Category Archives: England

Lead You Through the Streets of London

While one man wheels his belongings along a London street…man with bags on trolley…two hundred metres, an adulthood of dedication and lucky rolls of the dice away, another man takes a call on the latest iPhone from a statue of Newton.man and Newton statue                                 —————————–

The statue of Newton is in the courtyard of the British Library in London. Use your phone’s QR Reader to activate the call which provides information about Newton.

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ASK NOT FOR WHOM THE CONDUCTOR DANCES

Keep an eye open for your bliss. You can stumble upon it or you can create it. And for all your planning, it may still be a surprise. Continue reading

Anchovy Ahoy! Part One

Once upon a time an anchovy swam in the vast ocean with all its friends.

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They flittered and darted, avoiding the jaws of sharks and salmon. Unbeknown to them, a far more sinister danger lurked. A danger so dastardly, planned and executed with such cunning, that there was no escape.  As they innocently played Pin the Leg on the Octopus a net was ploughing towards them. The anchovy was scooped up, suffocated, gutted, salted and laid out in a small rectangular tin with a number of its friends.

Weeks passed in oily darkness. One day, the lid was peeled back. The anchovy was thrown onto a bed of soft green leaves next to a strip of capsicum.

 “I didn’t watch Two Fat Ladies for nothing,” a woman’s voice said.

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Dawn of a New Day, Dawn of My New Country

We dropped 30 degrees the day we arrived in England. Singapore released us at a sultry 29 Celsius. Heathrow was making some effort at spring with 4°C and when we arrived in Warwick at around 10pm, it was one of the colder days of my life at minus one. Meanwhile, my family were sweating it out in an Australian 38 degrees. So, welcome to England, Anne.

But the temperature was not at the forefront of my mind.

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A Gaggle of Locals

The River Ouse…

I appreciate a misnomer as much as the next person and this is a splendid one. This river doesn’t ooze but I am always transported to medieval times when I hear its name, as if it was then a sludgy, slow-moving, reed-filled cesspool limping sore across the pristine Yorkshire countryside.

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Out of the Mouths of Aliens

These bobble-headed fellows at Manchester airport cheerfully await some quality face-to-face time with passing earthlings.

Swift Half

England has single-handedly turned around my reluctance to visit pubs.

For one thing, I love being able to suggest to The BB that we “slip out for a swift half.”  As regular readers will know, I don’t even like beer, except as reading material, but that phrase, garnered from British TV shows, is too evocative to pass by. I use it to convey a desire for a chilled beverage of any persuasion, ingested from a container of any dimension. Continue reading