We had been looking forward to this weekend for ages as we were meeting up with Barbara and Mike from Northampton. It was a late night on Friday with Colin and Tess (I tried a new chicken recipe from the cook book we were given for Christmas - that turned out o.k. except couldn't find the right pasta and remembered Tess was allergic to bread etc so ended up with rice, and from memory the chocolate mousse recipe I used to make in NZ - it set quite hard - so a bit too much chocolate I suspect but the choccy lover liked it). On Saturday bright and early we headed off to Shropshire for the weekend. By, the time we had arrived Mike had finished his second cup of coffee and after driving through heavy rain and dropping temperatures we drank our first while he had his third. There wasn't much enthusiasm from any of us to climb the hills around Carding Mill and walk along the top to admire the view (mist) and so we decided to have what Mike later called a National Trustathon - an apt name for exploring old houses and gardens during the weekend. Over the weekend we did three situated around Leominister (it is pronounced Lemster), Attingham Park, Croft Castle and Berrington Hall - all with their family history and landscaped gardens.
Attingham Park - the story of love and neglect. This is a rather large 18th-century mansion that from the outside didn't really have much appeal. It is quite interesting inside (there is a room shaped like an Octagon, a boudoir - where ladies go to "sulk" or "pout", and a nice tea room where we warmed up a bit). During our visit we learnt the "art of the fan" an "indispendable accessory of a lady worthy of the name" (why haven't I got one?). Actually it meant that the fairer sex never had to speak as they could communicate through the fan signals eg: Fan held in the left hand means "I am alone" but in the right hand: "I am married/promised". Fanning with the left hand means "Come closer and chat with me" but with the right hand "I wish to dance". Obviously important to make sure the right and left hand don't get mixed up and if a man was standing opposite would he think it was her right or his right? I did wonder if we could introduce this fan language again so we could sign for a cup of coffee (fan raised to the mouth), sweep the fan along the floor (please do the vacuum cleaning) or under the arm (have you done the washing yet) but decided the silent word may have little affect on today's man!!
The highlight was a walk through the deer park and the gardens around the house in the drizzle. It was landscaped by Humphry Repton who in the 1700's created a few gardens. He was one of those lads destined to go into the family business (his Dad was a tax collector) but had the courage to say "No, I want to create something beautiful instead". Around Humphry's park was a number of statues in the 'Give me Shelter' exhibition. Mike our tour guide did a great job of reading the leaflet enthusiastically describing the exhibits while the rest of us stood looking at the statues puzzling over the artists meaning and then coming up with our own.
There was Traum - a concrete, steel gilded tower with a gold coloured hot air balloon inside that you could just see through the lowest slit in the concrete (standing on tip toes). 'Traum' which is German for 'dream' but somehow it feels quite close to the English word 'Trauma'. How could you imprison one's dreams in a concrete tower rather than flying away with them -dreams aren't for capturing and hiding away, but for living - we all agreed on that one.
Then there was the clay, sand, straw and wood bird hut that was named 'How to survive in the Coming Bad Years'. It stood amongst some wonderful old trees (there are 1000 old year trees here just like in Sherwood Forest but we didn't see any Grandad's of the forest). The statue was described by one non-artist as an 'oversized Dalek' and we agreed with the description - actually it was meant to be a bird poo capture hut ie the birds live there and as a thank you for shelter and food provide poo to fertilise the land. By, the time we got to this one we all agreed "We just don't have the imagination to be a modern artist".
There was Dispossession a whole lot of little red monopoly houses sitting on stalks either covered by the water or above it. It apparently is meant to 'echo the memory of the succession of lost communities' - and was pointing the finger (Harry would say 'borax') at Humphry the landscaper who diverted roads and the River Tern to create his park. It also represents the shift from agricultural and industrial land use to leisure-driven land use (of the rich I think). Somehow we never came up with our own meaning for the little red monopoly houses but we did think that the yellow water lillies were rather pretty.
Then there is Roman - illustrating the curves of the River Tiber that runs through Rome. We could walk through this one and so had great fun with our umbrellas - I imagine that the artist Keith Wilson, might not have been too impressed but it was all a memorable bit of fun...
And the large huts made of polystyrene, steel and cement, that describes the displaced communities and war torn territories in war covered areas like Pakistan. The artist was apparently inspired by the sand-cast concrete sun shelters that are along Gadani Beach in Baluchistan (they did look a little bit like huts for surf life savers to sit and watch) and we could actually feel the desolation in this statue - it was probably the best.
And lastly Cellakabin, a rather creepy building that looked from the outside like a wooden cabin, or play house, or bird watchers hide, but inside had a mirror image under ground that reminded us of a cell or a hiding place. I guess it was all about first and different impressions really but we didn't stay long looking at that one.
That night we stayed at a local hotel (floor in one room had containers to catch the rather bad leak), enjoying a carvery and good company - it did take a while to get there as Mike set the Satnav to take us on a direct route but instead it took us along a circuitous route of B roads through puddles and mud returning us back to a corner where the hotel stood (next time I'll navigate!!). Next day after a leisurely breakfast and some time looking through the window in the hope of clearing weather we went to Croft House - where we saw the best statue yet - no description but it really does look like a Bakewell Tart.
We arrived at Croft House and was treated to a short conservation tour - which took us into the entrance hall, dining room and a living area where the guide told us about the evils of the five agents of decay, light, humidity, pests, dust and wear and tear (we'd read about it the day before), and then a historical tour (we had to return to the gate 10 minutes away to get our free tickets to this tour) which took us to the same rooms but we did learn some interesting historical snippets.
Croft Castle was first built in 1100, was rebuilt around 1400, and was converted into a manor house in the 16th century with extensive renovations later on. It's been in the same family since the beginning except for quite a long time after the 17th century when the family lost a lot of money in the South Sea bubble (the 18th century stock market crash - it was all to do with Britain facing a financial crisis and borrowing money from the South Sea Company at a 6% interest rate and a promise of exclusive trading rights in the South Seas - the company planned on monopolising the South American slave trade. The company issued shares, and once the first issue sold well, reissued more with the promise of huge profits that were never realised - so a lot of investors went bust! Sound familiar?). The family and the castle were reunited back in the early 1920's and it was gifted to the National Trust (the family still live in the apartments - quite a common occurrence here as it means the family don't incur huge death duties and the properties are looked after by the trust). We also discovered that the volunteers do all the cleaning (every day there are visitors - dusting, vacuum cleaning - that was news to us). We also wandered around a rather large walled garden, spring flowers galore, grape vines, fig trees (figs and walnuts are apparently the Turkish Viagra - for real - this is from some friends who have recently been to Istanbul - just to prove it here is the photo) and some lovely trees we hadn't seen before.
Berrington Hall
Lastly, there was Berrington Hall, where the band played and lots of people dressed up (including the Home Guard - or perhaps Dad's Army) in period costume to commemorate d-day. The Hall did have some interesting interior (like the huge laundry with drying racks) and a lovely children's bedroom, and little walled garden. The Hall sat in a typical English landscape designed by Capability Brown - another famous landscaper from the 1700's - but the son of a what sounds like a less wealthy family as his mothers Christian and maiden name aren't even recorded. His "serpentine" gardens are called that because the lakes are usually in the shape of a serpentine. Lancelot Brown was called "Capability" after he once commented that he could see the 'capabilities' of an area for landscaping. I fear that I may have a nick name at work - I was at a meeting the other day which involved a telephone conference - I introduced myself as it came to my turn and the guy in London didn't hear and said 'Sorry I didn't catch your name - Minky who?'. Everyone laughed - of course!!
And that was our great weekend and we are looking forward to the next one with Barbara and Mike already.
To finish the week off...we have caught up in NZ re the new All Black captain and the result of the David Bain trial and that there were 3 cases of swine flu in Wellington - keep safe everyone.
In Bristol there has been a long strike by rubbish collectors.
In England the local body elections there has seen a big swing against Labour and the EU elections has resulted in no Labour members for the EU - I can feel a government crisis coming on ...how long will Gordon Brown persevere every paper asks.
And some workmates were watching all Friday NZ against Ireland in the 20/20 - we won!!
e didn't have a lot planned this weekend and when Harry rang on Friday and said that he had found a reasonably cheap hotel in Bideford, we decided to go away for the weekend. (Hotel was reasonably o.k. built sometime in the 1800's right alongside the river so we could watch the tide go in and out from our bedroom window. From the door we walked uphill to the bed and Harry had to sleep on the down hill side of the bed so he didn't roll into the middle during the night (the thought of him rolling onto the floor did cross my mind - but I needed my sleep!!). On the Saturday morning just before leaving we got an invite for a day out at Hay on Wye (we would have loved to have done more exploring over there with friends) and an invitation for dinner (yes we would have loved to have gone there too) but we had booked the hotel so off we went (Murphy's Law strikes again - always get invited to more than one thing at one time). We started off where we finished last weekend at the little town called Lynton sitting on the hill overlooking the Lynmouth Harbour. As we had caught the cliff railway up the previous weekend, and it was quite late, we didn't really explore the town. Driving into the village this weekend we saw Lynton from a different perspective - passing some lovely old houses (most converted into B&B's) and boutique shops before heading to the Valley of the Rocks.
We lunched on the grass near the car park and then wandered along more of the hill tops with the wild goats and many others enjoying the sunshine. It was a glorious weekend, many people turned up to work with red faces and body parts on Monday - we were careful coming from the southern hemisphere but did enjoy feeling the warmth on our skin and having a bit of 'pink' to show off. We covered up on Sunday to make sure we didn't turn too red.
After the Valley of the Rocks we drove the coastal route to Ilfracombe (it is pronounced ILL at the beginning - I hadn't noticed before that the capital 'I' and the little 'L' are the same on a keyboard. On the way we stopped at a National Trust property and was talked ("Oh, its lovely, certainly worth the effort") into taking a one hour stroll (there and back) to Heddon's mouth. Well we enjoyed the walk and a chat with dog owners and seeing the MG club out for the day but the beach was a little rocky cove with very little attraction really - I guess the pub at the end of the return journey would be an attraction for many (and if it hadn't been for our picnic...) and perhaps the fact that it was once a haven for smugglers might be another - but there really wasn't much there. Anyway we have joined the informal club called 'ramblers' as the cove was described as a 'popular destination for ramblers'.
So on we went ... enough walking on the hills and the countryside we want the beach!!
Oh! I do like to be beside the seasideI do like to be beside the sea!I do like to stroll upon the Prom, Prom, Prom!
Where the brass bands play: "Tiddely-om-pom-pom!"
So just let me be beside the seasideI'll be beside myself with glee
There's lots of girls beside,
I should like to be beside,
Beside the seaside!
Beside the sea!
I read an article on the web, written in 2006 by Jonathan Thompson. It was titled 'Britain on the beach. Which type are you?' His theory is that 'Britains' have a love affair with the seaside, but that we all divide into 'different tribes' when we step on to the sand. The tribes compete for space at the seaside and all have their own distinctive customs, dress codes and equipment. I wish I had read the article earlier as I would have looked more carefully at all the beach go-ers but to a certain extent I think he is right. The tribes are the
- "sunworshippers" - the biggest tribe - they just visit the beach for sunbathing (about 30% of all beach goers)
- "socialisers" who go to the beach mainly to meet friends and play games (close to 30%)
- then there is the "picnickers" who apparently compete for space with the sunworshippers and socialisers (about 25%)
- and the "watersports lovers" - this covers everyone in the water I think from floating in a dinghy, kitesurfers, swimmers and paddlers (about 9%)
- and the "specialist tribes" like those that use metal detectors to hunt for treasure at low tide, and "sea anglers" and I guess rock pool lookers etc.
Sitting on the beach will never be the same again!! Not sure where we fit in, as we would have loved to swim but oh so cold (it hurt our feet to paddle), did lots of walking and exploring and yes eating too. Anyway, another survey said that UK residents make around 298 million trips to the coast every year - out of 60 million people I don't think that is many trips really - but I guess it could have something to do with the weather and there are so many parts that are a long way away from the beach (how lucky we are in NZ).
At Instow beach we were the "picnickers". We barbequed in the late evening on a little disposable barbeque (not many people use gas - its still charcoal here). Instow Beach is a long beach on an estuary very popular for fishing and sailing as well as other beach activities. It has heaps of sand dunes and is on the mouth of two rivers (though I can only remember seeing one and don't know if it was the Taw or the Torridge).
Then there was Woollacombe Beach - where we were just visitors for a few minutes. We didn't stay long enough to join a tribe for the day. It was a lovely long sandy, surfing beach (rather rare in England), but parking was difficult and we wanted some brunch and there didn't seem to be much around unless you had bought your own food. The residents are very proud of their Blue Flag standard (its given to beaches with "high quality bathing water, good management, cleanliness and safety"). Speedboats and jet skis aren't allowed (so lots of water sports tribe members go elsewhere). There were lots of surfers amongst the swimmers which didn't seem particularly safe and you are allowed to windsurf, sail, sea canoe and kite surf. We went on to Ilfracombe for brunch and on a beautiful day, when it felt like it was around 25 degrees at 11.00 in the morning we were the only ones sitting in a cafe along the beach front and it occurred to us once again, that the English don't seem to do brunch - a Sunday carvery after 12.00 is more popular.
A visit to Ilfracombe Beach was really a history lesson and we joined the "picnickers, sun worshippers and specialist" tribes for a good part of the day. Ilfracombe's Beach is another Blue Flag Award with - wait for it - the 'third best rock pools in the UK" according to the BBC Wildlife Magazine. We couldn't resist. We walked through 4 tunnels (carved by hand by Welsh miners in the 1820's to enable the English gentry to visit the sheltered and private coves of the area - one for gentleman and two for ladies - or it might be the other way round). In 1903 the Ilfracombe Gazette & Observer, wrote"The visit to the Tunnels should certainly be included in the programme of every visitor to Ilfracombe" but they were advertised earlier than that and in 1867 the pools (made with limestone and available for use in low tide) were described as ideal for "invalids, waifs and strays from the heat of India, worn out clergyman ... and to people whether young or old, whose ailments arise mainly from want of stamina, and general lack of tone".
There were articles along the tunnels giving some interesting insights into the life of the bather in the early 1800's. There were articles on etiquette for boys ("Guard against a profusion of slang that would give credit to a pick pocket"), and men ("Men who can not swim should never take ladies upon the water), and for girls ("Get up in time for breakfast") and woman (oops I forgot to photograph it or perhaps there weren't any rules for us). There was the history of horse drawn wooden bathing machines which were wheeled to the waters edge so that the "modesty of the ladies could be maintained" - these are beach huts with wheels. It wasn't until 1905 that mixed bathing was "allowed for a limited time in the hotel baths...The new regulation has revolutionised the 'Gentlemen's side of the Tunnels Beach'...and it works so well, one wonders why it wasn't introduced before". So, we sat for ages enjoying the scenery and watching the "tribes at play", paddled in the water (waiting for it to warm up which it never did), and waited for the tide to go out so that we could see the Victorian swimming pools and the 3rd best beach rock pools in the UK. The tide did go out eventually, and we walked the wall, like lots of others (one man who had obviously been reading the "Etiquette for Gentlemen" stepped back to let me pass and promptly fell in). I enjoyed looking at the colourful seaweed which the children swam around in (didn't see any crabs, or little fish, or other sea life that makes the rock pools so much fun to explore). When I got back to Bristol I did a bit of research I discovered that NZ has its own Tunnel Beaches. Around 1870s workmen John Cargill employed a number of work men to excavate a tunnel down to a secluded beach in Otago so that his family could bathe in privacy. That's a must when we get back to the Southern Hemisphere. We finished our trip to Devon by looking around the harbour and the little church (previously light house) on the cliff above the harbour (where the light house keepers family amounted to 14 children living in a little 2 bedroom stone hut). 
If we tried to give every week a name we probably couldn't - but this past one I would label as an 'up and down' one. If I talk about the downs first then I can finish on a high note. News from New Zealand was that two people that have both played a part in my life have passed away. It is sad to think that I can no longer say hello to them, or visit them, and certainly it reminds me to continue to make the most of what we have. On to Friday ... when we were meant to be flying off to Belfast for our long 'looked forward to trip' to the Giant Causeway. After 2 hours at the airport, we were told we weren't allowed to get on the plane - what us little old kiwis!! Yes, we had gone through security but at the gate Ryanair (you know that quaint, Irish, no frills airline that is trying to increase their patronage and income by charging for using the toilets on the plane) staff said we didn't have our online tickets stamped and could not travel. They have recently changed to online booking for non-EU residents and so we assumed (yes I do know what they say about making assumptions and they are right) that the procedure would be the same for all airlines. WRONG - even though we were only flying within Great Britain, and we don't need a visa to be in Great Britain anyway, we needed a stamp on our ticket, no stamp no fly!! After a few grumbles about spoiling the weekend and how much money we had lost (deposit on hotel, car parking, airfares) and how we would never fly Ryanair again (except for the flights we have already booked) we drove back to Bristol and discussed what we could do in the weekend. Out came our little box of leaflets we had been collecting for such an occasion and decided to visit Bourton on the Water, Lynton and Lynmouth and Malmesbury (3 visits, 3 days as it is a bank holiday on Monday).
So, I'll start with Bourton on the Water - its in the Cotswolds (remarkably few thatched cottages in this area) about an hours drive from Bristol. The photos are all Harry's as he tried out his new camera and I managed to delete all mine accidentally while wandering through the bird sanctuary (I know it isn't that easy to delete them but somehow I managed it). Saturday and infact the whole weekend was shorts and teeshirt weather so we enjoyed wandering around the sleepy little hollow while the village buzzed with tourists lazing and picnicking in the sun, paddling in the water, walking their dogs, or browsing in the shops. We actually thought that there might be something on as we arrived but the parking attendant said 'It's just Bourton on a nice day'.
There's a model railway there (nice but small with 40 British and Continental trains running around - you could make them go by pushing buttons - so that's what I did much to the annoyance and amusement of some of the kids). There's also a car museum which Harry went to, while I wandered down the river taking photos of back yards and lots of wisteria. The museum has the original BRUM) - a small 1920's Austin 2 who sneaks out on the town and has adventures - a bit like Herbie - the film was made at the motor museum in Bourton. I hadn't heard of the BRUM (though wish I had seen the movie with the picture below and the following quote I googled)...
"The actors in Brum do not speak ... For this reason, it has been easy to prepare episodes for airing in other countries and Brum has been broadcast in many parts of the world and in many languages, including Italian, Dutch, Hebrew, Croatian, Arabic, Norwegian, Danish and Swedish".
We wandered around the little town, across the many stone bridges and into some of the little boutique shops. We discovered the little model village where we could wander around the same streets and over the same bridges we had just done but on a 1/9th replica scale. It is all made of Cotswold stone - very realistic - to add to its authenticity the model village even has a model village in the model village in the model village. It was completed by the owner of the Old New Inn (which stands in front of it and has the most wonderful dark red peonies in the garden) and was opened on the Coronation day of King George VI and Queen Elizabeth in 1937.
We finished the day by wandering through the local bird sanctuary where we saw for the first time a Cassawary (bird from Australia and New Guinea that looks a bit like a vicious emu), a bird with very long eyelashes (can't remember the name), king penguins (always feel sorry for these birds who like space and are out of their normal weather conditions - at least they were given some ice which progressively melted during the day) and lots of other birds we had seen, or not seen, before.
Driving back to Bristol we stopped firstly at Kemble Airport, which Harry wandered around and took lots of photos (particularly of Hunters) and I sat in the sunshine and read the paper, and then to IKEA (the shop I hate to go because you can't shop in a hurry and there is only one way in, and one way out, and you have to go right round the maze of display stands before finding the exit and the cashier) to buy a sofa bed for the lounge. The sofa just fitted into our little car and it sat in the cardboard box until Monday evening when we had the time and energy to unpack it (well Harry did while I was having a snooze). Saturday night we danced the night away at Sheila's 50th birthday party. During the evening the DJ asked for requests and so Harry asked for 'Grease' (we were the only couple on the dance floor at times so when the DJ said that 'he didn't want to play it because it might clear the floor' we were a bit confused. Anyway, he switched to a song (quite undanceable) apparently sung by 'Grace' and he got confused when we sat down. We soon put him right 'Grease' not 'Grace' was the request (he blamed Harry's accent I probably would blame his hearing!! We both had a laugh).
Sunday after a bit of a sleep in we headed off to Lynton and Lynmouth - this time south of Bristol - along the Devon coast. On the way we had a picnic on the Exmoor hills overlooking the sea towards Wales. We could see the smoke from the chimneys in Port Talbot, the long sandy beaches, and the cliffs around Cardiff. This is Lorna Doone country and it was difficult to picture it way back in the 17th century when farmer Jack Ridd and his family were threatened by the outlaws - the Doone family (originally Scottish aristocrats who were banished from their land - presumably at one point they were on the wrong side) and turned to a life of crime. RD Blackmore based his story of Lorna Doone on this family and it is one of those historical romances I hadn't read (but just might now that I have visited its setting). It has the same old theme - one of the Ridds meets Lorna and falls in love. How does it end I wonder? 
My desire to see Lynmouth, was spurred by one person telling me that they had spent a weekend in the area and another telling me they were taking their children to the beach for mid term break. I envisaged a sandy beach, where children could swim and build castles, and where Harry and I could find some space to lie in the sun, read newspapers and eat picnics. As we descended down the rather steep narrow road (for England anyway) we saw a little bit of sand, and many more rocks - we had arrived at low tide - we left at high tide where the rocks are all covered which creates an illusion of sand for miles. Villages affected by such a significant tidal swell have two different personalities and it is always good to see both. Lynmouth is tucked into a cove, with a Gorge at one end and cliffs at the other. We wandered up the Lyn Gorge. The river provides electricitiy for the town and the national grid - but was once the scene of a devasting land slide and flood. Back in 1952 more rain fell in one night than flows down the Thames in 3 months, taking with it houses, shops and sweeping boats out to sea. One quote we read at the local memorial included:
"About half-past nine there was a tremendous roar. The West Lyn had broken its banks and pushed against the side of the hotel, bringing with it thousands of tons of rocks and debris in its course. As we watched, we saw a row of cottages near the river, in the flashes of lightning because it was dark by this time, fold up like a pack of cards and swept out with the river with the agonising screams of some of the local inhabitants who I knew very well."
Lynmouth and Lynton are linked by a steep uphill path, a road, or a water powered cliff railway (built in 1890) - you can guess which one we took. It's the only water powered railway in the UK ... when the cable car gets to the top the tank underneath the car is filled with water and the weight pulls the empty one up. At the bottom the tank is emptied. By his rather ingenious method it can move cars up and down the 500 feet cliff all day (well between the hours of 10 and 7). I guess it is quite environmentally friendly as there are no emissions and we are assuming that they recycle the water. At Lynton we wandered over the hills to the cliff tops overlooking the Valley of the Rocks (have to go back there and explore more) and saw a cricket game played in full whites, said hello to wild goats, before having tea and wandering back down the hillside to the car.
Monday...was a little bit cloudy but lovely and warm, we were feeling a bit tired from all that walking the day before and so took a picnic to Malmesbury where we visited the Abbey House Gardens - Home of the Naked Gardeners (but only on certain days and today wasn't one of them). It's a beautiful garden with so many flowers I had not seen before, and some we had seen but couldn't name. We did recognise a huge number of irises, granneys bonnets, herbs, wisteria, tree with yellow flowers called a Laburnum (my gardening knowledge isn't really that good but google's is) and admired these while wandering up and down little paths to the Avon River and the little waterfall. The garden is built around the Abbey House, with the actual Malmesbury Abbey next door. It is a 12th century abbey, which Henry VIII sold in 1539 to a local cloth maker, who later gave it to Malmesbury ot use as their parish church - which it still is today - not a ruin like so many but a large magnificent church standing in a small village. The Abbey House was bought by the current owners in the early 1990's who obviously love gardening, in their birthday suits, and have made a life time committment to make a beautiful scene - however I felt a bit sad when I read this quote:
"Ian & Barbara now spend their every moment tending family and garden, rarely going further than the garden gates. “We can visit other gardens in our library of books and from our collection of DVD’s” says Barbara, “although I’m not sure our children will forgive us the lack of holidays away!”
and walking back to the car I saw a delightful quote
"1490 - Malmesbury's market cross is erected for poor market folkes to stande dry when raineth cummith".
It is also two years this week since we arrived in the UK with our 2 back packs and 2 suitcases. We went out for dinner, and rather reflectively thought about our adventures and our life in the UK.
Then there was the clay, sand, straw and wood bird hut that was named 'How to survive in the Coming Bad Years'. It stood amongst some wonderful old trees (there are 1000 old year trees here just like in Sherwood Forest but we didn't see any Grandad's of the forest). The statue was described by one non-artist as an 'oversized Dalek' and we agreed with the description - actually it was meant to be a bird poo capture hut ie the birds live there and as a thank you for shelter and food provide poo to fertilise the land. By, the time we got to this one we all agreed "We just don't have the imagination to be a modern artist".
There was Dispossession a whole lot of little red monopoly houses sitting on stalks either covered by the water or above it. It apparently is meant to 'echo the memory of the succession of lost communities' - and was pointing the finger (Harry would say 'borax') at Humphry the landscaper who diverted roads and the River Tern to create his park. It also represents the shift from agricultural and industrial land use to leisure-driven land use (of the rich I think). Somehow we never came up with our own meaning for the little red monopoly houses but we did think that the yellow water lillies were rather pretty.
Then there is Roman - illustrating the curves of the River Tiber that runs through Rome. We could walk through this one and so had great fun with our umbrellas - I imagine that the artist Keith Wilson, might not have been too impressed but it was all a memorable bit of fun...
And the large huts made of polystyrene, steel and cement, that describes the displaced communities and war torn territories in war covered areas like Pakistan. The artist was apparently inspired by the sand-cast concrete sun shelters that are along Gadani Beach in Baluchistan (they did look a little bit like huts for surf life savers to sit and watch) and we could actually feel the desolation in this statue - it was probably the best.
And lastly Cellakabin, a rather creepy building that looked from the outside like a wooden cabin, or play house, or bird watchers hide, but inside had a mirror image under ground that reminded us of a cell or a hiding place. I guess it was all about first and different impressions really but we didn't stay long looking at that one.
That night we stayed at a local hotel (floor in one room had containers to catch the rather bad leak), enjoying a carvery and good company - it did take a while to get there as Mike set the Satnav to take us on a direct route but instead it took us along a circuitous route of B roads through puddles and mud returning us back to a corner where the hotel stood (next time I'll navigate!!). Next day after a leisurely breakfast and some time looking through the window in the hope of clearing weather we went to Croft House - where we saw the best statue yet - no description but it really does look like a Bakewell Tart.
We arrived at Croft House and was treated to a short conservation tour - which took us into the entrance hall, dining room and a living area where the guide told us about the evils of the five agents of decay, light, humidity, pests, dust and wear and tear (we'd read about it the day before), and then a historical tour (we had to return to the gate 10 minutes away to get our free tickets to this tour) which took us to the same rooms but we did learn some interesting historical snippets.
Berrington Hall
And that was our great weekend and we are looking forward to the next one with Barbara and Mike already.
