Wednesday night we went to see Julie and Julia. A film about a blogger (so the slight eccentricity of the movie appealed to us and it reminded me of Mike sitting me on the couch the day we left NZ saying 'Mum you have to write a blog so I can read about what you are doing'). Its a story about two cooks (and two very understanding husbands who enjoy eating). It starts with Julie Powell a frustrated customer service agent deciding to write a blog on "attempting to cook 524 recipes from Julia Child's book 'Mastering the Art of French Cooking' in one year" (egged on by her husband - that's more than one yummy meal a day so who wouldn't encourage that!!). Julie was busy working all week, cooking in the evenings, eating lots. She must have found time to exercise in between those exhausted tantrums (though lying on the floor kicking heels can use up a few calories) as she didn't seem to put many kilos on at least in the movie. The second character was around some 45 years earlier, played admirably by a very tall Meryl Streep (who wore big heels - her shoes would have been the envy of some of the people I know and there was some trick photography as well to help her to grow 8" to the height of Julia Child). Julia Child began cooking in France - she too was a bored housewife travelling around the world with her American 'embassy' husband. She cottons on to the fact that she can cook and so set about cooking and trying out loads of recipes for her book. 50 or so years later young Julie comes along, a bit bored and frustrated, and tries out all those old recipes - I've looked on her blog and yes it is real, quite funny in bits, down to earth and just sometimes a bit sad. Julia Child died in 2004 having never met the much younger cook and blogger. I must remember her kitchen is in the Smithsonian museum if ever I want to see a 1950's kitchen (with lino tiles, formica bench top, coloured pots hanging from hooks etc).
Second night out - Harry had booked 13 months before (that just shows how keen he was) -"We Will Rock You" at the Hippodrome. The musical has been around for about 9 years now and is described as a "tongue-in-cheek dystopian future where originality and individualism are shunned, and a lone 'Dreamer' appears who can fulfill a prophecy that will enable the return of rock 'n roll". I quite enjoyed it and Harry really really enjoyed it - just as well since he is the Queen fan in our household.
Saturday was a slow start as you can imagine and we took off over the Severn Bridge to Cardiff to do some Christmas shopping. It isn't a bad city for shopping - well better than Bristol I think - probably worth the £5 bridge toll but certainly not the £8 car parking fee. The weather was a bit wet and quite cold but we achieved quite a bit in the couple of hours we were there although didn't do any touristy things which was left for the other day in the weekend.
Sunday, the sun shone through the curtain and I asked 'What shall we do?' Harry suggested a bike ride which ordinarily I would have been up to but the energy hadn't got out of the bed with the body so we took off for a more relaxing drive up to Stow on the Wold and Snowshill. The National Trust and English Heritage own a lot of old mansions, palaces, castles etc around the country and we've been so spoilt in being able to go to so many that we feel we've had enough of them for a while. So, we tend to try and find the ones with a 'quirky' nature - and stumbled on Snowshill Manor, situated in a lovely little Cotswold Village called Snowshill. Its the masterpiece of Charles Paget Wade who at the tender age of 7 decided to start collecting things and he never stopped. There was some money in the family (from sugar estates in the West Indies) and he did have some skills eg architect, artist-craftsman and poet but not sure if he actually bought in any money from these natural gifts. He spent his time roaming around England rummaging through car boots, estates, garden sheds, archaeological sites, rubbish sites etc and collected, wait for it, 22,000 different items - not real antiques (some visitors could be so unkind to call some of it junk - but it wasn't really). There were 'bone shaker bicycles', samurai models and swords, ornaments, model boats, musical instruments, bone carvings made by french prisoners, toys, spinning wheels, you name it I suspect you would find one hidden in a corner. One blog writer (Jeff's Random and Readable Revelations) suggested that Charlie the collector "must have been a total nut case" and the writer J. B. Priestly described Wade as 'My eccentric, but charming friend of the fantastic manor house.' ...mmm perhaps somewhere in between is my thought - a touch of eccentricity certainly. Anyway, to house his growing collection he bought the manor house in 1919 and the little cottage next door to live in. He didn't like electricity and so the house was lit by lots of candles but the National Trust has introduced electric candles in keeping with the spirit of the previous owner and I guess with today's Health and Safety Regulations. His little house was furnished with bizarre furnishings and ornaments as well and he lived there alone until 1946 when along came Mrs Wade - picture this - a woman from not around Gloucestershire knocked on the manor door asking for help "I've lost my way" (some woman drop handkerchiefs or leave their purse) but not Mrs Wade. She asked for directions and got some - into the little cottage she went. After a few years of marriage Charles gifted the house to the National Trust and went to live in the West Indies with his wife (I wonder if he had wished he had done it earlier). You know, I can't find a thing about Mrs Wade on the web not even her name, but she must have been very persuasive to move him from a habit of a lifetime and have had the patience of a saint and little interest in housekeeping interests to live with such an eclectic mix of things.
Besides the Wades the manor was lived in by Katherine Parr (a gift from her royal husband when he dissolved yet another abbey), and is also the residence of an angry monk - I didn't see him because there were lots of people in the small dark rooms and ghosts like their privacy (not sure if he throws things about but he could make quite a mess if he tried). He apparently hasn't gotten over they fact that his house is desecrated by lots of visitors - even though we were respectful - and he is annoyed about the heathen collections housed within it eg a small collection of Islamic artifacts housed in the room next to the kitchen. Anyway, I loved the creaking floors and narrow staircases, the tiny doors, wooden and borer ridden beams, little windows looking out to a lovely garden - the collection for me was almost secondary to the building they were in (hope that makes the ghost happy - I think his name might be Geoffrey).
Then onto Stow on the Wold and on the way we past a few puffing cyclists climbing the hills just like we did a few weekends ago. Its a small village in the middle of the Cotswolds, has a population of about 2000 people and lots of shops that seem to cater more for the tourist and gift-shopper (yes some Christmas presents were bought there) rather than the locals in need of essentials. It's set on the top of a little hill (previously an old Iron Age fort), with the church and square (and 15th century stocks) looking down on all other parts of the village and countryside. This Sunday there were two fairs - they've been held in Stow since 1107 when Henry I decreed it o.k. to have fairs - and there are also annual gypsy (oops traveller) and horse fairs. We wandered through both fairs held in church or old meeting halls (where one advertised a talk on 'Gardening in New Zealand') and the other a range of knitted booties, bead necklaces and green runner bean chutney for sale. A restaurant reviewer and columnist AA Gill in his book The Angry Island called Stow "catastrophically ghastly" and "the worst place in the world". I think that is quite unfair as there are far worse places to spend a lazy Sunday afternoon than in Stow.
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