Day 17: We'll all be rooned!

We spent last night in an old Gloucestershire pub (near the Welsh border) with a few rooms tarted up for mugs like us  - all was well until Jumbo the elephant and his family of 14 lumbered up the stairs to the room directly above ours just as we were nodding off, a bit after 10pm.  It was not just the 10-pound bowling balls they dropped on the floor intermittently, it was the creeeeeaaakking floor every time they moved - like fingernails down a blackboard.  Honestly, by midnight I just wanted to storm up there and punch them.  Still, not really their fault I suppose - if I was going to punch anyone it should have been Mr and Mrs Bar-keep.

We were out of there at the crack of dawn, clumping our bags noisily down the stairs with some satisfaction.  First stop was Caerleon, Wales and a Roman amphitheatre. I am just amazed (that word again!) at the extent of simply wonderful archaeology in a very small area of  Wales.  It would take weeks to see it all properly.  And who knew?  (Well, blog readers probably did, but I didn't!)

Anyway, Caerleon has a number of Roman ruins but the most spectacular is the amphitheatre (left) which was originally 9 metres high and could hold 6000 spectators.  There was a garrison of 6000 soldiers based in Caerleon and it was about 15 miles by fast electric chariot from Caerwent, the Roman  market town we visited yesterday, so no shortage of spectators for their bloodthirsty entertainment preferences.

Our camera wasn't flash enough to capture the entire amphitheatre, but this is close ---->

About a third of the way up from the bottom, in the middle of the pic, is the nearside upper edge of the amphitheatre.  The explanatory signs for tourists said it would be used for soldier drills, weapons training, and "the brutal amusements to which the Romans were addicted".  I do find it puzzling that such a sophisticated and otherwise civilised society could actively enjoy and cultivate sadism.        

This pic on the right (Geoffy in the middle) was taken from the entrance way for the poor wretched animals and gladiators.  We also saw more Roman walls and other evidence of Roman occupation but decided we've probably overdosed ourselves (and readers) with pics!

Our next stop was Raglan Castle - a couple of stones' throws down the road - and which, given its ruined state, we expected to be much older than 550 years.  It still has a moat ( or someone has resurrected it) but the rest of it is a  ruin.

 

This is Raglan Castle taken from its best angle. And warning - abbreviated history lesson imminent:  Built by William Herbert, 1st Earl of Pembroke and mentor to Henry Tudor, later Henry VII and father of Henry VIII.   All went swimmingly at Raglan until the English civil war when the castle was under siege. 

It was abandoned after the civil war and for the next 200 years, every passing man and his dog helped themselves firstly to anything that wasn't nailed down and later to anything that was, including masonry.  This is why the place now looks like this:

 

 

Bit sad really.  But we consoled ourselves with a  refreshing cup of tea and piece of Welsh fruit cake (astoundingly, it tastes just like Australian fruitcake!) at the castle cafe, then we were off oop north.

 

Not too far north - just Shrewsbury in Shropshire, hugging the Welsh border all the way.  Since yesterday morning we have been seeking Offa's Dyke without any success.  Offa was an 8th century Anglo Saxon king of Mercia who was paranoid about the Welsh invading his space, so he built a massive trench along the border to keep them out.  It's still visible in some places but I'm buggered if we can find it, even though we keep coming across Offa's Dyke signposts, so it is tantalising (or taunting) us with with its nearness.  Hopefully we'll get another chance to see a bit of it tomorrow, but for the moment we can only say that it's confounding and seemingly inaccessible, so Offa's vision continues to be realised!

 

Tonight we are based in a lovely Shropshire village called Uffington. We have a very cosy topfloor (yay!) room in the Corbet Arms, overlooking the river Severn and sheep paddocks, with snowcapped hills and church steeples in the distance. Ours is the top dormer window on the right.   Ahh.... this blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England!

    

Tomorrrow: Conwy Castle, north Wales. 

Deceased badger count as of COB 17/3/2013: 14. :-(

Day 16: Awed and amazed in Caerwent and Abaty Tyndyrn

It was hard this morning to drag ourselves away from the motorway Travelodge (nr Beckington, Somerset) with its shabby carpet and chipped bath, but it was time to move on.  Ninety minutes later, were in Wales, although we were slugged 6 pounds for the privilege (bridge toll). 

Before I go on, I must say two things I keep forgetting to say.  1.  We have so far seen 12 dead badgers. 2.  I'm sorry if I sound like a know-all, blathering on about the history of every place we visit (eg Bath yesterday). I do know that many of my several dozen blog readers ( ;-) ) have been to all these places but most are new to me and I'm very excitable!  So do forgive me.  (And humour me as well!) 

Our first port of call this morning was the most extraordinary place, just over the Welsh border.  It is called Caerwent and I had only heard of it because it featured on Time Team on the ABC a couple of years ago.   In and around a small farming village are the walls and foundations of an entire Roman city.  The city walls are still 5 metres high in some places.  
                   

It's so low key that none of the local businesses seem to capitalise on it at all - quite refreshing really!  There's not much in the way of public parking and it was quite difficult to work out where to begin our exploring.  Fortunately a helpful local told us where to park and where to start and we walked the entire circumference of the wall - well over a kilometre, and then went through sheep paddocks and lanes to the foundations of Roman shops, houses and temples.

 

 

I often think the word "amazing" is over-used but it is so applicable to this place. Imagine sheep sunning themselves on the portals of a Roman temple.  Imagine your house backing onto a Roman market place.  We saw both those things.  And while there is now some recognition of the importance of Caerwent, it's clear that some locals in the past have been a bit blase about it, using bits of Roman ruins to build their front fences and prop up their carports. 

After our meander around Roman Caerwent we stopped for coffee at the Caerwent pub and the bar-keep came over for a chat.  He said that last week he and his grandson were having a play in the backyard when his grandson kicked a molehill and unearthed a Roman coin.   He said that is quite a common occurence and yes, Caerwent locals are a bit blase about their heritage.

 

 

I mentioned how I had only heard about Caerwent through Time Team and he said a couple of the Time Team archaeologists were back last week, excavating a few kms away, where an ancient Briton tribal chieftan's house has been unearthed.  The bar-keep also reckoned that the Time Team guys were in his pub when a Wales v. France rugby match was being screened and they were surprised that all the Welsh locals were barracking for France, not England.  Haw haw!

  Speaking of rugby (and I am getting ahead of myself but will move on with our adventures soon, honestly!) we are currently housed for the night in a 15th century pub and watching a Six Nations rugby game between Wales and England, being played in Cardiff.  Imagine how startled we were when the Cardiff crowd, many thousands of them, all started singing that Tom Jones ditty, 'Delilah'.  It sure ain't the same as Liverpool FC's "You'll never walk alone".  And what extraordinary gusto they showed when they came to the line "I saw the knife in my hand and she laughed no more"..... Deary me - is that the best they can do?  Even "The Young New Mexican Puppeteer" or "What's New Pussycat" (which are both bits of shite) would be better than that misogynist doggerel.   

 

But back to Travels with Geoff and Anne.  A mere spit from Caerwent (about 15 kms) down a winding road and into the Wye valley, was the  magical Tintern Abbey.   I know I'm big on hyperbole, but this is simply the most magnificent building I have ever seen.  And it was absolutely huge!

 

I cannot begin to describe how awesome this place is.  And just one abbreviated sentence of history: Cistercian monks: 13th century.  The end.                                                                     

 

  I cannot do it justice with words, so will just use a few more pics to show its magnificence: 

 

 

.  

Geoffy in the Abbey book room.

 

 

We were so lucky that the weather was kind to us today for both Caerwent and Tintern Abbey.  Both would have been disappointing in the rain. I do feel I was cheated of the full splendour of Avebury yesterday, simply because rain was pissing down. But like Arnold Q. Swarzenburger, I will be back!! 

Half time rugby score: England 3 Wales 9.  Go Wales! 

 

 

 

Day 15: Spitting chips and bussing to Bath

Yesterday arvo, the Travelodge concierge assured us that buses to Bath left the nearby village (Beckington) at 4 minutes past the hour.  So this morning we took a leisurely stroll down to the village at about 8.45, just in time to see the no. 267 Bath Express whoosh by.  After an hour's thumb twiddling, the 9.45 Express turned up and we careened the 13 kms to Bath through several sleepy villages at 100 kph in about 5 minutes.



Bath Abbey from the top of the Roman baths

Bath was a delight: beautiful Georgian and Victorian architecture, and seemingly quite prosperous. Given it was a weekday, raining and low-season, we were surprised that there were so many visitors to the Roman baths.  It must be unbearable during the summer. 

The baths had been derelict for over a thousand years before being resurrected, starting in the late 18th century.  The Victorians then did quite a good job of recreating them - the upper level and columns in this pic (right) are Victorian but the pedestals in front of the columns and stone floors are Roman.  The original baths had a domed roof.

 

There were other baths inside through some of the archways, as well as original Roman architecture and many artifacts that have been found during excavations. 

 

After a civilised lunch at Marks and Spencer (soup, although they did ask if we'd like a bowl of chips with that) we headed to the bus station.  We had earlier checked that the 267 to Frome via Beckington left at 28 past the hour from Bus stop 8.  So when we boarded the bus, we were somewhat perplexed to be told that our return tickets were invalid because they were purchased for a different busline. "But it was a no. 267, " we said, to no avail.  We were instructed to scuttle across the bus depot (fortunately, not far) and catch another 267 bus, same destination, leaving at precisely the same time - 28 minutes past the hour.  We made it, but we're still scratching our heads. Another Shitting Telford moment!

 

'm In the arvo, we headed for Marlborough, Wiltshire - home of  many Adenoid ancestors and just an hour's brisk pony ride from Devizes, visited yesterday.  Gggg grandfather Isaac Newton was a soldier and then a fishmonger, and he was living at 103 High St Marlborough when the 1851 census was taken.  That's it in the pic on the left - now a Boots chemist.  Am still umming & ahhing as to whether the upper floor would have been built by 1851.  It certainly looked old up close but is unlike surrounding architecture.  Anyway, that's the spot where Isaac sold his fish, but probably not chips or scallops.

 

It was pouring with rain in Marlborough so after getting drenched photographing Granddad Isaac's fish shop, we headed to a pub for a warming coider.  (Yes we were in Wiltshire, not Somerset, but only a spit from the border).  A cosy log fire looked promising but as we sat down I was aghast to realise that the patrons were all loudly yahooing about that worst type of horse-racing - a steeple chase - that was being shown live on TV.   Just a couple of horse fatalities this time, so that's okay then. More cheerily, we bought a packet  of chips at the pub because the name seemed so ...erm...appetising.  Back home it would proably be called 'barbecue' flavour:

 

 

 

After Marlborough, with the rain still pouring down, we headed to Avebury - a world heritage site of neolithic stone circles, burial mounds and barrows.  It really is surprising that Stonehenge is the big deal when it comes to neolithic monuments.  There is so much to see at Avebury and yet the teeming multitudes all troop to one-trick-pony Stonehenge.  Maybe it's the lintels - Avebury doesn't have them.   But there is so much more variety at Avebury.  And I have to say it's smack bang in the middle between Devizes and Marlborough, so there is some possibility that my ancestors had a hand in the pagan religious rituals that took place there, and in building the stone circles.  Well, it's a nice thought!

 

 

   

 

Wish we'd had a wide-angle lens to get some perspective - this is a huge stone circle that actually goes across the road and into a neighboring paddock.

 

 

The same stone circle taken about 50 metres away from the previous pic.

 

 

Smaller Avebury stone circle.  If it hadn't been so wet, we'd have taken pics of all the magnificent lumps and bumps in the landscape - burial mounds and monuments.  This is definitely a top place to visit.

 

Tomorrow:  Wales, boyo!

 

Day 14: To Shitting Telford via Cheddar Gorge

A brief excursion to Tregony, Cornwall this morning - the birthplace of my great-great-great grandmother Elizabeth Chapman.  A pretty town, despite all the bossy signs as you enter the very narrow main drag.  That's it in the pic below as well.  Elizabeth was born in about 1799 so we weren't close.



The weather was vastly improved today, which was a relief as we had a longish drive through four counties. It was a bit sad saying goodbye to Cornwall - there were noisy Cornish seagulls eveywhere we went and they sound just like the gulls in Doc Martin - lovely. 










After driving through Devon and a bit of Somerset we arrived at Cheddar Gorge - home to an ancient cave system and the resting place of Cheddar Man - a 9000-year old mesolithic warrior whose DNA was found to be a perfect match for that of a current Cheddar resident.  Most of our Cheddar cave pics were a bit ordinary, but this one is okay.

Lots of limestone etc.











And this one of another cave entrance;
  

The cave tour was self-guided with individual audio phones.  The audio detracted somewhat from the cave experience because it was very kiddy-focused.  Most of the tourists we saw were our vintage or older, and Betty the bat (in gingham apron and bonnet) doing a cheesy commentary on bat lifestyles in Cheddar Gorge was a bit inappropriate.  (See that word play there? Astoundingly, it was accidental.)

One of our biggest frustrations when driving is inadequate road signage.  We are quite convinced that the British RTA has the view that locals need only one directional prod and they'll know their way home, and anyone else can go to buggery. I cannot begin to count the number of times we have followed a signpost only to encounter a junction one kilometre later with five or six directional possibilities and we have not the faintest idea which way we should go.  Invariably we choose the wrong way.  Of course!  We had yet another of these experiences today, in a place called Shepton Mallet.   For the life of me I couldn't remember the name of it later, and came up with Shitting Telford when trying to think of it.  Geoff thinks it's most appropriate!

We are now holed up in our no-frills Travelodge motel near Bath. Earlier this arvo, we had a quick trip to Devizes, Wiltshire, birthplace of my gggg grandfather, Isaac Newton. (For the life of me I can't work out why his name sounds familiar.)  Isaac was born in 1780 and spent 32 years in the Army.  Then he was a fishmonger.  He had three wives, the old dog.   Devizes is quite a nice town - pretty big, with a canal running through it.  Not sure if canals had been created when Isaac was around.  But here's a pic of a 12th century church in Devizes:

           

 Tomorrow:  Bath and possibly the Avebury stone circles. 

Day 13: Ancestral manouvres in the dark

We're still in St Austells, Cornwall, and this morning we took advantage of our proximity to McDonalds to have a hearty breakfast. Tempting as it was to have six cheesy bacon cheesy wraps with cheese, like other customers, we confined ourselves to a modest bagel each with jam and coffee.  Then we packed up our soiled bras and girdles and headed to a laundromat.  Washing done, we could resume our exploration!

First port of call was Wadebridge (about 30 kms away from St Austell) and birthplace of my ancestor Joseph Julian.  It's quite a big town but doesn't have much in the way of attractions - the bridge over the quaintly named river (the Camel) seems to be about it.  No wonder Joseph packed his port and moved to Cardiff in 1860.  We found the nearby hamlet of St Breock, and more specifically its church, rather more charming. 

I assume this is where the ancestors went to church, as St Breock gets a mention in some of the 1840s and 1850s census documentation I have seen.  It's surrounded by tombstones and I was lucky enough to find one of someone who I'm pretty sure would have been a great great  great uncle:

The other interesting thing we found in St Breock, and which we have seen all over the southern part of the UK, is masses of crows' nests all lobbed in together, with the crows squarking and squabbling among themselves about the lack of elbow room.  There are actually lots more nests in the lower branches in this pic below than can be seen.

  

 After all this excitement (and a very cheesy, pretty ordinary lunch in Wadebridge) we headed 15 kms north to Port Isaac where the TV series Doc Martin is filmed.  It's a delightful village and is just like it appears in the TV show. (Fancy that!) 

I imagine Port Isaac (Port Wenn in the show) would be horribly crowded with tourists during the summer months, but was quite bearable today with only a handful, including us. 

 The weather was horrible, so this pic isn't very postcardy, but that's Doc Martin's house in the dead centre.  We resisted the urge to walk up there, as it must be a major embuggerance for the residents to have great hordes of tourists peering in windows and snapping photographs out the front.    

As we were on our way back up the hill to the carpark we spotted this sign in a shop window, seeking people to appear as extras in the next series of Doc Martin which starts filming on 25 March.   Prospective extras, anxious to see themselves on the telly, were asked to come a community hall next Saturday so they could be assessed for suitability.  I'm sure the show's producers won't be short of takers!







Leaving Port Isaac, we were still quite stuffed from our cheesy cheese lunch with cheese at Wadebridge but when I spotted a Cornish pasty shop, I insisted on buying one and sharing it with Geoffy.  What a disappointment. Tasteless filling and dry, heavy pastry. The nicest bit was the tomato sauce on the top. But at least I can say I've had a genuine Cornish pasty even if I intend never having one again.

Next we were off to Tintagel and the famous castle ruins, purported to be the birth place of the legendary King Arthur.  Yawn!  A very tizzy village with every second business capitalising on the Arthurian legend and selling plastic swords, heaps of Merlin tea shops etc etc.  It's quite a hike to the ruins and they are impressive but the clifftop is dominated by a huge ugly hotel built to look like a castle - God it was tacky and I have to say diminished the impact of the actual ruins.  Very sad.

     
And another thing about Tintagel - we saw a bakery flogging pasties that were so big and heavy- looking they seemed like doorstops. They certainly did not look appetising.  The whole village could do with some lessons in taste and modest understatement!

Tomorrow: Somerset!  Geoffy is gaggin' for some coider! 

Devon sandwich with Cornwall vinegar...

And many thanks to Geoffy (visiting from Barcelona) who insisted on today's post title.... 

Leaving our Dorchester pub bright and early, we headed for Uplowman, Devon where Geoff's less exotic ancestor, William Quick, ploughed the fields and scattered the good seed on the land.
There wasn't much to see in the tiny village of Uplowman but it was very close to a fairly prosperous town called Tiverton, where I imagine William spent some time.  Tiverton may well be where he stole the coat that landed him 14 years transportation.

Main drag - Uplowman

William had experience in tailoring and so was indentured on arrival in Sydney to a master tailor.  I speculate that it may have been through the tailor that William met Rachel Nieto (a London gel and ggg-grandaughter of Rabbi David Nieto, discussed in an earlier post!)  who had emigrated as a free woman in 1834. They subsequently had several children and then married a leisurely couple of years later.         
 

And just to prove we were there ------------->

It was very pretty country, dairy-focused,  and we had an excellent Devonshire tea in Tiverton. What we call a Devonshire tea is actually called a 'cream tea' in Devon.  It was served with clotted cream which seemed to be just one churn away from butter.  Very tasty, if artery-hardening! 

Our next stop today was Dartmoor National Park, which is a pre-history treasure chest. I will get to that in a sec - it really was very special- but first, over recent days we have had many opportunities to be thankful we're not driving Satan, and yet another arose today as we encountered this:

I should have cropped the pic (forgive me for not doing so) but you can see two large trucks having a great deal of trouble passing each other on a very narrow road. They were both inching along and it took about five minutes at snail speed for them to get past each other. It is very common, even for cars, to have to stop and let other vehicles pass single file. Truly, we would have shat ourselves more than once by now driving Satan on some of the roads we've encountered!

Moving on quickly from bowel movements,  I was gagging to see the Merrivale standing stones - not as spectacular perhaps as Stonehenge but better, in my opinion (a) because they aren't as accessible so we could enjoy them on our own and (b) you get to walk among indigenous Dartmoor ponies and sheep - both splendid creatures.  The Dartmoor National Park is enthralling - and is simply loaded with ancient monuments.  One of the nicest aspects is that they aren't marked - if you want to know where they are (having done you own research as to what they are, which we did) you must go to the Tourism Office in Princetown and get directions.  When we said we wanted to see to see the Merrivale standing stones, we were directed to double back a mile or so to a particular landmark, park the car and follow "the leat's" (creek's) current for about 500 yards.  We did that and the bonus was the delightful Dartmoor ponies:

    Apparently the Dartmoor ponies are endangered and there are only 300 mares left. (I assume there are gentlemen Dartmoors as well.) Their numbers have declined significantly in recent decades.  Geoffy and I were so smitten with them that we are going to donate to a local charity that cares for sick and injured Dartmoors.  But back to the standing stones - they were used in Bronze age rituals and include parallel stone rows and burial chambers.  They date from 2300 to 700 BC.  We only went to the Merrivale standing stones as it was so bitterly  cold we didn't have the fortitude to press on any further, but we could see larger 'menhirs' (needle-shaped standing stones) in the distance.   It was a very special place.

 The Dartmoor National Park tourism office in Princetown (where we got directions to the standing stones) used to be a hotel.  Arthur Conan_Doyle stayed there once and it was there that he began writing 'The Hound of the Baskervilles'.  No wonder - Princetown itself is a pretty grim place and is home to Dartmoor prison which is huge, flinty and intimidating.

But the park itself was so ruggedly beautiful (she said, poetically) and all its archaeology, together with the ponies, was heaven on a stick. 

Here are the ponies again, in case you didn't a good look the first time:  Geoff, even though he is a 60-year-old retired airforce officer and lawyer of some standing, named them Misty, Dobbin and Neddy, the lamb.  And note the iced-over leat! 

 

And one more of the stones.  They don't look very spectacular in this pic but they are great, honestly!

And jist one more of me (!) sitting on a burial chamber:

It was bloody cold - you can see the ice.

We're now ensconced in the Travelodge, St Austells, Cornwall.  Next door we have McDonalds and KFC.  I'm hanging out for a flame-grilled double-whopper lard burger.  Tomorrow:  more ancestral homes! 

Day 11: Brrrrrr from Wessex!

Note snow on windscreen!

Forgot to mention yesterday that it was bitterly cold in Winchester but it was nothing to what we experienced today.  We ventured out of Motorway Casa Paradiso this morning at about 8.30 to find a thin covering of snow on our Mitsubishi Mirage.  I'm sure the temp was below zero and didn't increase all day.

Our first port of call was Salisbury Cathedral in Wiltshire, which is only a spit-and-a-half from Winchester.  What a magnificent building - well worth the long trek in subarctic winds and snow flurries from the handy carpark, a mere kilometre away.  I mainly wanted to see one of the four surviving copies of the Magna Carta, but the cathedral had many other attractions.  It was absolutely huge, and like Winchester Cathedral, was built in the 13th century.  In this pic below, you'll get an idea of the size from this side bit, (I forget what side bits are actually called - transept? nave?) off the main part of the church.

 There's diminutive little me (relatively speaking) in the centre, standing in front of what looks like a display case for one's best china, but was actually a 15th century tomb.

The Magna Carta is kept in the Cathedral's chapter house, down a glorious vaulted archway.  There was one advantage to the bitterly cold weather - we were the only visitors!  Of course, the MC is encased in glass but it was very accessible and the script was exquisite - it was so neat and tiny - very hard to believe it was hand-written.

Like other major historic sites we have visited, Salisbury Cathedral has a gaggle of volunteer guides anxious to share their knowledge.  We declined a guide's services this morning but she would not be deterred, and followed us about imparting her knowledge anyway.   Appropos of nothing, she said that the representations of God in the wall frieze in the chapter house had to be recreated as Cromwell's forces had destroyed them on his orders. Somewhat recklessly, I commented that Cromwell was "a bit of bastard really." She responded that that sort of language was not used in church but yes, she agreed with the sentiment.  Tres embarrassment - what a coarse colonial I am! 

Next stop: Dorchester in Dorset - Thomas Hardy country.  Our first stop was the Dorchester Museum an eclectic establishment which has heaps of Hardy memorabilia (he was a local) as well as plesiosaur bones, contemporary artworks, ammonite fossils, Roman artifacts and other Dorchester bibs and bobs.  Then another long walk through wind and snow to a 'Roman villa'.  It was actually well worth the trek. Built in about 330 AD, the foundations have been excavated and remain in situ, and the house has been recreated beside it, with the mosaic floors now inside the recreated house.  You can't go inside the recreated house but you can see everything through the glass. 

This pic isn't great but hopefully gives the idea.  And yet again, we were on our own - most sensible people were ensconced in doors.  Our last stop for the day was the Cerne Giant - a huge chalk etching in a hillside about 14 kms outside of Dorchester.  This part of England is very chalky, and many villages have names like Chalkton, Chalk Downs, Chalkington etc.

 

The Cerne Giant is just outside the village of Cerne Abbas.  Originally it was thought to be neolithic, but it's now pointed out that the Cerne Giant was never mentioned in any docments before the 1660s, so is possibly not as old it looks.  Its most imposing feature, as I'm sure everyone knows, is its whopping great donger.  This pic isn't brilliant because the light snow falling intermittently all day makes the etching a bit indistinct. Still, it's pretty damn good for a bit of old grafitti!

       

Forgot to mention that this morning, en route to Dorchester from Salisbury, we saw a sign saying "Roman Villa" pointing down a lane so decided to go and have a gander.  After about 10 kms, we assumed we'd missed it so were about to turn round when we spotted another villa sign, so we kept going.  After about another 5 kms we passed the very pretty thatched village of Rockbourne, and finally another sign saying "Rockbourne Roman Villa this way".   Bewdy!  Except whe we got to the next turn off, with the villa imminent, the sign said "Rockbourne Roman Villa open 1 April to 30 October".  Well gee, thanks for that.

We are now hunkered down at the Dorchester Sydney Arms pub for the night.  It overlooks a major intersection and is very noisy.  Still, it's a pleasant enough room, the barkeep is very nice and the pub food is fascinating because it is truly horrible.   We saw two people today ordering "cheesy chips and beans."  Imagine hot chips covered in cheese with baked beans on top. That's it.  Now tell me why so many celebrity chefs are poms again, because frankly I don't understand it!

 

Love to all. XXX