughter

Lower Slaughter

On our way back to Upper Slaughter

Back in Upper Slaughter

Chipping Campden

Almshouses in Chipping Campden

This is the kind of cozy view, everything all close together and pretty, that I remember from my youth. Chipping Campden

Day 6 was more than just Hidcote, but there were so many garden pictures that I will have to post about the rest of Day 6 on another day.

At the end of this post there is bit of a photo contest. John and I disagree about the last two photos. He took both of them, but I think one is more interesting/beautiful than the other, he has the opposite view. I want you all to vote and let me know which one you like better. One may be technically better than the other, but all I am looking for is which one you like better, regardless of photographic merit.

I wish I didn’t have this look on my face, but the lighting is so good at showing the topiary that I couldn’t resist poting it.

And now the photo contest

Do you like this one “A” better or…

Do you like this one “B” better?

 
When we went out to our car to head off on a long scenic drive from Kent to the Cotswolds, we noticed that one of our tires looked a bit low. As we headed out of town we looked for a service station to put some air in. Well, we really didn’t come across a station as we left town and and quite oddly we didn’t find one the whole way to Hastings. But by that time, we realized that our tire was more than a little low on air. We had a full-fledged flat tire. With nowhere to pull over we finally managed to make our way to a residential street so we could call for help. Thankfully John needed his work Blackberry to work while were in the UK so we had a working mobile phone. We called the emergency number for Hertz who then dispatched an Automobile Association van that showed up in about 45 minutes and changed the flat tire. But the very nice AA technician also told us that the tire was in shameful condition and that two of the other tires were in a similarly bad shape and shouldn’t be driven on. So we got back on the phone with Hertz who directed us to call ATS, one of their service providers to look at the other two tires.

We made our way to the nearest ATS which was only 4 miles away. The very helpful people there fixed up the other two tires. Their report indicated that 3 of the 4 tires on the car were in illegal condition and would not pass an inspection. In the UK, the tire tread has to be at least 1.6 mm deep to be legal for driving. On three of our tires the tread was a whopping 0.0 mm. I even overheard one of the techs say that some of the treads were less than zero. Essentially Hertz had us hurtling down the motorway in a deathtrap.

When all was said and done the whole process put us about six hours behind schedule. Gone was our chance to see Wherwell, a pretty village along the river Test. Gone was our reservation for lunch at Marco-Pierre White’s Yew Tree Inn. But in the end we made our way our wonderful B&B just outside of Winchcomb in Gloucesterhire. With the long English evening, a bit of Victoria Sponge I had picked up at M&S, and nothing but the sound of bleating sheep we couldn’t have been happier.

(And by the way, when we returned the car to Hertz, the first thing the agent said was that they wouldn’t charge us for the new tires! Then she told me that since the car was fixed on Wednesday, they would only charge me for the rental from Wednesday to Sunday. I guess she thought that we should pay for every day that Hertz wasn’t actively putting our lives in danger. When I very firmly, but politely told her “No, I won’t pay anything for this rental.” She seemed perplexed. I went on to explain the gravity of Hertz’s negligence in giving us a car that was illegal and not roadworthy. Finally, after explaining the UK law to them and uttering a few words about endangering our lives in this illegal vehicle she finally went off to speak to a manager before agreeing not to charge us anything.  Now I just need to get our money back from the prepaid portion that was paid to AutoEurope.)

[6/21/12 UPDATE: The Area Operations Manager from Hertz tracked me down to apologize for my experience. He not only noted that steps were being taken to ensure the same kind of thing didn’t happen again but he also acknowledged that his team’s customer serviced approach could use some improvement. His simple acknowledgement of the challenges we faced goes a long way to restore my confidence in Hertz.]

Our B&B is the house on the left in the clump of trees.

Believe it or not, these narrow roads don’t scare me half as much as the narrow ones with the lines down the middle. At least on these everyone admits it is narrow and pulls over as necessary.

Our home for three nights. With only the sound of sheep to lull us to sleep.

Every B&B should have a Saxon church next door.

As you have already seen, our penguin-filled hotel in Rye was absolutely charming. I could have easily plopped down on the bed and taken a nice long nap. But the charm of Rye beckoned. We were lucky enough to be in town on one of the two days that Lamb House–the home of Henry James, E.F. Benson, and other literary lions (and lionesses)–was open. There isn’t a whole lot to see at Lamb House but with our National Trust membership, we didn’t have to pay so I wasn’t too disappointed.

I had been to Rye once before in 1992 when I was working in London. The town was even more charming then I remembered. Rye is almost coastal, and one can glimpse the sea across the estuary and marshes. The oldest part of town centers on the 1100 year old church and the compactness of the area, the cobbled streets, the way small lanes meet up with other small lanes, and the remnants of an ancient castle really make the place feel like a wonderful film set. It is a little hard to explain the feeling this gives one, but it really allowed me to step back in time. I loved seeing it again.

For those who don’t know, the great Mapp and Lucia by E.F. Benson was set in Rye (aka the fictional town of Tilling). If you haven’t seen the 1980s TV adaptation of that book you really must. It was filmed in Rye to great effect and had an amazing cast that included Prunella Scales, Geraldine McEwan, and Nigel Hawthorne. Seriously, anyone who is interested in my blog will love this series.

One of the great things about staying in the heart of an old place like this is relishing your insider status, and the quiet, that descends when the tour buses leave for the day. After dinner we had one final stroll through the quiet streets around the church. It was just lovely.

I found the juxtaposition of this marriage equality sign on this ancient building pretty touching. Marriage equality seemed like an alien concept 10 years ago let alone 400 years ago.

Lamb House. Home of Henry James and E.F. Benson. Just not at the same time.

A James manuscript.

That’s Lamb House right at the end of that little lane.

Remember when Georgie in Mapp and Lucia paints the crooked chimney but is worried that people might think he wasn’t very skilled and couldn’t do a straight chimney, so he exaggerates the crookedness of it? Well, this has to be the chimney in question. How cool that no one has fixed it.

Me pretending this is my car in front of the house that was used as Mrs. Mapp’s (and Lucia’s rental) in the aforementioned wonderful TV adaptation of Mapp and Lucia.

This is me in 2012.

This is me twenty years ago in 1992.

This again is the Mapp/Lucia house this time in 2012.

And here it is again in 1992.

Me in 2012.

Me in 1992

 
After handing over control of the car to John, I began to enjoy myself in earnest. After a rather short and pretty drive from Sissinhurst we found overselves on the threshhold of Great Dixter, the amazing house and garden of garden god Christopher Lloyd. As you will see in the pictures the gardens are absolutely magical. As much as I enjoyed Sissinghurst the day before, there was something especially magical about Great Dixter. The house looked amazingly cozy as well, but it didn’t open until 2:00 and we wanted to be on our way to Rye by then.