I picked the Chicken Korma – and I have to say that it was probably the best curry I’ve had in years. But the most wonderful part of dinner was that I got to spend it with my beautiful Auntie Janet (who has no bobble heads like Auntie Doreen), my cousins Steve & Lindsey (Janet’s kids), and their respective families.
Steve’s family live in a small village called Stubbington, in the picturesque county of Hampshire (see red thingy on map) – and they have the kind of house you walk into and know instantly that it has held a lot of very happy memories. It was a pleasant evening, so we sat outside in their quintessentially lovely British garden, and I was introduced to my cousins’ children for the very first time. It was pretty sad that it had taken me this long to meet them – considering Sophie, Emmeline and Daniel are already out of high school and can legally consume alcohol (which they do with dinner) – and the youngest, Chloe, is almost graduated too! Oh well, better late than never.
It was such a great evening, another reason for me to smile and be pleased as punch with myself for taking this trip of all trips. We had such a good chin wag (chat) and we laughed a lot as well. Later, we moved into the house and settled down in the living room. I talked a lot about living in the USA, and asked them about their many travels overseas. I spent a great deal of time trying to coerce them into coming over to the States for a visit to see me. I told them they should skip Disney world and fly to Oklahoma instead. I lamented that none of my family ever came to visit me (quick guilt trip), and that I missed everyone so much which made me sad. Secretly I was hoping that seeing relatives on this trip would provide me with the opportunity to change all of that!
They all showed a keen interest in coming over (especially Emmeline who is a C&W singer), for this family are no strangers to travel. However, the hard sell was for the girls, who knew quite a bit about the USA, and loved most everything about it except one big thing – an abject fear of snakes!
I calmly assured them that we had no issues with them at my house – oh, sure they were probably slithering around the far reaches of the back yard (I did not tell them how many I had seen out there). I promised them that inside my house they would be completely reptile free, well other than Gump. I romanticized the notion of a visit to the good ole USA with promises of real cowboy sightings, bars full of Country & Western music and line-dancing. Juicy fat steaks, great BBQ and an easy sun tan. I sensed that I almost had them on the hook. Quickly I Facetimed Gump – and of course, then everything changed…….
The Gumpmeister was home, dirtying more dishes and leaving the house in a mess. But it was good to see his happy face on the iPad, and he became a little bashful being introduced to eight members of my family all at once. But they were a friendly lot, and they all waved and gave him big, welcoming smiles, and finally he got past his ‘aw shucks’ moment.
I explained to Gump that I was trying to entice them to come over for a holiday, and he grinned and said “Ya’ll need to come on over.” I added that there was only one real concern which was not a problem in Hampshire, and I quietly muttered their fear of snakes. I added loudly that this was of no concern at our house, and as the words left my mouth I gave Gump a look of ‘Come on, back me up on this’. But I could tell that I didn’t quite have his full attention, his eyes kept wandering away from the screen. Suddenly he exclaimed, “Wow, look at that!” and he turned his iPad screen towards a small snake, who had in that precise moment, decided to slither across the dining room floor.
As the British ladies squealed their distress from their safe vantage point on a couch thousands of miles away in Stubbington, Gump kept the snake in full view, exclaiming how cool it was to have a snake in the house. I hastily instructed Gump (through clenched teeth) to get the damn thing out of the dining room, all the while reiterating my family’s innate fear of snakes and how it might impact their decision in coming to visit us. But Gump wasn’t listening. He was suddenly Steve Irwin, in the wilderness of the dining room, with a wild snake the size of a long finger. Instead of removing the thing, or going into a snake-free room he just set down his iPad and then picked up the snake saying “Aw, this isn’t a real snake, it’s just a little grass snake, it won’t hurt you. How cool.”
I didn’t give a rat’s arse if the snake was of the grass variety, or the one from the garden of Eden, I just wanted my family to come and see me! Again I insisted that Gump needed to get rid of the damn thing, and although it might not be poisonous, if the internet could carry the venom that I had laced in my words Gump would have been a dead man.
But the damage was done – eight years in this house and the first time we find a snake inside it is with an audience of my Stubbington cousins – I was so pissed off…I looked like a liar. No matter my previous assurances, my family would be convinced that I lived in a snake riddled house. They would never come and visit me now….it was probably good that I wouldn’t be seeing Gump for another five weeks.
After the call, and more reassurances from me that sounded lame even to my own ears, we said our good-nights and hit the hay. Surprisingly, I had a great night’s sleep, with snake-free dreams. I awoke to a dreary Sunday morning, cold, grey and rainy, but happily got ready for the breakfast we were going out to eat. It was at a small cafe near the sea front – delightful, and a full English brekkie too! It was delicious, and the only thing to mar the morning was the fact that I had to say my goodbyes to Steve and family as I moved on to the next place on my itinerary.
It’s pretty ironic, but a very dear friend from my London high school days, moved away from the big city a long time ago, only to coincidentally live in the same village as my cousin – Stubbington. For my American friends, although you may think England is a small place in comparison to North America, it is still vastly populated. Therefore, the odds of my buddy and my cousin living in the same village is pretty damned bizarre. But lucky for me as it’s always so good to spend time with Jane and Andy!
Andy is a diehard Manchester United supporter (and so is Jane). They are from Surrey (near London) but have lived in Hampshire for a long time, and both their children are now grown and gone. Oddly enough, Andy and Gump have become friends, although they have only met once in person. This is something of an enigma to Jane and myself, it’s sort of like David Beckham hanging out with Merle Haggard…..strange but it works.
I don’t get to see Jane very often, but we always seem to pick up where we left off, no matter how many years have passed. She’s one of the few people I talk to that knew me when I was a teenager, and knows all my family from back then as well. But more importantly, Jane can cook a mean English Roast Dinner – let me explain. In England, a ROAST has never seen the inside of a Crock-pot. It is a particular cut of Lamb/Pork/Beef or chicken, that is baked in the oven without being wrapped up in anything, or covered in gobs of seasoning (hooray!). The piece of meat – which is referred to as a joint (pause for amused snicker) is placed in a tray with a little oil, and then surrounded by peeled potatoes. Thus the spuds cook in the meat juices (scrummy) and the potatoes, which are aptly named Roast potatoes, are crispy on the outside, smooshy on the inside.
A traditional Roast dinner includes these aforementioned items, and in addition, mashed potatoes, two veggies of choice , Yorkshire pudding and thick lush gravy. I am literally drooling as I write this…..So Jane cooked a Roast lamb dinner, and I died a little death of pleasure as I shoveled it down my throat. What a cook!
I spent the rest of Sunday having a lovely time with my hosts, we caught up on news, family stories and complaints. Later, we Face-timed a snake-free Gump, and Jane and I watched in astonishment as East met West and we quickly found ourselves pushed out of the conversation. Andy & Gump were happy enough chatting away to one another as their bromance continued – it had all the makings of a remake of the Odd Couple.
Sometimes, the amount of people that fall for ‘Gumpmagic’ amaze me. Andy showed Gump a wrapped gift that was coming his way (Gump had sent Andy a Route 66 Harley baseball cap….probably the ONLY one in Stubbington) – and the two chatted amicably, the Londoner and the Bumpkin, with no interpreter needed ….weird.
Later that evening, we sat and watched some good old Brit comedy, always refreshing and very naughty (we’re known for it), and that was another night gone.
The next morning, I awoke and spent a few minutes looking out of the bedroom window at the very Britishness of my surroundings. The gardens in England are so pretty. Lots of annual rainfall keeps the grass a rich green, and healthy plants and flowers grow everywhere. Many gardens have hedges and Yew trees instead of fences, so as you look out of the window, you can see a small patchwork of prettiness all around the neighbourhoods. Andy & Jane’s garden was bursting with flowers, and it was pretty enough to be on a magazine cover.
Even though I am from England, I’ve lived in the USA long enough to notice that in the UK things around me seem more compact. And no wonder, the UK is an island, and vastly smaller in comparison to the sprawling North American continent. Where I live in Oklahoma, we have large residential lots, and land just about everywhere – it seems like more than you could ever populate! In contrast, the UK measures about the size of Oregon, the USA being roughly forty times larger that the UK. However, although the land mass might be smaller than the USA, we Brits get very irritated with non-Brits, who upon learning our nationality will ask “You’re from England! Wow, I have a friend from London, her name is Mary Jones, do you know her? Readers, this is always a BAD question….the UK might not be massive, but there is a population of 64 million (give or take) living there.
I digress…….
After our farewells, Jane deposited me at Fareham Railway station (train ride #4) and off I went to Dorset (see next red blob).
Dorset is a beautiful county. Many people are familiar with Dorset, as it is the birthplace of the brilliant writer Thomas Hardy (Tess of the D’Aubervilles, Far from the Madding Crowd etc.) Here is a picture I took of Hardy’s cottage back in 2005.
You probably see loads of pictures from Dorset without really knowing it (think Masterpiece Theatre). It is a perfect and accurate example of Pastoral England at it’s best, breathtakingly beautiful, a hiker’s paradise. Rambling velvet hills, quaint villages, castles and manors, church spires and cream teas. It’s beaches are referred to as the British Riviera, and they are indeed lovely. But I wasn’t headed to any of those beauty spots. I was off to Poole to see my sisters.
The city of Poole (pop. 147,645) is famous for beings the second largest NATURAL port in the world, (Sydney Harbour is the largest) – although you wouldn’t know it by looking. Poole somehow manages to exude a small town ambience which is one of the reasons I love to go there. The city is surrounded by excellent places to visit, and a multitude of restaurants that make the freshest fish and chips you could imagine (drooling again). My oldest sister Lynne lives in a suburb called Hamworthy, and my my other sister Denise lives in a place called Blandford Forum (think Roman), about 20 minutes further away. As my train chugs along and stops at many stations, I find myself mulling over the names here – Tincleton, Shitterton, (which keeps getting it’s road sign stolen), Happy Bottom, Scratchy Bottom, Shaggs (a favourite of Austin Powers?) and the (in)famous River Piddle. How delightful!
I left my train at Hamworthy station (no idea of the origin of that name but it makes me think of breakfast) and am pleased to be met by my niece Danii. Danii and I will be traveling to Dublin in the morning (yippee), but today I will spend the day with my sisters.
My sister Lynne is ten years older than me, and Denise, four years. We haven’t spent much time together really because we were all in boarding schools, and then off and married in the blink of an eye. We are all three very different from one another, but we do share some traits – the same sense of humour (thanks dad), we are very opinionated and gobby (that means mouthy) thanks mum, and we all like to eat chocolate and Roast dinners (I’ve already explained those if you were actually reading this)…
After our initial hellos, we did the next most important thing…..a Roast Pork lunch, complete with fresh Bramley apple sauce….yum!
It was good to spend some time with them, but also sad as it is a reminder of how quickly time is passing. Since I left England at age 21, I have not spent much time with my siblings. No shared birthdays, holidays, no getting to know all of my nieces and nephews as I would if I lived close by. But alas that is the sacrifice of the immigrant. In order to give your own children a better life, you have to walk away from all that you hold dear. We enjoyed our lunch, and several chin-wags, and then we went back to the house. There I greeted my ever-suffering brother-in-law Colin (often accidentally referred to as Robin for some reason) and then I proceeded to give him some much needed aggro. But when he handed me a tin with a label saying “Jude’s Emergency Brit Kit” and it was full of chocolate and sweets, I decided I had better be nice to him…it was tough, but worth it for the Cadbury’s. The evening flew (again) and then it was time for bed so I could be ready for an early start.
I can’t tell you how excited I was about going to Southern Ireland – okay I’ll tell you – I was EXCITED!!!!!! Ireland’s been on my bucket list for as long as I can remember, which means either for years, or for three minutes, all dependent on my hormonal balance. This was my fifth day in the UK and now the real trip was just beginning!
Danii and I got up early to catch our train to Southampton Airport. She had booked our flights, and I was safe in her competent hands. I’d already taken my chill pill as I was really nervous about the plane ride, mainly because I hate flying, but also because I didn’t know much about the airlines that flew to nearby European cities. I’m used to flying on domestic planes like Southwest, but I imagined they wouldn’t use massive planes here as the distances to travel were not too far away. So I was already worried that the plane might be tiny, and that I’d be too scared to get on the damn thing. But Danii assured me that we would be just fine, and reminded me that the flight was only going to be around 90 minutes.
We arrived at the airport which was about the size of my living room. I began to get more nervous….why was the airport so little? We bought magazines and a stash of chocolate and found our gate. Actually it wasn’t technically a ‘gate’. There was a large hall with seats grouped next to several exit doors. These doors led out to the runway (singular) where multiple toy planes were parked waiting to be boarded.
And then I saw the plane parked next to our door…..I gasped in shock as I saw the dinky size of the the damn thing, with it’s little lollipop stick propellers and baby stepladder to get on. I jokingly remarked to Danii that I was glad we weren’t on a plane that small, as my eyes eagerly scanned the horizon for the big mother plane that would surely arrive. But one look at my niece’s kind smile told me all I needed to know. This was indeed our plane…..all the excitement of the trip faded into the recesses of my mind. The few, struggling, brave hormones that had brought me this far all gave their notice and left the building. I fumbled for another pill and almost threw up when Danii asked me if I was going to be okay with us not sitting together on the flight. God no! I had forgotten that! If I was getting on the damn Tonka toy, then I couldn’t sit next to a total stranger! What if I needed to hold a hand? Talk nervously the entire time? I began to hyperventilate (quietly and without everyone noticing). It’s okay, my lovely niece said as she grasped my hand reassuringly – I’ll see what I can do. She strode over the the door which was our ‘gate’ and talked to a large man in an orange vest who looked a bit stupid but important. She came back smiling ‘Sorted’ – she said. Phew! I took another pill.
When they announced it was time to board the toy, we got into the queue (that’s a line) and then imagine my surprise as the orange vest guy plucked us out of the crowd for pre-boarding! He all but hugged me as he walked us the ten feet or so to the step-stool to ‘climb on’ to the plane, and gave me a special smile as we got on. The flight attendant gave me a sympathetic nod as we walked down the aisle, and I looked at Danii as we took our seats, and asked her why we were getting such preferential treatment? Then it dawned on me – and I groaned….”You told them I was scared of flying didn’t you?” she nodded affirmation, and then looked at me with dismay as she realised that I was embarrassed and slightly mortified. And I was – I had never shared my fears with strangers while actually flying as I didn’t want people to think I was a baby and pity me. But on the other hand, despite feeling a little foolish at that precise moment, it was actually kind of nice not having to act so brave.
After a short while, the toy plane took off without us plummeting to our deaths and finally my Xanex kicked in. Through the chocolate and magazines consumed, I kept reminding myself that we weren’t going very far, just a hop skip and a jump across the Irish Sea to Dublin! The flight attendant cruised by for the fifth time, asking me if I was “feeling okay?” I couldn’t decide if she was just being nice or if she was worried I’d have a meltdown and they’d have to turn the plane around. But I appreciated her concern and told her I was fine, then I grinned at Danii, enjoying the pampering, and popped another chocolate into my mouth.
As time passed, I glanced across my niece and looked out of the small plane window, and there it was, the Irish coastline! I felt a surge of adrenaline that broke through the sedation in my blood stream. I was starting my real adventure! I was in Ireland! Excitement burned inside my whole body as the realisation of my travel dreams was starting to becoming a reality. I couldn’t wait to get my feet on Irish soil – but how was I going to break it to the Irish people that I couldn’t stand Guinness?