A Walk in the Autumn Woods

 

If you like Autumn (and I lurrve it), then you want to get out as much as possible during the season to soak up that gold into your eyeballs before the glitter fades.
Its a floriade of gigantic proportions, that goes all the way from gigantic trees carrying on like orange lava lamps, right down to dainty sprays of red berries, golden brown nuts and a rainbow of fungi at your feet.
Everywhere is the smell of woodsmoke, the odd bang of crackers and birds singing their hearts out while the going is still good and they haven't dropped frozen to the ground.
We are very lucky to be quite close to The New Forest in the south of Hamphire. It's a mixture of woodland and heath and boggy march and streams crisscrossed by hundreds of trails for the walker, cyclist or horserider.
The forest has all manner of wild animals including larger ones like deer and even its own breed of pony, native to the area.
 Pigs, cattle and donkeys also graze in a semi-feral situation, owned by locals whose families have been doing so for many centuries. Obviously a time-consuming job.
Through this semi-wilderness we set off on a walk very recently. We were folllowing a proper walking trail but decided to buy an ordinance survey map the size of a small country to 'help' us along our way. After being folded twenty two times and turned this way and that, it did indeed offer us a little help. I did my best to ignore teenage comments of -"Why don't you just use your phone Mum?!"
"No, not happening!"
 Firstly I wasn't going to admit I hadn't thought of it and secondly there is no romance nor education in GPS. A map is a magical thing I believe adds to the adventure. I keep my adventures small so it all works out mintily in the end.

The Pub- the real incentive for walkers

Our idyllic walk of course was circular- ending and beginning in a village green, AKA the pub.
But visiting must wait, and with that carrot  dangling, we diverted only to buy a piece of local cheddar and loaf of bread before we set off.
(Our fave walking picnic- bread, cheese and apples- that I can buy them now- fresh and local makes me want to do a little silly dance of smug happiness)
The course we took begins on an actual road- excitingly only one lane and between hedge,s so that you put out a hand to check the folliage for prickles for the time ahead you may have to throw yourself into them.
 Having run that guantlet, I am pleased when we reach actual forest and are walking off road.
I would like to impress you with them names of the trees we passed but aside from the obvious oak and maple and birch, I can only tell you they were very pretty. Every shade of gold from butter to bronze, citrus oranges and browns and reds.
Bracken dying off on the forest floor just added to the whole beauty of it. While the boys trailed behind us no doubt discussing xbox, I walked along saying repeatedly like a loon- "Ooh, isn't that beautiful!' every ten steps. Understandably Fil began to walk slightly ahead of me.

It's more fun to talk about Xbox in an outdoor setting.

Because I would pause and take pictures (Oh now she uses her phone!), I kept stopping and then running back to catch up, much like the labradors we saw people walking.
Dogs here are so polite, like most of the people. Owners say' "Come!" (if they even need to) and the dogs do it. Amazing!
Anyway, eventually we began to see more birch and then fir trees, which could only mean one thing (and that one thing wasn't that I had teleported to Norway), that we had moved to a higher, dryer area. It had been a cold morning so between the bracken steaming dry and the fir trees, I fully expected to see a tyranosaur emerge from the verge. Very exciting!
Up ahead the path got sort of shadowy and I said to Fil with enthusiasm- "What would you do if you saw a faun run across the path up there." (me pointing ahead). Fil raised his eyebrows-
"Well I probably wouldn't register it as a faun." (this isn't really true, if it looked like James McAvoy playing Mr Tumnus he would shoot it, considerably reducing the rsik of my running into him one day)
"Oh my God, how many mythological creatures have you possibly seen and not even registered?!" I almost yell at him.

Where IS James McAvoy?

Anyways. About halfway (it probably wasn't but whenever the kids start whinging we say it's 'halfway') we stopped for the aforementioned victuals. Of course we had already packed pear chutney, butter, apples and still water (tap water).
 Some toadstools kept us company as we kept an eye out for adders. Because the New Forest is on the warmer south coast, it has almost Australian sympathies and has a full arsenal of lizards and snakes, including England's one poisonish snake. I say poisonish because its generally not fatal. But still, any amount of venom injected into my body is wholly unwelcome, so we keep a good eye out for any slithering around our lunch table (pile of logs).
Lightly dusted with flour and cheese crumbs, we set off in seach of the heath we know is not far away. I identify "stone pines" in a loud voice. No-one cares, but I am impressed with myself especially as I cannot tell whether it is true knowledge or my subconscious making it up. Wacky and wily old brain!
The heath duly pops out before us, a mellee of browns with nowt but the odd  tree posing for effect. We have missed the heather flowering and the other flowers, butterflies and fairies of summer, but the heathland still  looks very lovely in it's scruffy coat of browns.
Wild pony backsides are visible everywhere once you start looking (because their heads are down grazing). Like a 'Wheres Filly?' sort of illustration.

'Wheres Filly?'

 Flynn wants to sneak up and hug them all one by one, but I don't know what preferred equine personal space is and I can't imagine being chased by ponies is very dignified.
It is a little bit like being out on the wild moors, but my Heathcliff has disappeared into a thicket of holly bushes up ahead. It's very exciting for me to see wild holly covered in red berries. Not only is it not plastic or on my front door, it is actually a facinating little tree with multiple trunks like a huddle of antelope with spiky hides. I shall gather some real stuff this year for Christmas. Brilliant!
Skipping on...Heathland makes way once more for forest and we wind down into some gullies where streams runneth over ground covered in nothing but a carpet of leaves. 'Tis very pretty but only I still thinketh so. The boys have had enough and Fil is no doubt halucinating pub oasis .
 Still, there a few last entertainments  to be had before we make it back there. Both involve ponies.
Firstly as we're heading down a lane, we see a pony coming towards us, followed by another and another and so on. They turn out to be the most adorable pick pockets that ever tried to eat your coat. We are lighter by two apples by the time they go on their way. Flynn attemts to hug each one, obviously hoping one will follow him home.

Pony highwaymen

And then we reached a VBP (very boggy paddock). It began innocently enough at a stile.
 You know: those wooden things you clamber over, throwing mud from your boot into your eye. Well, I like to think I actually have a bit of stile style. Country blood you know. But on the other side of said stile was a whole lot of muddy goop containing not a bit of animal excrement, due to it being an actual working paddock complete with staring livestock.
Well, of the four of us, let me say only two were wearing sensible foot attire. We all squelched and
skidded our way across this field, not swearing too much because there were two older folk walking behind us doing just fine.
At the far end of the paddock was the final stile,  locates of course at the boggiest spot of all. If that wasn't cause for pause, the pony standing in the way was.
 But wait, there's a second pony, who like an enthusiastic bouncer, pats you down for num-nums before you can even get near the 'stile pony'.
 I made it through alive, cleverly giving Fil my apple and escaping whilst he was being frisked. The boys, in their whimsical footwear stood way back, calling- "How do we get through?"
Now look, if I got some great amusement out of watching them mince their way through the quagmire whilst trying to direct ponies, I make no apologies. What I really wanted to do was video it, but I didn't. Because really I am a caring and thoughtful mother? No, probably more that I simply couldn't hold my phone up and slap my thighs laughing at the same time.
So, bespattered, tired and some of us squelching rhythmically, we did all eventually make it back for a pint at the pub.
Alex and Flynn collapsed their heads onto the beer-garden table while Fil and I went inside for drinks. The pub being busy, meant we didn't get served for at least ten minutes. We did have a good view to the garden from where we waited and we could see the boys didn't move an inch from their collapsed positions. They'd had a ball obviously: the worn-out little mud-skippers.

 

 

 And that's what its all about really: Autumn- fun, fresh air and a jolly good outdoorsy romp.
 Hurrah for Autumn!

Bavarian Holiday

Our next trip planned was Germany, and I for one was not so quietly terrified about the idea.
My father is German, specifically from Bavaria in the south. When I was a kid, I was put onto the phone to talk to my German grandmother. How I hated it! The poor woman and I could barely speak a word of each others language.No matter how many years went by we always had the same sort of conversation-
"Good morning/evening Nana/Natalie!"
"How are you?"
"Good."
LONG PAUSE.................................
Not much else,
"Okay, here's mum/dad...Goodbye/goodnight!"
And then relief mixed with terrible guilt. My Nana always sounded so happy to talk with me, but talk is not really what we did. I really dreaded those 'conversations' and then felt worse about feeling that way. All this had made me feel very nervous about revisiting the place. A few German lessons have not really improved my grasp of the language either and I haven't been back for 30 years.
Everyone wants to go, so it's top of our list, nervous or not. My grandmother is sadly no longer around, but we do tee up to meet with some relatives in one area, and I pick the other places for their ties to our family. If we're going to go, I want the boys to see where some of their ancestors come from.
Munich will be the beginning and end of our trip and is the only place not family related (well also the castle Neuschwanstein- I have been unable to trace my family tree back to King Ludwig, which is a shame because I would really like to inherit the place).
We check the weather forecast for the week we will be there.
 'Cold, freezing, freezing, cold.' We will be dropping down ten degrees from England. We  go out and buy extra clothes, especially in the thermals department.

Munich is indeed freezing when we arrive and is spitting icy rain. We rug up in a naive amount of clothes and go for a walk, grabbing fresh pretzels along the way. By the time we get back to our hotel we are half frozen and it is snowing in earnest. We are the only people jumping around in excitement about the idea.

 

In the morning both Fil and I jump out of bed as soon as possible to peer out the window like Santa has visited. We are not disappointed. Though we only look out on the train station over the road, snow has coated everything. It's popular to get around Munich by bike so there are hundreds of bikes parked round the station, all covered in snow.
We have a delicious breakfast and no matter where we stay during out holiday, breakfast never fails to please. The coffee is great and food to follow generally includes fresh breads, cake and pretzels, German sausages in various varieties, plus all the usual from a western style brekky both hot and cold. We pretty much waddle out each day.

 

Our first proper day of exploration, we whack on all accouterments for the cold. The boys in particular are dying to get out in the snow because its such a novelty. It fails to register with me that this could go on all day, and does. All the hours of walking, is at the speed by which two kids can also throw snowballs at each other or dump snow from a tree on each others head.

 

Munich is beautiful. We are staying in the old part of town and are amazed at the sheer size of it and the huge amount of incredible building and statues and general decorations about the place. Sadly when people think of Munich they tend to visualise the October Fest, but there is way more to the city. Way, way more.

 

The adornment of building with both sculpture and murals and tiles is magnificent and we probably catch a fair bit of snow in our open mouths. We walk all the way to the river in the north part of the old city. It is stunning too, though the last thing you would want to do is swim in it- it looks freezing. The snow falling now was in perfect snowflakes which none of had ever seen before. It was like having the finest white star confetti fall on you. Our dark clothes were covered in these perfect little sculptures. We stood there for ages like idiots remarking on them and trying to take pictures. Just magic.
We are absolutely worn out by days end of trooping in the snow but cake and coffee, followed by a traditional Bavarian dinner has us very happy in our exhaustion.
Next day we catch the train to Kempten, further south towards to Alps.

 Kempten is where my father grew up. Compared to Munich city it is much smaller. Our hotel is on the  road by the river with the old part of town just the other side of the bridge. There is snow everywhere here too, and it is still snowing lightly. We set off to explore straight away as we only have two days, and the next one would be visiting a castle some distance away.

 

There was a market winding itself through town so after having a look around we have a lunch of hot crepes. Yum. We had had the same meal in Paris five years ago and it is lovely to be travelling again in Europe having the same happy nutella smeared faces.

 

Once again we were impressed with the lovely building and fountains and churches. There is a sort of 'civic' pride that is really noticeable and impressive over here. The sort of decorations would just wouldn't really see much of in Australia. Of course, these places have been around for a lot longer, so plenty more time to decorate! In fact Kempten I found out is one of the oldest towns in Germany, founded around 752AD (Munich 1158), so plenty of time as I said to embellish.
Next day we set of a variety of transport modes to see Schloss Neuschwanstein. The story for this is far too long to tell here, but truly fascinating, right down to the King's eventual mysterious demise. I saw this place 30 years ago: I could remember two things- a room in the castle, and the horse cart we took up there- the horses farted all the way up the hill.

 

Although taking the horses up would have been great (wind or not), the queues were long and our legs quite capable, so we set off walking from the picturesque village up what turned out to be a very big hill. Peering out from the snowy trees beside the road (which regularly dumped slush onto people- amusing unless its you) we could see out to a winter wonderland valleys that stretched out for many miles.We could see lakes and little houses and everything dotted with beautiful snow-covered spruce.

 

 

Finally at the top we had a few minutes to snap the imposing outside of the castle before heading off on our allocated English-speaking tour. It is quite a process to see this place, but not expensive. It was busy despite the cold and I couldn't comprehend how busy it must be in the summertime.
 Once again, not enough time here to describe this place but I'll just say King Ludwig had been a  huge fan of Wagner and that every room we saw was a masterpiece of theatrical decoration like you have never seen. Just stunning. I immediately wanted to go back to mural painting. Even the boys were impressed, so you'll know it was truly amazing.

An incredible sunset on the alps was our view for the trip back and a fittingly picturesque end to our day.

Another train and we were off to our next destination. This time Lindau on Lake Constance ( Bodensee for the locals). Lake Constance is on the borders of Germany, Austria and Switzerland and the Lindau area is the only slice from Germany (The town is in two parts, one of which is an Island and the other on the mainland and from which area my grandmother originally hailed.

 

Lindau Island is where we stayed and once again it had been three decades since I had seen it and had only a vague memory of the harbour foreshore. It really is a magical place. By now we had blue skys and snow was only visible of the distant mountains on the far side of the lake. Der Bodensee is a long lake so you can see across it in parts and in the other direction it looks endless like the sea.

The water is crystal clear and very lovely. The little harbour mouth has a lion statue on one side and a lighthouse on the other and is the spot some years ago one of my brothers proposed to his wife. Nice spot Mark!

We very much enjoyed our stay here. The streets are cobbled labyrinths of gorgeous buildings- residential and shops. Once again, thoughtful and beautiful decorating is everywhere and of course being on the shores of the lake just make it even more spectacular. The boys made friends with a cat called Sam in a park and I'm sure were planning to kidnap it. I know Fil even snuck out from brekky with some smoked salmon for the poor half-frozen animal.
Finally we set off to Ulm, further north, where we would visit some relatives and where my cousin Jurgen very kindly spent a few days off work, showing us his town, as only someone who has grown up in a place can. Jurgen happily for us speaks excellent English and having struggled at times over the last week in German, it was nice to have a proper conversation with someone both parties understood.

He gave us a great tour of the old town beginning with Ulm Munster (minster) an amazing gothic church (tallest in the world) ,at which we all thought it was a great idea to climb hundreds of steps in the tightest spiral staircase I have ever been in- and people were also trying to come down! My poor lungs and heart! I cannot say how pleased I was that the second (and longer) half of the steps was temporarily closed.The view from the top was of course fantastic. My cousin promised us on a good day you could see the North Sea. Turns out the Nordsee is a chain of fish and chip shops ( cue German laughter)  BUT we could certainly see far beyond that.
Once again on the ground we had a look inside the minster (which I learn took over 500 years to complete).It is certainly a triumph of vision,construction and beauty.

 

Over the next two days we got no only to see Ulm and surrounds but hear local stories and facts (often amusing), but I also got to see and understand how this branch of my family fitted into all of this and for that I am very grateful. Its one of the reasons we decided to live in England for a while- you just don't get to fully appreciate a place unless to have the time to look more deeply. I also got to hear about my grandmother from people who DID know her very well and loved her, stories that were both moving and healing for me.

 

From Jurgens bee-hives, to Blautopf, to Ulm and it's sister- Neu Ulm, we had a thoroughly enjoyable few days (including excellent food and ale, both bought and home-cooked) in great company so that by the time we returned to a now snow-free Munich, we felt we had experienced an admittedly small but very comprehensive view of Bavaria, and enjoyed it thoroughly.

 

For myself I had a great time, and though it would certainly be handy to know more of the language it was certainly no hindrance to enjoying this very beautiful place.
 I'll be back!

Living in England- Same, Same- but different!

You can tell a tourist by their clothing can't you?
 The local fashion may not be very complicated, but bless the tourist- they just can't put two pieces together in a convincing fashion.
I am that tourist. I packed for our trip really poorly- my wardrobe looks like it was put together by someone escaping a house fire or drunk and wearing an eyepatch.
 It seems hysterically stupid, but I am having trouble just trying to casually stay dry and warm beyond pajamas. And the angle of the sun up here- it's lower on the horizon and gets right into your eyeballs. Why did no-one mention that? I need sunnies more than I did in Australia.

While I struggle with staying dry without looking like a fisherman, the boys (big and small)  have their own difficulties. Money is one of them- they cannot get their head around the plain looking paper notes and alien coins. At the shops they tend to dump a handful of coin on the counter and get help from a patient cashier.
Alex obsessively converts every price to dollars before he decides to buy it. Most of the times its a bargain because clothes are cheaper, as is food and public healthcare.
In England I can afford to buy mostly organic food from the supermarket. There is a much bigger range to choose from, with very clear information given on packaging. In fact there is a far greater range of everything to the point of things being overwhelming. Doing the groceries here does my head in.
  I would guestimate there is between two and three times more choice than back in Australia. In the preprepared area you need never cook again. Supermarkets here can be E-normous. Your trolley may contain butter, a bike, drycleaning, your mended shoes, a formal dress, and your prescription made up for the anxiety of shopping .
And, 10% of your supermarket isles are dedicated to liquor from around the world. By the time you reach it you are are too thirsty or stressed to ignore it. You have to recycle glass at the supermarket. I think this has replaced confession.
Far from what I have grown up with, my little local store is as cheap as chips, often cheaper than the supermarket and having a good turnover, is quite fresh. If I wasn't interested in variety I could almost do my groceries there.
Health here is also very affordable. I am on a visa so I am lucky to recieve care like a local. Most over the counter medicine is extremely cheap and public doctors gap-free. Prescriptions for many people including children are free. A flu shot will set you back 8 pounds and can be administered for free by the chemist. Unheard of!
A causal appointment at the Doc can take far longer here to get, but the serious are given priority and for the unsure, there is a very good phone service to acertain how unwell you are, or to give free advice, which I think is great.
Coming here you may not formally need vaccinations, but in fact as Australians we are very succeptable to all European virus strains, because we have never been been exposed to them. One such virus got us all and really hung around. Poor Fil had to take 3 days from work, and was very surprised to fill out his own doctors sick note- which everyone does for up to two weeks sick leave.
 In Australia there are I think different rules with various employers, but my last job every day off- even one- needed a doctors note for which I had to pay a $26 gap.
Furniture and household items I find to be similarly priced to Australia, but council rates and utilites more expensive. Services are often slow (it took nearly 4 weeks to get a phoneline) and I hear people complain about trades people overcharging and certain services having a monopoly they use to exploit people. I guess each country has it's ups and downs and all things balance out more or less in the end.
Houses and rent seems fairly comparable. Where we are here the locals find expensive but we find reasonable. Wages here though are lower than London as would be expected and so amny people communte there to work by car or train, just over an hour away.
Public transport is very good here and the vehicles quite luxurious but it is also very expensive and mostly privatised, though booking ahead makes a big difference.

 There are bargain flights to be had to Europe all the time( but not always for four people and not necessarily to the exact city of the country chosen). Petrol is dear- you pay in pounds what we pay in Australia in dollars.
Schools in this area are quite prestigious. What we call private in Australia are called public here and vice versa or something like that- quite confusing, but essentially my boys attend free schools as they did in Australia, but the ones round here look and feel like the private ones in Oz and all have waiting lists a mile long. Schools in general here seem to be overflowing.
For Alex attending college (senior high school), being Australian is a novelty that initially caused some ribbing, but with other students from all over the place, its all in a type of fun that I think he  enjoys. People over here expect Australians to be sporty and he is. No uniform and being treated as an adult is a bonus too.
For Flynn in a highschool where 99% of kids seemed to be English, he is finding being Australian a bit trying at times. His nationality is such a novelty that people constantly ask him to 'say things' so they can wonder at his accent. He finds the comments are very stereotypical and annoying. Australia is a long long way away and apparently still in the 60's. Also he isn't sporty and teachers tend to use that as a conversation icebreaker which falls flat.
Fortunately both boys have made friends, making school life easier. And they both like their teachers. In some areas the boys find subjects easier, some a bit harder. Both school are much bigger than anything the boys attended in Sydney, but are extremely well organised. It is assumed you are very familiar with the English system and this does sometimes cause some hiccups.
Fils work has been an unexpected culture shock. Employees at his work are much older on average and mostly anglo saxon. Many people are 'old school' something Fil had little dealings with before.
The sense of humour here is odd. There definitely is one, but people are quite proper, at least where we live. If you say something self depracating, they will often keep a straight face as though in serious sympathy. There are less out-going wacky colourful people and more odd and eccentric. People are just more self-contained.

Something I really like is that if people bump into you here, they always apologise. Back in Australia it was one of my gripes that if someone bumped into me they would rarely apoligise. I found myself doing it instead and then getting cranky because it wasn't actually my fault. Everyone here is very polite. From the down on their luck, to the teens, to the business people, doors get held open for you and people have lovely social manners. It's something that stands out. And in this area too, I rarely hear young people in groups acting agressively or swearing or yelling out. I'm sure it happens but not like I would hear it back where I lived. Once again, Winchester is only one place in England but the people here are nice. When you go for a walk, people say hello, no matter gender or age. Back home, fifty percent of people would look the other way when you pass, especially younger people.
Once again I have to say I am comparing one area I used to live in with only one I currently live in and neither are perhaps typical of their whole countries. But really, it amazing how very different two largely anglo-saxon English speaking countries can appear superficially similar but are really very different. I can only really admire the folk that switch places to a foreign language and/or a completely different race and culture. That would truly be a very big adventure.

 

A Seaside Holiday

With autumn imminent, the number one pick for our next free weekend was the seaside.
There's a sense of urgency to see as much sun and and outdoors as you can before you grab a crate of Tim Tams and a big doona and hibernate for the winter.
We picked Weymouth in Dorset for several reasons. One- we'd never been there, two- it's two whole counties away giving us some new places to see along the way and three- it's not too far from one of our favourite spots from our holiday five years ago, Lulworth Cove.
I've noticed In England I have a pessimistic/optimistic attitude to packing- you pack the stuff you hope you'll get to use (in this case swimwear), and also the stuff you will probably have to use (rain gear). Invariably the weather is somewhere in between and I will have nothing to wear.
We pack up Minty the wonder car and head off down south, with, it would appear, half of England. It's a slow drive but we're heading off on a beach holiday, and so who cares.
We chose a B & B as we often do. It's something I don't think I've ever done in Australia but I love using them here. 90% of the places we've stayed were great. There was that place where we realised upon retiring for the night, that our hosts have given up their own beds...
Usually it's good however. I love coming down to a little pine dining room in the morning the air smelling of cooked breakfast. You sit there at your little table, scooping marmalade out of those tiny glass pots and smile to yourself listening to other folk around you with various accents, plan their days adventures.If you are lucky your hosts are chatty and helpful and full of wonderful local facts and information. Other times they might hide and you can't really blame them.

Our hosts are in the lovely category this time and direct us to some likely places to get a good supper and the most pleasant route there. It probably wasn't the most wonderful route, but bless them they tried.                                
Weymouth is big old town. It sits on a wide bay facing south, with powdery sand at one end and pebbles at the other.It's full of hotels and amusement arcades and like many seaside places looks a little worn in a loved-to-death way. But the beach is pristine and raked daily and the water is great for families being shallow for quite a way out.
There are Punch and Judy shows, donkeys rides, trampolines, merry-go-rounds and ice-cream aplenty. We had fish and chips for dinner and Fil stated it was the best he's had in England- pretty hefty compliment. We strolled along the waterfront, illuminated with all the restaurants and clubs and then back over the swan dotted river to our beds.
The next morning, forecast good,  we head to the the beach early and for a while have it mostly to ourselves. The very brave menfolk hit the water, albeit very carefully, and I sat on the beach admiring their tenacity and being relieved I had none myself.
 An ice cream or two, and several hours later we drive to Lulworth Cove to visit the Durdle Door, part of the very long Jurassic Coast- loads of chalky fossil encrusted cliffs and beautiful beaches.

We came prepared with a camp stove this time and some sausages and had a lovely sausage sandwich lunch. Always hits the spot.

The kids tried to bury each other with tiny pebbles and I admired the scenery feeling very lucky to have gotten the chance to revisit such a beautiful place. The views from any spot, high or low are gorgeous. There was a kite flying above the cliff (the birdie kind) and I couldn't believe how it just sat on the air in exactly the same spot a few metres above the grass, waiting for a careless rodent.

Our last day arrives too quickly and this time it's raining. We don appropriate alter outfits, say goodbye to our lovely hosts and head to Kingston Lacy, a National Trust property halfway back to Winchester. Because we are members of the Trust, whenever we go away now, we look to see what property is in the area and go see it. Always great value.

Kingston Lacy is a jaw-droppingly stunning manor house on manicured acreage. The house is lovely from the outside but inside- ooh la la! The National Trust is doing a lot towards making properties interactive and child-friendly, but this place is still in the midst of child-frowning and really I can't blame them- it's like a palace inside. It's the sort of place you need to spend all day in to utter the appropriate amount of oohs and ahhs. We got at least an hour until enquires from the kids about leaving began, and then a good half hour after that.

                               
The grounds are nice to walk around as well though I was really annoyed to leave the little shepherds hut behind. Some consolation was found in the very nice cream tea that ended our visit. Unfortunately the wasps were just as enamoured with the strawberry jam as I was. Being chased by wasps was an unexpected and  rather exciting end to our holiday weekend.
                                               

 

A Visit to Avebury

“Are you coming with us to Avebury?”

“What’s there?”

“These amazing stone circles put there by people 4500 years ago. It’s the biggest Neolithic circle in Europe.”

“Nah. Well, it’s not really that exciting is it?”

“Well you can’t bungee jump off them or anything.”

“Yeah no, I’ll just say home then.” 

And so, leaving the unimpressed teen behind for this one, us other three excitables head off early one drizzly morning to Avebury, in order to beat the crowds. It’s a technique that never fails to unimpress the kids, but with  Britain's population about three times of Australia’s but 31 times smaller, popular places can get really busy. Fortunately getting up early is mostly left to the tourists and never fails to work.

I had picked Avebury because I have never seen any of the henges and I wanted to see them close up. As it turned Avebury is looked after by the National Trust of which we are members, and so our parking and entry was free (don’t worry, we made up for it by buying plenty in the visitor shop). As early as we arrived there were already the large empty shells of several coaches.

Sensible people that we are we decided that while the busloads were off henging, we would grab a cream tea while there were scones left (Devonshire Tea in Australia).

Avebury is a sweet little village in its own right- thatch and stone buildings and beautiful gardens. We’re truly impressed because of the amount of people that must come through here and it appears the opposite of well trodden- it’s even peaceful.

 

This area of Wiltshire is green hilly farmland, and to actually walk among the stones is to dance around the sheep shit. The sheep watch you completely unimpressed.

 More pagan* eejits, you can hear them think.

 

I don’t feel anything much about the stones, though typically me I want to. Like anyone I would love to know exactly what they were first placed here for. Divided up as they are by farmland, I think I’d have to be hovering above in my Druid robe to really appreciate them in their intended layout. I do press my hand to them which is understandable and like most idiots check for any palpable humming. Nup.

 I am charmed however by a lovely little stand of young oaks atop a small hill. All the lowest branches are tied with coloured ribbons. I’m guessing some sort of wish fulfilment but can’t be sure, but it has a touch of faerie about it. Or that could just be in my head. It’s a nice place in there.Thank you for visiting.

 Our walk around the circle is lovely, drizzle aside, and we stop to watch a group of tourists led through a wheat field that has had some sort of pattern stamped into it. Or words perhaps- "Farmer Dave has lost his tractor key somewhere here."
 

Back in the village we decide to visit Avebury Manor and we’re pleased we do because it’s gorgeous. The house is about 500 years old and after a string of owners; the National Trust bought it and finally gave a green light to a BBC show who renovated the interiors and gardens for a show, but certainly not a song. Bah boom tish. Ahem...

 Each room of the house has been done up in the style of a different era. It’s fascinating. Even Flynn is really intrigued. We all have our favourite rooms, mine possibly the Tudor one with the rush flooring and newly carved oak furniture. And what’s more you are encouraged to interact with everything. You can play billiards, lie on the amazing beds, sit on the seats. You know- touch stuff!

 We are so impressed, we bought the video as they say, so we could see how they transformed it. The gardens around the house are wonderful and make me miss growing veges very much. although they are doing a somewhat better job.

 

We have a very tasty lunch at a pub haunted by the ghost of a woman murdered and tossed down a well. I am a bit lost for words (I know!) when I realise the round dining table in the corner is the well itself, with a Perspex top and seating added round the edges. Um, okay...

Apparently the well once stood outside and the original pub was built over the top of it.

The ghost is probably just trying to tell them what a tasteless piece of planning that was!

 

 On our way home we pass Silbury Hill - an amazing sight - a 4800 year old man-made chalk hill- original purposes once again guessed at, but in any case impressive.

It just sits out there like a toy left under a big green rug. The view from the top must be spectacular but it’s on private land and I am not sure you can climb it. That’s what I say out loud, but really after a day of meandering, I haven’t the energy unless there were a guaranteed four-poster waiting at the top for me.

 I spot a picture perfect pub on the way back and jump out onto the road like a crow after road pizza to take a photo, but I just can’t visit them all damn it!

All in all it's an excellent and well spent day out- even without a henge bungee jump.

 

*Whilst I did make a little fun of the druid/pagan focus on Avebury and indeed probably all the henge's, I do actually like the nature focus aspect of paganism and have often thought Fil would make a fine druid in a parallel universe.
I know, thanks for sharing that Natalie.
 

 

Local Ambles

The next two weeks are spent exploring and inserting ourselves into life here.

Fil has begun work and at least three weeks stretch before me with the kids before they begin school. It’s a bit scary as it’s almost a month since we left Sydney and probably high time the boys were hanging around people their own age.

 I decide to haul them away from their electrical distractions and drag them by foot around Winchester .

We walk Alex’s route to college. It’s quite long at about 35 minutes, although pleasant enough. I research bus routes and safe cycle routes as well as we promised everyone a bike. I am a bit alarmed to see no one wears a helmet here and many of the roads are busy and/or narrow.

Everything is more or less downhill from our house which is charming to start out on a walk and a bit of a bloody trial on the return. Suffice to say none of us are really used to hours of walking and could be termed unfit (except Alex who was born fit). Perhaps one day I shall jog home whilst whistling Running Up That Hill by Kate Bush, but that time is not now.

I love the varied architecture of Winchester and am constantly pointing things out in excitement. Flynn I’m sure has Gazers Whiplash and Alexander can walk while typing on an ipad, but I’m hoping somehow some of it’s sinking in with them. I find a lot of pubs I shall try to visit at some time or another. I appreciate my constant excitement over pubs paints me as an alcoholic but in truth I just adore the ambiance of the pubs and the old buildings. Sure you do girlie.

On one day we climb St Giles hill which nearly kills me after nearly two hours of walking. The steps are printed with a chocolate-square type of pattern and I struggle up the steps lying to myself with promises of the candy mountain surely at the top. There is no candy, but there is a fine distracting view over Winchester’s high street and beyond. The hill we have climbed once held a medieval* trade market with sellers coming from all over Europe. I survey the sunny hill, imagining the stalls and wares and tents. I imagine it must have looked amazing, though I am a little surprised to see Aslan.  The boys and I eat a picnic lunch here before the long walk home which is aided by ice-creams from the icecream man. And thus pain fades.

 Other days we head in different directions. There are always quaint cottages, flowers gardens, hidden shops or ancient churches. I have a lot of favourite spots already, many along parts of the river, but a favourite for us all is St Catherine’s Hill.

 This was once the location of an iron age fort and has a copse of beech trees like a crown at it’s summit. I find the tiny wood spooky and had a bit of a scare when Flynn disappeared Picnic-at-Hanging-Rock style on one of our visits, but he had just popped out the far side and become disorientated. I threw a wobbly that should have been visible for miles. Perhaps is on Google maps.

 But the hill is absolutely covered in wildflowers and has a really grand view. Sitting on the grass looking out is amazing- "Yes, what is it now, Minion??"

 "Pass the salt Mum."

There is a Miz-maze, of which I am no expert but it’s a very low living maze-like thing, constructed originally they guess as some sort of penitential device to crawl through. Those wacky monks.

 Sadly its sort of disappearing as they have trouble getting people to take care of it. I told Fil I had put his name down for a shift. It was really fun for the few seconds he believed me.

 On the south side of the hill is a grassy valley called the Plague Pits where an awful lot of bodies were laid during the times of the Black Plague. Facinating but sad. Probably safe from ever being a housing estate at least.

 I will regale you with fascinating place names some other time perhaps.

During our travels we find places that appeal to each of us. For me, finding the art store, book stores and 2^nd hand stores gives a kind of happy familiarity mixed with exciting and new. I love the charity shops because they are full of Englishy things no-one really seems to want- from crockery to prints to furniture. Some of these things come to live at our house which is taking on a feeling of being home. I am getting used to mail delivered through my door, recycling glass at the supermarket, carrying an umbrella most days and extra long phone numbers and post codes.

I still get excited about everything. Even the lawn weeds are lovely and I am frustrated that I can only name buttercups and dandelion. I ask a bemused neighbour what some are called. She tells me they’re weeds. Eventually I buy a little book on wildflowers and bore everyone with my newfound flower names. Many have medicinal uses which I also find exciting.

To balance out my nature discovery mania, I find local places that the kids might make friends- a local drop in centre, a gym, the library. Of course when school begins everything will be different again and I am surprised to find that is coming up much sooner than I thought.

 

*Note: It may not have been medieval, I may have made that up, but I'm confidant it wasn't last week. Nevertheless if you are going on Who wants to Be a Millionaire, probably best not quote me.

Ola' from Portugal

With Fil's work looming on the horizon, we knew it was time to travel further afield while we had the opportunity. The votes were for somewhere hot (I was predictably outvoted ) and European. Of course you can purchase everything on the internet these days, but with only days to organise it, we took our appeal to a travel agent .
Two days later we stepped off a plane in the sunny south of Portugal, known as Algarve. I had never heard of the region but every UK person has and they've been holidaying here for years.
We opted for no car. With all the stresses of late, we didn't want to add 'driving on the wrong side of the road'. I spent the plane trip trying to memorise a few Portugese phases. The boys couldn't care less- probably confident the grown ups will make asses of themselves on their behalves. Obrigado boys.
Like so many of our adventures, this one also begins withheart-stopping transport. Our transfer man was an excellent driver. I knew this because he could read brochures, text and talk on the phone whilst driving.
 Fil got the front seat and I can see his hand twitching toward the steering wheel. Driving on the other side of the road is unsettling at first too. At the hotel we tip the driver in a universal celebration of still being alive. He seemed pleased too.
The hotel is a collection of rooms and villas whose address is Praia da Luz (Luz beach) but in fact isn't at this location at all. We are closer to Burgau, described on a t-shirt Fil buys as 'a drinking village with a fishing problem.' Hmmm.
If you have to be a little isolated it nice to do it from a traditional style villa complete with curvey walls and nooks and bang-yourself-unconscious low ceilings. And three pools. And a little bar to drink the popular 'green' wine, comparable I think to 'early harvest' as we call it in Australia.
The region, at this time of year at any rate is bone dry and smells sweetly of oleander. The grass is crunchy underfoot . It's hot but it's breezy, and so bearable. No flies.
We do the walk in Luz along the clifftop, me freaking out if the kids get too close to the edge (10 metres away). The sandstone is a pale gold turning the sea a lovely turquoise. The trip is at least a few kilometres of low scrub and rock and inexplicably, wild grapes.
It is beautiful in a wild way and reminds me of a sort of mediteranean cousin of South Australia. It's not part of the mediterranean, and the best way to tell is to dive into the ocean, which Fil did, and come up spluttering to restart your heart. The Atlantic here is about 14 degrees. It just doesn't look it, which is why so many people just go in up to their knees and play some sort of ball sport. Or pick amongst the rocks with a net. Or get a wetsuit.
Luz itself is like an overgrown village with its original core of whitewashed buildings and bouganvillia and a lovely curved beach full of people. Spiralling out from that are hundreds of new villas, probably all owned by tourists, and some very grand indeed, but all with the 'half pipe' terracotta roofs and chess piece style chimneys .
 A glimpse of green lawn catches our attention at a place called The Fort (because it was once?) with wonderful views and lovely gardens. We book a table for the Sunday afternoon Jazz Lunch.

It is fortunate that the hotel owners are nice enough to have upgraded us to our villa as we are able to cook our own food sometimes. Breakfast is at the hotel breakfast area with a wonderful assortment of English and continental food with fresh-from- the oven portugese tarts and champagne on weekends.

We walk to Burgau which has a lovely beach too and is much quieter. Unfortunately you have to walk along a road to get there which I found a bit scary, though not as scary as the coast way back which Fil insisted we do after dinner one night. I had consumed lets say, several wines, it was growing dark, and there we are, sprinting in the end, along pathways in the dark while I am repeating to myself hazily- "I will laugh about this tomorrow, but right now I am NOT having fun." Lets say that Fil was not commended on his choice of return route.

One hot day Fil took the boys to an amazing waterslide park which also included a birdshow they were impressed with. There were a few zoos around but we imagined in the heat the animals would be hiding, so instead we booked to go see the 'grottos'- caves and arches etched into the sandstone coast. This trip left from Lagos a little way to the east and for which we took a taxi, which I must say are very reasonably priced.
You can see the grottos via all sorts of boats but we chose a small sailing boat which takes just a few dozen people. It was  beautiful day with the sea glassy and the sky clear. When we got to a certain spot, the boat anchored and everyone was divided into three groups to be taken out in the dinghy. We were group three so we had a cold drink and Fil and Alex took up the invite to dive overboard. I thought they were very brave knowing full well how cold it would be.

Finally our time arrived for the tour and our tour guide took us around all the 'rooms' named by fisherman that the grottos have; basically the rooms of a house- including the loo. The water below was so clear and beautiful you just wanted to jump overboard and snorkel. Sadly its so populated by tours, its just not possible.I guess the octopus are happy at least about the lack of underwater intrusion.
 Our Jazz lunch the next day was wonderful with an amazing smorgasboard of fish and meat and beautiful views past the geraniums of the coast. All to the happy soundtrack of live Jazz.

Like many holidays, we'd just got into the swing of things when it was time to go home. The wind dropping, the heat cranking and mosquitos arriving softened the blow, and I must say, when I did back to England, my eyes sucked in all that green with a very 'happy to be home' sigh. Its nice to have the best of both worlds.

Some Good News

In London we get excellent news. Fil has been offered not one, but both jobs. Though obviously ecstatic he feels terrible having to turn one offer down. Fortunate to be in an uncomfortable situation you could say. The one close to Winchester has to win out. Ten minutes to and from work is a dream come true.

We also hear from the real estate about the vacant house. The landlord  would be very pleased to have us (probably would be pleased with anyone but vagrants or squirrels), we just need to do the paperwork and pay the rent. Having rented in Sydney I know that the rules in the UK differ somewhat. Because Fil has yet to begin work and indeed hasn't signed a contract, no one is interested in anything but rent in advance- a minimum of 6 months. We agreed to this.Murphys law stated that we meet people soon after who told us we could have offered only three and they probably would have taken it. We also learnt that rent prices are negotiable. What can I say- we were ignorant and desperate to get in a place, and they saw us coming.

But still, it's good news sorely needed- it appeared we will have a house and a job.

After a few days at my brother’s , we head over to Fil’s sisters place near Reading to spend a few nights there. The plan is that we hire a people-mover to drive down south because we have four very large and heavy suitcases plus an assortment of smaller bags.  But,  for the life of us we cannot hire a large car. Either there are none available or they want us to have a UK address.

 We had  no problems with the London car mob, but here it seems an insurmountable problem. This is because we aren't tourists - we have no return tickets to Australia and we aren't residents as we have nothing yet with a UK address- this apparently equals high risk suspect .

 Even a passport, driver’s license (which we can get a job, rent a house and open a bank account with) and vouch from a UK citizen are no good.

In the end Fil’s sister and her husband very generously  offer to drive the suitcases down once we were moved in. This means we can go with a car company who does not want to hassle us but has only small cars. 

 We take a day out before we're due to leave to visit Legoland. Fil and I  presumed there would be a lot of Lego exhibits (which the boys love) and a few rides, but it is really the other way around. To be honest it really is for younger children on the whole (under 8 great) but we have fun and there are some great Lego exhibits. It’s almost worth the entry just to see the absolutely enormous area of Lilliputian sized Lego cities.

With about four days until we can move into our new house we head down to Southampton where our late booking and school hols land us a nice ground floor room with views of a roof , police headquarters and absolutely no air-conditioning -which on 30 degree days is a good way of losing kilos in the night- which is probably helpful.

Whinge aside we get plenty achieved during our stay-  furniture from Ikea (4 people with 6 laden trolleys is NO fun no matter how tasty the Swedish meatballs) and from a second-hand charity in Winchester. Some but not all will arrive in time for moving in. We also touch base with the Winchester bank who have forgotten to order our pin numbers (do NOT get me started on bank problems we have had- nightmare).

We also visit my grandmother whose health is rapidly deteriorating. It's really hard to talk about anything but the illness. To be positive in such obviously diffucult circumstances. My grandmother is loosing a lot of weight and before we leave she points out her thin legs and say- "The next time you see me I'll have disappeared altogether." This comment rings over and over in my mind.

We decide to have a day at a nice beach with the weather being so warm and us needing a bit of stress respite. So one hot hazy morning we head off to the Isle of Wight. Well, not straight away as we get on the wrong ferry and visit lovely Hythe first. Then we do take the right ferry and arrive at Cowes on the north of the Isle.

 A series of buses takes us overland to the south-eastern town of Sandown. All of the buses are  exciting because riding a double decker at speed up and down one lane roads is a commute and amusement park ride rolled in one.

 Though an island, the Isle of Wight is absolutely enormous. It looks quite modest on a map- a tiny chip off the old block- but travelling over it are hours and miles of beautiful farmland and villages, smelling deliciously of fresh cut grass.

Now, I cannot judge a typical English seaside town as yet, but if I had to guess, I’d say Sandown looks very much like one. It has a long sweep of beach- this one sand- with a pier pointing out to sea in the middle, complete with carnival amusements. Chalky cliffs stand tall and hazy to the north. Houses and hotels about the place have a feeling as being rather pleased with their location. The shops sell buckets and spades and ice-cream and postcards, and on the beach you can hire deck chairs, which we do.

The English Channel is cold in summer- we guess about 17 degrees, but even so Fil, Flynn and Alexander get a tick in the box for going in for a swim. I get to safely record this from the safe warm shore. We’re keeping a record of all the seas, rivers, oceans and lakes swum in whilst we are over here. I don't know why, but it's working fine for me.

The Isle of Wight is a lovely day out, happily spent.

Tired and sunburnt back at the hotel, we find Fil has missed an email which reads-

We forgot to ask what language Flynn would like to learn in regards to offering him a place at the school.

“Wow, that’s great!” I say to Fil- “Is that the school near the house?”

No,  it's the first school.

A Bad Start

It began with Fil’s job interview.

 This would be the first of two for which he had passed initial processing back in Australia.

After some frustrated study (swatting two 5000 pages tomes over a few hours) he suited up and was ready to go, having arranged to drop  Flynn and I at our own appointment along the way. This was to a school we had  applied to from Australia. We were aware it was extremely full and had hurriedly sent off our application when told there was only one spot left. Today we would tour the school and having heard nothing to the contrary, I was anxious to get some information of what we needed in order to begin there.

As is so often the case, despite a GPS we managed to get a little lost via a temporary road closure  so Flynn and I hurried out at the school while Fil drove off with some mild concerns of being late.

In the very smart foyer, Flynn and I were smilingly ushered to seats where the lady we had been in correspondence with, would meet us briefly, before heading off on a tour lead by the head boy and a prefect.

 The lady in question arrived and after a few pleasantries announced- “Yes, unfortunately we have to refuse Flynn a position here as there are no places available.”

 Pardon me?

Yes, there had been a place but there was no longer one, and, what we needed to do was apply to other schools in the area then if there was nothing there, apply to the Hampshire County Council who would try and find Flynn some sort of place, possibly out of area. What?!!!
 All our house searching had been in the catchment area for this school. No one had said we hadn’t got in. I was completely dumbfounded. No spots here, nor possibly anywhere in Winchester. WT...? We began our now seemingly pointless tour, my brain rather numb and Flynn rather quiet. The school looked great but what good was that? I  thought to ask at least the boys  thought of other schools in the area. They gave their candid opinions.

 What were we going to do?

Fil meanwhile hurried off , given confidence by his GPS that he still had time, suspected nothing might be amiss until he was instructed to head down a very dodgy looking one lane road between two farms. Unhappy but with no spare time to argue, he set off through the rain, unable to see any oncoming cars with the hedgerows and turns and all too aware that if he didn’t actually run headfirst into anyone, he certainly had no room to let them by. What might that mean? Reversing the way he’s come? He didn’t want to think about it.

 Thankfully he finally popped out the far side into a village and would have experienced great relief had his GPS not then announced with confidence- “You have reached your destination!”

He had not.

 Panicked and now going to be late, Fil tried to use his phone to ring the company “Your credit has expired…”
 There was no time to top it up. Fil screeched the car to a halt at a mad angle outside a pub, dashed in, grabbed the nearest drinker by the elbow, gabbling out his dilemma. Though clearly shocked by the mad Australian with the tie over one shoulder, the good man gave clear instructions as to where to find the company but warned it was tricky to find. Dear God.

 As Fil drove off at speed to find the place his phone went. It was the job angency enquiring to his whereabouts since the company had rung them when he hadn't shown. Fil begged them ring on his behalf and tell them he would be there in five.
 Finally he got through the security gates and given directions. Fil in quite a state by now and dying for a loo went quite the wrong way which meant a rather painful sprint back across the grounds.
Inside at last, sweating and breathless he was given a welcome... and directed to go and sit an exam.

Meanwhile, back at the school we had finished our tour, Flynn refusing to be drawn into any conversation, mostly because they were enquiries about cricket about which he knew nothing. Back in the office I asked for my next procedure to be repeated as I had been unable to take it all in. A different lady helped me this time and she was most illuminating. I enquired to her about whether she knew of private schools having the same processing and explaining our position.  She told me she didn’t think there were any positions available in all Winchester for year 8, however if I was keen (obviously) there were means and ways: dress nicely (I looked down in dismay at my smart casual), cry, make a display of wealth and/or power (hire a jag and pearls?) etc. This woman was genuinely nice and not at all condescending and opened my eyes properly to what we might be dealing with. It was something I’d never really experienced before. I almost had to laugh because otherwise I would have been furious. It was true places were almost non-existent but a few golden tickets must still exist for the right candidates, of which we clearly were not one.

Fil picked us up and told us he thought he’d gone badly. In the state he was in at the exam he’d drawn a blank on things he should know. The verbal interview he thought went okay but he felt the test had really failed him. I couldn’t bring myself to stress him out further as I knew he had another interview next day, so I just told him about the tour and the school looked good.

We viewed more houses, most unsuitable for various reasons. Only one place was available and it was a little further out and we were worried as to why it was vacant.

The next day Fil had a better interview though a negative had been the unexpectedly long distance to reach the company- 40 minutes drive each way- something he’d done on a longer scale in Sydney and something he was keen not to repeat if at all possible. But things had gone well enough for me to break the news about the schools. Since Fil was still suited up, he offered to go by himself and visit the other schools. I went off and looked at a few houses.

When he returned we compared notes. One of the schools had been helpful, though both had no places at present. Fil had noticed the vacant house we'd seen was close to the helpful school and mentioned the possibility of moving there to the school. They said though there were no guarantees it would help Flynn’s place on the waiting list. Based on this vague hope and the fact that the house was largish and had parking and in a nice spot, we ended up applying for it since my hunting had borne no good fruit. We left Winchester wistfully, hoping it would soon officially be home but feeling right now rather battered and overwhelmed.

We were going to stay at my brothers in London a few days to anxiously await news on jobs and houses and schools. Waiting right now was all we felt confident to do and that wasn't going to be much fun either....,