Tally Ho, To England!
Welcome once again to the Theatre of Excessive Hyperbole, wherein the serious, the absurd, and the absurdly serious are mixed together for results unimaginable. But be forewarned! These tales are not for the faint of heart. Dread deeds, vegetarianism and mathematics most malignant occupy these pages before you. Enter at your own peril!
katieledge: "Let's go to England!"
chaosvizier: "...Okay!"
Conversation simplified for brevity.
Friday, 14 April: fizrep is kind enough to give me a lift to that modern haven of aerial transportation known as Newark Liberty International Airport. But first he takes me to the laziest sandwich joint in history, in honor of dead Jesus. You place an order, and then you get a bunch of slices of bread, a pot of mustard and other fixings, and meat, and you have to put it together yourself. Oh, and the serve yourself pickle buffet. ULTIMATE LAZY! Their only defense is the quantity of meat involved. It was a plethora of pastrami that was laid before us. Plethora is not the right word here, but believe me, it's appropriate. If ever there was a right time to wear this shirt:
...it was at this place.
Anyway, onward. Airport. Tickets. Meet up with katieledge. Plane. Transatlantic. In a fine sense of foreshadowing, the weather in Newark that day was gray and rainy. Go figure.
Saturday, 15 April: Plane lands. Jetlag's heavy hand smites us with the great Bitchslap Of Sleepy and we pass out. Saturday was a wash. A gray wash. Wait, I should say GREY, because we're in England now.
Sunday, 16 April: Though the weather is still grey with intermittent white, we recover from travel's senses-addling effects and get our groove back. The first in our long list of castles and cathedrals is Leeds Castle.
I should interject here with a key disclaimer: I love castles and cathedrals. There's something about the architecture and age and design that goes into these things that just strikes the right chord within me. Knowing that these buildings have, in many cases, been in existence for going on a full millennium is an awe-inspiring thing. Sure, I love America and NYC and other cities, but let's face it: The entire history of this nation can be summed up in under 600 years. So, in summary, every time I saw a castle or cathedral, I felt compelled to check it out. This compulsion later drove katieledge to drink. Well, that's what she said. I'm skeptical.
Right. Back to our trip. Leeds Castle, for reference, is nowhere near Leeds, England, which we will get to later in this tale. The castle was a residential palace (not a military fortification, which we'll see later), and for a "home" it was pretty damn huge and impressive. katieledge, fanboyextream, and I explored the grounds quite thoroughly, starting with the duckery.
I call shenanigans on the word "duckery" as a place where ducks reside. Complete shenanigans.
In addition to ducks, there were peacocks. (Note that a place where peacocks reside is not called a "peacockery".) For some reason, I never thought peacocks to be a very European kind of animal, but who am I to judge a species on its habitatery?
After a brief discussion on the improper names for a female peacock, we noticed a curious thing. Peacocks (male) are all pretty from the front:
From the back, not so much:
Overhead, a bit worrisome:
Anyway, assorted avian animals aside, the castle grounds included one (1) castle, dating back to 857 AD,
one (1) hedge maze,
and one (1) subterranean grotto.
Elsewhere on the grounds were more aviaries, some trained falcons and owls that did not eat children despite my highest hopes, and a dog collar museum. I leave the last to your imagination.
With several hours of hiking out of the way, we concluded the day in proper British fashion: pub crawl. Behold the power of good Belgian beer. Also behold the fine influence of New York's no smoking laws. They make pubs tasty. Our taxi driver wove a tale of sorrow and woe, saying that holiday break was bad for his business and how his wife would beat him if he came home with poor earnings, but we weren't fooled by his ploy for greater gratuities. I would have tipped him in US coin, but I was too buzzed to think.
Oh, and Happy Easter. The healing power of chocolate (proper British chocolate, which I must admit is superior to American chocolate) washed over us and sent us to blissful slumber.
Tune in next time when our grand adventure continues: Hail the great Saint, Thomas Becket, murdered in church! Hail Roger of Riper, strangely not killed in church! And hail the power of Gü!
katieledge: "Let's go to England!"
chaosvizier: "...Okay!"
Conversation simplified for brevity.
Friday, 14 April: fizrep is kind enough to give me a lift to that modern haven of aerial transportation known as Newark Liberty International Airport. But first he takes me to the laziest sandwich joint in history, in honor of dead Jesus. You place an order, and then you get a bunch of slices of bread, a pot of mustard and other fixings, and meat, and you have to put it together yourself. Oh, and the serve yourself pickle buffet. ULTIMATE LAZY! Their only defense is the quantity of meat involved. It was a plethora of pastrami that was laid before us. Plethora is not the right word here, but believe me, it's appropriate. If ever there was a right time to wear this shirt:
...it was at this place.
Anyway, onward. Airport. Tickets. Meet up with katieledge. Plane. Transatlantic. In a fine sense of foreshadowing, the weather in Newark that day was gray and rainy. Go figure.
Saturday, 15 April: Plane lands. Jetlag's heavy hand smites us with the great Bitchslap Of Sleepy and we pass out. Saturday was a wash. A gray wash. Wait, I should say GREY, because we're in England now.
Sunday, 16 April: Though the weather is still grey with intermittent white, we recover from travel's senses-addling effects and get our groove back. The first in our long list of castles and cathedrals is Leeds Castle.
I should interject here with a key disclaimer: I love castles and cathedrals. There's something about the architecture and age and design that goes into these things that just strikes the right chord within me. Knowing that these buildings have, in many cases, been in existence for going on a full millennium is an awe-inspiring thing. Sure, I love America and NYC and other cities, but let's face it: The entire history of this nation can be summed up in under 600 years. So, in summary, every time I saw a castle or cathedral, I felt compelled to check it out. This compulsion later drove katieledge to drink. Well, that's what she said. I'm skeptical.
Right. Back to our trip. Leeds Castle, for reference, is nowhere near Leeds, England, which we will get to later in this tale. The castle was a residential palace (not a military fortification, which we'll see later), and for a "home" it was pretty damn huge and impressive. katieledge, fanboyextream, and I explored the grounds quite thoroughly, starting with the duckery.
I call shenanigans on the word "duckery" as a place where ducks reside. Complete shenanigans.
In addition to ducks, there were peacocks. (Note that a place where peacocks reside is not called a "peacockery".) For some reason, I never thought peacocks to be a very European kind of animal, but who am I to judge a species on its habitatery?
After a brief discussion on the improper names for a female peacock, we noticed a curious thing. Peacocks (male) are all pretty from the front:
From the back, not so much:
Overhead, a bit worrisome:
Anyway, assorted avian animals aside, the castle grounds included one (1) castle, dating back to 857 AD,
one (1) hedge maze,
and one (1) subterranean grotto.
Elsewhere on the grounds were more aviaries, some trained falcons and owls that did not eat children despite my highest hopes, and a dog collar museum. I leave the last to your imagination.
With several hours of hiking out of the way, we concluded the day in proper British fashion: pub crawl. Behold the power of good Belgian beer. Also behold the fine influence of New York's no smoking laws. They make pubs tasty. Our taxi driver wove a tale of sorrow and woe, saying that holiday break was bad for his business and how his wife would beat him if he came home with poor earnings, but we weren't fooled by his ploy for greater gratuities. I would have tipped him in US coin, but I was too buzzed to think.
Oh, and Happy Easter. The healing power of chocolate (proper British chocolate, which I must admit is superior to American chocolate) washed over us and sent us to blissful slumber.
Tune in next time when our grand adventure continues: Hail the great Saint, Thomas Becket, murdered in church! Hail Roger of Riper, strangely not killed in church! And hail the power of Gü!