September 3, 2006

This morning we woke to a delightful “Full English” breakfast of yogurt, fruit, cereal, sausage, fried egg on toast, bacon, and buttered toast. Orange juice served as our liquid refreshment, and Dad and I both passed on the tomatoes.

During breakfast Dad and I conversed with a pleasant British couple from Leicester. We discussed immigration (primarily into Britain, but also into the U.S.), home schooling (fielded the age-old “what about socialization?” question, talked about benefits of home schooling and our family’s reason for doing so, the legality of home schooling in Britain and the U.S., etc.), British history, and a local Paineswick church (St. Mary’s, circa 1350). It soon became evident that this couple firmly believed in the right, even the necessity, of a government’s daily interference in the lives of its citizens. Although they spoke of high taxes as being problematic, and of the need to limit immigration into Britain, the husband explicitly stated that foreigners had the right to come into Britain and receive free provision and shelter from the government (he did say that immigrants should pay something back to the State eventually, but this feeling of their having any personal responsibility or duty of self-provision was vague in the extreme, and not well established in his own mind). ‘Twas thought-provoking to observe the influence that concentrated socialism had obtained over this middle-aged (early 40s) couple, both of whom seemed quite normal Brits in every sense.

Following breakfast Dad and I drove to Plymouth, arriving around 1:00 p.m. (Having several years ago visited Clarks Island in Plymouth, Massachusetts, the site where the Pilgrims first touched land in the New World, a high priority for me on our Britain trip was to visit Plymouth, England, site of the Pilgrims’ final port in the Old World.) There we boarded a Tamar River cruising vessel, a small harbor/river touring boat with an open bow, an enclosed middle, and a covered stern. We enjoyed motoring around the harbor and Tamar River, sighting monuments and buildings on the shore, and passing British warships and nuclear submarines in berth (we also observed a docked German warship, in town following recent joint strategic war games; how times have changed). With the sun shining, the water sparkling, and a pleasant breeze wafting over the ship, the hour-long cruise was a definite day’s highlight.

Returning to port, we disembarked and stopped for some souvenirs/gifts and ice cream. Our Plymouth ramblings then took us to a bluff above the river, providing us with lovely panoramic views of the coast. Atop this vantage point was a collection of shops, food/novelties carts, a lighthouse, a Ferris wheel, monuments, and a small dog show, with families and young people enjoying the day all around (biking, reading, impromptu soccer games, etc.). We were loathe to vacate this pleasant place, but, desirous of walking some English countryside before dark, we left Plymouth around 3:30 p.m. and drove back to the B&B.

Parking our car, we walked down the B&B’s grass and dirt driveway and onto the country lane below. A few hundred yards up the road we encountered Cotswold Way, a 105-mile national walking trail reaching from Chipping Camden to Bath. Turning onto Cotswold Way, what a fantastic view then appeared. Green, green, everywhere fresh green! We rambled through cow pastures and up hillsides, bathing in the surreal, storybook atmosphere all around us. Rolling meadows, stately trees, fences, cows, sheep, rabbits, birds, squirrels, berries, and rays of evening sunshine delighted our eyes. I was hard-pressed to place one foot in front of the other, as every step offered ten new photos to take. Truly the beauty of Britain’s countryside is very great.

A ravishing ramble we enjoyed, past stone houses, across a modern foot bridge, through tree-limb arches and wooden gates, down quaint little lanes and beside flowing brooks. We even experienced a face-to-stony-face encounter with “ol’ Bess,” a cow in whose pasture we were lawfully “trespassing.” She seemed to be contemplating both her existence and ours, arriving at an unconcerned conclusion about either one. We wished her a good evening and continued on our merry way.

Our meanderings eventually returned us to the B&B’s driveway, an appreciated blessing only vaguely planned. Hopping into our car we drove to the local McDonald’s, seeking a taste of home while on distant shores. A taste of home it was indeed, as the level of competence behind the counter nicely mirrored what one might encounter in the States.

Stepping confidently to the counter, I ordered the new McDonald’s BLT w/cheese deli sandwich. The young man taking my order politely informed me that all their deli sandwiches were unavailable, as they were completely out of rolls. I was slightly shaken by this revelation, but pressed forward with my order nonetheless, resolutely changing my request to a double-quarter-pounder w/cheese. That menu item being still in stock, I reassumed my confident disposition and brashly added a Rollo milkshake to my tab. Regrettably, the McDonald’s establishment was fresh out of the necessary Rollo ingredient. Instead, a Coke pinch-hit for the preferred dairy treat. My order now at an end, I pulled out my trusty American Express, grateful for credit cards that allow one to conserve one’s ready cash. “We don’t take cards,” replied the helpful attendant, a gentleman whose person was rapidly diminishing in my esteem. Therefore, I reluctantly parted with a precious ₤5 note and thus completed my rather sorry order.

To top off our McDonald’s experience, the British definition of “fast food” is apparently different than ours, as we waited a good 10-15 minutes for our food to be brought to our table. I then had to request the receipts Dad and I had been promised, which were duly printed and given to me. Gratefully, the actual eating of our dinner proved much less adventurous than its precursory endeavors, and we soon finished our meal and returned to the B&B.

Upstairs to our bedroom we tromped, eager to journal, read, and sleep. Upon reaching our room, I realized that our “heavenly” walk earlier in the evening had left a rather “earthly” object on my left shoe, the complimentary gift of an offending Jersey cow (perhaps ol’ Bess herself?). TP, soap, and water were my only co-combatants against this stubborn foe, and the sole of my leather shoe was loathe to relinquish sits newly acquired raiment. However, after a dedicated effort, off came the offending substance—to a greater or lesser degree—and I got about the business of downloading the day’s photos, surfing the web (I discovered the B&B had wireless internet access), and journaling.

After about 15 minutes of journal entry, the house’s electricity suddenly died (we could tell that the entire house was affected, as the rather lively party of folks celebrating our proprietors’ 40th wedding anniversary downstairs sounded just as surprised as Dad and I felt). I found my cell phone, used its screen light to locate my LED flashlight (thank you, Mark and Amy), and finished recording the day’s events by “torch.” So ended our very full, very enjoyable, very memorable day.