Day 30 - and apologies to Sharon - happy birthday for the 18th.

Late start - Julianne claims I snored most of the night, and that no amount of violence on her part could encourage me to desist. I am doubtful - about the snoring - I believe her about the violence.

Out for buffet lunch at hotel in next town about 15 minutes away - huge meal - basic roast, but good hearty fare. Surprisingly, French coffee was on the menu but Irish coffee was not specifically offered - fortunately for Julianne she was still able to order it - I fear another night of violence fuelled by the mistaken belief that I am snoring.

Back 'home' to drop Isabel off so she could get her fix of T.V. whilst Sean took Tarryn, Julianne, Patrick and I into Drogheda (think Thorn Birds, but pronounced entirely differently) to drop Tarryn off at a singing audition, whilst we went to see the new aged care facility that Sean and his brother, Michael have been setting up - an excellent model of care by the looks of it, and we hope it does well- it has a nice blend of ultra-modern facilities and an acknowledgement of the history that older people carry with them. And I am sure that across the road there was a house with not one but at least two eucalyptus gum trees in the front yard - I went across to have a bit of a snoop but couldn't quite get close enough, although the leaves on the ground were, I am sure, gum leaves. Oh, and Tarryn's audition apparently went well.

Returned home [feeling so much like it actually is home now that I am forgetting to use the apostrophes] for a light dinner as we were still fairly full from lunch, then watched the All Ireland hurling grand final which had been played earlier in the afternoon whilst we were out - hurling being an interesting mix of hockey, lacrosse, Gaelic football and all-in-brawling - very fast, very hard and very skillful - not a game for even the mildly sturdy hearted.

Day 29 - happy birthday Janey, Linda and Charlie

Not sure what all the fuss about Irish weather is about - bright sunshine for most of yesterday, about 10 minutes of rain in the afternoon before hanging out two loads of washing, a light breeze overnight, bright sunshine again this morning, and the clothes are virtually dry - just a bit cold to touch.

Enjoyably slow start to the day, despite having got up to watch the last quarter of the AFL grand final, won by Sydney Swans - Patrick happy that it wasn't Hawthorn as he feels that Adelaide was robbed by the umpires when they played last week-end. A good, fast, tense game - a bit like a family of four spending extended periods of time travelling together in a car on an overseas holiday - not that anyone I know of who might fit such a description springs to mind.

Begrudgingly allowed Diane and Sean entry into their own home, as we knew that they were taking us to a local historical site, New Grange, a neolithic burial mound, probably the largest of its kind, and predating Stonehenge and the pyramids by at least a thousand years - so it was clearly in our interest to let them in. Again, as with just about the other displays/exhibits we have been lucky enough to see, this was presented extremely well - an excellent visitor centre situated quite a way from the actual site gave a very informative introduction to the development of the site, its history and its excavation. Interestingly, especially given the time that it was being dug up (1960's to 1970's), the lead archaeologist had the foresight to not continue digging after what seemed to be the main part of the mound had been catalogued and restored, reasoning that, even though there was quite likely more to be discovered, it was best left for future generations whose technology might be better suited to excavate in a more sensitive and less disruptive fashion (if I was reading it properly) - a very sensible chap. And what is on display is stunning - well presented to the public, and a beautiful and thoughtful reminder of the aliens from another galaxy people who constructed it and how remarkable the feat was when placed in the context of the age it was built.

Quiet night in after a lovely dinner - very impressed with how Diane was able to find her way around our kitchen.

Day 28 - happy birthday Janey- oops, tomorrow

A short entry today. Mainly a quiet day of rest and a chance to catch our breath. And good news in the bathroom department - good pressure from the shower, toilet seat aligned well, sink taps that stay on but not too forcefully, and all fittings in good condition - overall, it's looking promising for high final score.

Went for a drive into town (local Ardonians would probably be shocked that we didn't walk the relatively short distance) and thought we had done well to find a 4 hour Pay and Display car park for only €2. Subsequently found free parking at the back of the supermarket only a short distance away - Europe 3: Higginses 5 - still in front. As for the white lines in the car park to highlight the designated space for one's car - clearly another case of being more of a guideline, rather than actual indicator of where one should park.

Had morning tea and scones in a delightfully presented pub - I was particularly impressed by the cleanliness of the carpet - almost looked new (perhaps it was! Perhaps they had heard we were coming). I imagine it would be subject to all manner of less than pristine footwear over time (especially in winter), so to keep it looking so good would be quite an effort.

Took a drive with Sean and Diane, primarily to look at the site of the house they are building out in the country - a delightful spot indeed. Also had a look at the Jumping Wall - an old church ruin where one of the church walls seems to have somehow 'jumped' a distance of about a metre - legend has it that one of the local parishioners who had been buried next to the wall had led a life perhaps not in keeping with burial on consecrated ground, and so, in a fit of pique presumably, one stormy night (no connection of course) the wall somehow moved enough to place his grave beyond the bounds of such ground - a delightful story and one which seems to demonstrate perhaps a peculiarly Irish way of resolving a problem - resourceful and subtle in its own way. Also an interesting headstone of a gentleman who died "...between Feb. 1874 and May 1880" - did he take a particularly long time to die, or did no one notice until the latter date and they had to work out when they last saw him alive, I wonder.

We (just the adults - finally!) then went out to dinner in the next town at a lovely restaurant, The Courthouse (not surprisingly, a refurbished old courthouse) whilst the kids stayed home for pizza - probably a welcome break all around.

Still feels a bit strange accepting the overwhelming generosity of Diane and Sean  in allowing us to use their house - hopefully we will be able to repay them when they come to Australia (hint, hint) - I only hope that they can resist the temptation to look through all the cupboards in every room. Patrick is also finding it strange, but more so because of the number of One Direction posters on the wall in Tarryn's room when he is getting dressed - not feeling particularly comfortable about being 'watched' by so many young men.

Now at the half-way stage of our trip, and everything still going to plan. Many lovely experiences and memories, and still clocking up photos at a rate of knots - slide night is going to be a marathon, and for anyone who can't make it on the night to be arranged, I am sure we will organise extra sessions.

Day 27 - we're off to pillage and plunder in Ardee

Patrick and I headed off to pick up the hire car whilst Julianne packed up our bags...again. In the spirit of being miserly, and trying to claw back the €1 I was scammed out of on Day 8, we took advantage of the few remaining hours left on the hop-on hop-off bus, went half way, took a few more photos on the way and walked the last 15 minutes, saving ourselves about €5 in bus fares. So it now stands at Europe 1: Higginses 5 - woo hoo!

Easy drive back to the hotel where we found a legal park right in front of the hotel. Bundled everything in the car and acquiesced to Isabel's pleas to go to the Dublin zoo, based largely (in Isabel's defence) on Sean's recommendation. Equally easily found a car park outside the zoo on the main road passing through Phoenix park, the largest (or at least the second largest) public park in Europe, and pleasingly free of the seemingly ubiquitous Pay and Display car parking which until now have been everywhere. Quite possibly the best zoo we have seen so far - lovely grounds and well presented exhibits, both for ease of viewing and for the welfare of the occupants - didn't see any animals pacing back and forth - perhaps the sloth was, but we didn't have enough time to find out. Seemed to be a cross between an open range zoo (similar to Monarto or Dubbo back home) and a more traditional zoo. And in keeping with the friendly nature of the people we have met so far the keepers we talked with were more than happy to engage with us and give of their time and knowledge.

Left the zoo after a lovely four hour visit, and slowly (even though it was only four o'clock) found our way to the motorway, where road signs indicated a speed limit of 60 due to roadworks; however, it would seem that such signs are more of a guideline than an actual rule (to quote Pirates of the Caribbean), hence why I probably received my first toot as cars zoomed past us. Subsequently found our way to the village of Ardee where Sean, Diane, Tarryn and Jenna live. [To put it into context, Sean came out to Adelaide when Julianne was on maternity leave to take over her job, and then Diane looked after Patrick when Julianne returned to work and Sean had managed to bluff his way into another job for an extra year before returning to the U.K.]. However, having found the town of Ardee, finding the name of their road (or indeed the name of any road) was rather more difficult, as the concept of road-signs was akin to speed limits - more of a guideline, perhaps even less so. With the help of a passing local we discovered that we were parked at the intersection of their road - with nary a street-name in sight.

Having found the house, we then reacquainted ourselves with the Ford-McCoys. Put it down to age-related failing eye-sight perhaps, but as with Cheryl in London, Sean and Diane do not seem to have changed a bit - again, it was lovely to catch up as if there had been no passage of time at all. And it seems that we are not just to move in, as the Ford-McCoys are moving out! Literally - they are staying with friends a few houses away. In terms of catering to the interlopers it has to be said that they have really set the bar particularly high. Either that, or the thought of spending any more time with us than is absolutely needed was just too much to bear. The bathroom situation is yet to be assessed, but the freshly laundered and folded towels (? freshly bought!) augers well. Full report tomorrow.

Later in the evening we accompanied our hosts to Tarryn's school for an information evening. On our drive home the little town of Ardee (population 4,500) experienced a spot of traffic congestion, the likes of which we are sure will make front page news in tomorrow's paper.

Day 26 - Dublin for beginners

Happy birthday Liz from the emerald isle - not sure why it's called that - I've seen no reference at all to any manner of precious or indeed semi-precious stone. Still looking though.

Pouring with rain about 10 minutes before leaving our hotel this morning. Had stopped by the time we left, and we didn't see another drop all day. Even had clear blue sky by about 3 o'clock. Apparently wild weather had hit mainly the east of England yesterday, with some areas flooded. A bit nippy in the air, but overall, excellent weather for sight-seeing.

But before I start, it's time for the bathroom Nazi to have another rant. Generally our hotel bathroom is top-notch, amongst the best we have had. Except for the blasted taps for the sink. They are the all-or-nothing, on-off, time-limited ones designed to stop you wasting water. The only problem is, when the tap is on it dispenses water at a rate of knots designed to extinguish small fires, although its success at being able to do so should such a need arise is questionable as it is only on (and I have timed it) for less than 2 seconds. I can't wait to see what our next accommodation brings!

First stop this morning the Trinity College Dublin to see the book of Kells, a wonderfully ornate and beautiful example of its type, and quite probably the finest in the world. A 9th century book of the four gospels on vellum (essentially stretched goat skin). Amazing to be looking at a book that has survived for nearly 1300 years, especially given that it has passed through periods in history when such books have been banned and actively sought out to be destroyed. An unexpected and added bonus was walking through the old library - a stunning example of the sort of library one associates with old universities - rows and rows of floor to ceiling shelves stocked with musty-looking old hand-bound books from another age, where the ceiling is at least two storeys high. And apparently the books are still available for viewing - not lending out for a few weeks to take home and read whilst eating dinner in front of the telly, but rather more stringent guidelines - written permission beforehand, expressly stating the reason for viewing a certain book, and then having the book brought to a private reading room where one is supervised throughout - presumably an armed guard, but I didn't elicit that much detail.

Next stop the leprechaun museum. Mind you, for a while we were beginning to think that the somewhat misleading signage was perhaps some sort of Dublinner joke to make the point that as leprechaun's are mythical, then the museum itself was similarly mythical. Fortunately not, and we eventually tracked it down. A pleasant little museum with an informative history about the origins of the little men of Ireland. Geared more for children, but nevertheless entertaining. Of interest was the apparent role that American culture has had over the years in changing the flavour of the stories. As one example, changing the accepted historical attire of brown clothing to green - similar perhaps to what has happened to Christmas, with Father Christmas' clothing being changed from the green colour of his European origins, to red, in order to more closely align with the colour so often associated with a certain global manufacturer of a sugary, black soft-drink. And to my shame I have to admit that I was unaware that a banshee was also part of Irish folk-lore - for some reason I had thought it was of middle eastern origin - perhaps  mixing it up with dervishes. One is never to old to learn something new - remembering it is another thing.

And finally the Guinness museum - quite possibly the most lavish marketing exercise in the history of advertising, but nevertheless a very interesting (and eventually tasty) tale of the thick, black brew. What I hadn't realised before was that the draught Guinness that comes out of the tap is only a relatively recent innovation, introduced in the 1950's. Prior to that it was only the bottled version available. So now I know, but it remains to be seen if I remember.

A particular highlight of the past few days however has been the people. The tourist brochures make much of the friendliness of the locals (not sure why I dislike that term so much - seems to be rather patronising - not intended), and begorrah how right they are - not just official tourist department rhetoric it would seem. The hop-on hop-off bus drivers, for the most part (the ones who give a live commentary as opposed to using a taped audio commentary, which is another story in itself - we have been amazed at the calm way in which they seem able to continue their spiel whilst negotiating some pretty tricky situations without missing a beat or losing their cool) are excellent - not only very informative, but very engaging, and at times even a bit risque - in that cheeky Irish way which allows them to get away with it without sounding too crass. Now I realise that they are employed (in part) to be friendly, warm and engaging, yet it seems to be a common feature in all of our (granted fairly limited) dealings so far.

Day 25 - Irish dancing made to look really bad

Less tearful farewell than expected. Perhaps, because as we had felt like it had only been a day or two since we last saw each other, and not nearly 20 years, it somehow felt as if we would see each other very soon - we would certainly like to think so, and I think it testament to the friendship that we are lucky to have such a connection.

2 hours of driving and 1 hour of flying to get to Dublin. Lucky to walk straight onto flight. Got a seat right at the back of the plane - supposedly the best place to be in the event of a crash - have you ever heard of a plane reversing into a mountain? The lovely flight attendant very astutely sensed Julianne's sense of relief at having got onto the plane, and very sweetly offered us a cup of tea - on the house, or plane, as it were. Ah tea, the universal panacea.

Flight only about 1/4 full - all could have had window seats - very unusual apparently.

Met by Sean, who clearly has not changed a bit. Drove us into Dublin, telephoning his brother to get some suggestions on where to have some lunch, only to drive straight past each of his brother's suggestions, and only by a matter of minutes after the suggestion was made. Tried very hard not to talk about anything that we might have to repeat ourselves when we catch up with Diane on Thursday - consequently talked about work, football (all codes), a few Dublin landmarks and good restaurants in Dublin to drive past.

Constant drizzle (as opposed to constant drivel) for most of afternoon - next time Michael, remember to put your jacket at the top of one of the bags and then remember which bag you put it in. Found hotel after adopting the true and tried method of driving around for a while and then asking a local - got pointed in the right direction in the way that London zoo has signs pointing in the right direction - vaguely helpful, but at least not inaccurate.

Checked in to what is clearly our best hotel accommodation thus far - nicely appointed, and very nice, welcoming staff. Excellent rooms - linen and furnishings of a very high standard - will take some matching by future hosts.

Hop-on hop-off bus for a 1 1/2 tour of Dublin - getting late, so didn't hop off until end - gave us a few ideas for tomorrow.

Booked in to a dinner and show in the hotel dining area - very much catered to all the tourists, and the dining area felt rather impersonally like a school mess hall, but the musicians and dancers put on a very entertaining performance - sort of Riverdance lite. Evening completely spoiled for everyone else when this author got 'invited' to show just how badly Irish dancing can be performed - the less said about that the better - I must have known something was afoot as I didn't think it worth taking the camera in the first place so left it back in the room, whereas I will usually take it almost anywhere...just in case. Thank heaven's for gut feeling. [Addendum - I have subsequently been informed that Patrick (bless him) captured much of it on his iPod - I have yet to see proof, let alone find a way to delete evidence of my having trampled (literally) all over Ireland's cultural history of a wonderful tradition of dance].

Day 24 - to be completed......completed, finally

Woke up to rain (in England? Who'd have thought), alternating between a heavy drizzle and light downpour - bodes well for fewer people at the zoo - Isabel still keen, sigh! Speaking of Isabel, she now informs me that she has seen a soft-close toilet seat which has (by now annoyingly) been referred to in previous blogs - WHY WASN'T I TOLD!

Caught a bus to the Elephant and Castle (a major round-about and shopping precinct in south London, named (if memory serves me correct) after the pub with the same name) and then tube to somewhere near the zoo. I say 'somewhere near', as signs vaguely pointing in the right direction were plentiful, but lacked a bit in the specificity department - not particularly useful in a place as busy and with as many opportunities to easily take a wrong turn (or even slight deviation), and find one's self horribly lost. Eventually found it through good luck and enquiring of a passing stranger - or rather the good luck of finding a passing stranger who knew how to get there. Still raining (surprise!!), so arrived at the zoo rather bedraggled.

Apparently the London zoo has 16,336 animals. Our initial thoughts were that 16,330 of them would be (not unreasonably) taking shelter. Our fears proved to be rather unfounded, and we ended up having a lovely day; the rain eventually stopped by about 3.30, and there was even a bit of blue sky. For the most part some very well put-together exhibits. One does still get the feeling at times that some of the animals are acting like, well, like caged animals and going completely bonkers - if only there were a better way of preserving and displaying our animal cousins - I suppose open plains zoos are a step in the right direction. It would be nice to think so.

Had a lovely walk back through regent's park (? should that be 'Regent's Park' - one for the pedants to correct) and took the tube to Trafalgar square, as we had half-promised the kids we would do so if we got a chance, as it had been closed the day we went 2 weeks ago (! where has that time gone) to set up for the Paralympics welcome parade. Took the obligatory photos of the kids clambering on the lions under the watchful eyes of the quaintly named Heritage Wardens - Fun Police I imagine some people might refer to them as - but without raising even an eyebrow. Caught the bus back to Dulwich and strolled through whatever park it was to get back to Cheryl's.

Had dinner at an excellent Italian restaurant at Cheryl's suggestion, and the food was superb. It was a lovely way to end our time in London with a very special friend.

Day 23 - back to London

Left our lovely hosts after yet another of those full English breakfasts we are getting all too used to - I suspect we will miss these artery-clogging starts to the day, but our lipid levels will be forever grateful...until we meet some more saturated fats we can't say no to. Part of the grand plan to save a bit of expense on this Tour le Grande was to eat frugally in England and then replenish in the land where the limits of how cholesterol can be prepared at low cost knows no bounds.

Took about an hour and a half to drive 80 miles to the outskirts of London, and then another hour and a half to drive the last 20 miles to Cheryl's - and this on a quiet Sunday morning. Luckily we didn't decide (again, on one of those whims) to call in to Blenheim Palace on the way, not least because it would have delayed our arrival in London, but also because it seemed that there was a steady stream of MG's heading in to the palace - hundreds of them, presumably some sort of car rally, which made sense, given that Oxford is home to the MG (MG stands for Morris Garage, where William Morris first developed his mass-produced and affordable cars. He was later lorded (?), and as Lord Nuffield, contributed financially to the university college bearing his titled name).

Pouring rain virtually the whole way from when we hit the outskirts of Oxford - a stark contrast to the glorious weather yesterday, with the grey clouds just ripping along at a rate of knots. Hope it eases up a bit for a day at the zoo tomorrow.

Arrived at Cheryl's at about one o'clock to be presented with a lovely penne carbonara - le tour gastronomique continues. Isabel spent the afternoon catching up on 4 days of no television, a task she undertook with a dedication bordering on fanaticism, whilst we (but mainly Julianne) caught up with Cheryl and 20 years of 'girl's talk'. Overall, a lovely way to just unwind and relax from the freneticism (I wonder if spell-check will recognise this one - seems not - but I like it, so it stays) of the past three weeks.

Reflection on the past 3 weeks - a wonderful chance to reacquaint ourselves with the places of some very fond memories, to visit some new places to now store into the memory bank, and to give the kids the opportunity to have some experiences which they will have their own memories of [apologies for using a preposition to end that sentence with. And in that last sentence too]. And an opportunity to look back on over a thousand photographs already - the up-side of digital photography, you get to take as many photos as you like; the down-side of digital photography, you get to take as many photos as you like. Now all we have to do is try and work out how to up-load them to this blog. Any hints from anyone out there in the blogosphere?

Oh, and we haven't caused or had an accident in the car, and (hopefully) haven't incurred any traffic infringement notices. And hats off to Julianne for her excellent organisational skills - so far, everything has gone like clock-work and pretty much to plan, but not at the expense of allowing for flexibility when required. And I have every confidence that this flexibility will continue, and even get better - is that what you want me to write dear?

I'm in heaven - Cheryl's toilet seat is the soft-close type referred to on Day 19.

Day 22 - here 'tis.

Another lovely cooked full English breakfast to start the day - this time cooked by Hester (yesterday was Edward) - both equally delicious - the breakfasts, not Edward and Hester - fear not Sean and Diane, we are not in the habit of murdering, dismembering and then consuming our hosts - well, at least not at breakfast, and not without pretty serious provocation - you know the sort of thing, towels unwashed for 3 days in a row, laundry not pressed and folded, no mint on the pillow - really heinous transgressions, fully deserving of cannibalism. I'm sure we will not have to resort to such extreme forms of retribution these holidays. Edward and Hester (and their 3 children, of similar ages to our own) are delightful and the ideal hosts for a genuine B&B experience. We almost feel a bit embarrassed at times having them attend to our needs - it's almost like staying at a friend's place and not being allowed to lift a finger to help - ah, where would one find friends like that in the real world I wonder.

Drove to Bourton-on-the-water [I wonder if the name was given euphemistically and with that delightfully English sense of irony because Mr. Bourton liked his ale or his gin etc. - Bourton-on-the-grog doesn't have quite the same ring to it], and started off at the Cotswolds model village, a 1/9th scale model of Bourton (as those of us in the know refer to it), which was built between 1936 and 1938. Bourton is a delightfully picturesque and seemingly fairly quintessential example of a typical Cotswold village, complete with ducks and, being a Saturday, a very convivial country fair atmosphere with rubber-duck racing down the stream (blew £2 on 2 lame ducks) and a petition to halt the development of some part of the town by some multinational company. The model village even had a smaller model of the village in the model village, and in that model village there was an even smaller model village  - in all (counting the real village - the one where we could purchase genuine Cotswold snow-dome key-rings) there were 5 Bourtons of ever diminishing size.

Then to the model railway display - not sure what this fascination with really small scale versions of things is about. Regardless of the answer to this question, Julianne's dad would have loved this one - remarkably intricate and detailed dioramas, and buttons to push to interact with the display - even the kids seemed to enjoy it - when we gave them a chance.

Light lunch in a pleasant tea-room, and a slow stroll through the length of the village, which took all of about 10 minutes at a very slow amble. As Patrick pointed out, we should have visited the model village after we had walked through the real village, so that we could see where we had been.

Drove back in to Oxford to take the hop-on, hop-off bus tour of Oxford. Weather almost perfect (clear blue skies, slight nip in the air, but lovely in the sun). Listened to a fairly reasonable potted history of Oxford and its university colleges - similar to the one in France, but seemed a little bit more informative - a bit heavy on the musical interludes though - more commentary would have been preferred, and which we got after hopping off, climbing an old tower to get a wonderful panoramic view of the city and its spires, and then hopping back onto another bus which had a real, live lady (turns out she was 74 - don't  ask me how I found out - it's too long and boring - even more than what I am writing about already) providing a continuous commentary. My advice, if you can afford to wait a bit, go for a bus with live commentary - as long as it is in a language you can fully understand - clearly this would not work as well (for us at least) in France or Germany, or indeed in any non-English speaking country.

Still finding it hard to grasp the concept of one thousand or more years of history, often writ in stone, whether it be buildings or monuments or the like, or writ in......writing, or writ in something else, a description of which escapes me currently. Even the relatively small, yet large by Australian standards, stately country manor houses tucked away on narrow back roads or nestled in one of the many little villages dotted along the way are breathtakingly beautiful - the rich, honey-golden colours of the Cotswold stone contrasting with the darker (yet equally engaging in their own right) colours from further north.

Day 21 - where's memory lane in the A to Z?

Happy birthday Malen.

Awoke to quite possibly the best breakfast we have encountered thus far - the usual suspects (bacon, egg, tomato, sausage, mushrooms, juice, cereal, toast and tea), but with a definite improvement - hard to define exactly how, but somehow nicer. The juice was easy - freshly squeezed. The bacon almost as easy - slightly smoked; but the rest not quite as easy to put one's finger on. Perhaps it was the rustic surroundings, or the willow patterned dinner set, or perhaps even the subdued classical radio programme being played in the kitchen as opposed to the latest nonsensical top 100 downloads interrupting the inane commentary from Jackie, Graham, Bob, Bingo and Portia, all vying to outdo each other for loudness and sheer drivel. Or perhaps it was a happy combination of all of the above.

And when I say awoke, I mean awoke after possibly the best night's sleep we have had so far - even the kids commented on it - lovely warm beds which one sinks into and surrounded by a ridiculously snuggly (!!!) quilt - bliss.

Drove into Oxford, and passed a road which I recognised was where some old friends of my father lived, John and Jeanne Lynam - John having taught at the Dragon school at the same time as Dad, and had remained there for 37 years. Back-tracked on a whim (still going with yesterday's theme), but no-one home, so, with the wonders of modern technology, left a message on their answering service. [Note to dad - there is now a 0 (zero) in front of all U.K. telephone numbers]. Drove a bit further on to the aforementioned school, and, incidentally, where I spent the first four years of my life. Stood outside 3 Charlbury Road (one of the school's boarding houses, which was also our home) and Julianne was just about to take a photo when she paused to let a lady pass by. Julianne made some comment to her about revisiting childhood places, and it turns out she was the widow of a former master from the school - after dad's time, but she knew a lot of the people I have heard of and had even met in the past - a delightful coincidence. Also spoke with some sadness at  what she saw as the decline in the art and humanity of teaching and education generally - saw education at the school (as perhaps it was elsewhere) as being more like a business, designed to attract as many high-paying Russian oligarchs to send their children there as possible - akin perhaps to health care in some respects. Walked around the outside of the school, and evoked no memories whatsoever, but still nice to see, and it gave the kids some sort of context.

Decided that driving into Oxford was probably a silly idea, and, when we caught up with John and Jeanne later on the afternoon they confirmed this wholeheartedly. Park & Ride certainly seems to be the way to go in busy towns - more convenient and much cheaper.

Wandered around for a few hours, trying to avoid bumping in to all the other tourists trying to spot what an Oxford undergraduate looks like - sadly, none to be seen - this week has been the start of the academic year, so they are probably all too studious to be out carousing and entertaining the crowds with merry japes and jolly pranks. Either that, or they are all cleverly and cunningly disguised as tourists trying to look like they are trying to avoid bumping into...... Went into Magdalen college, partly because it is often considered one of the more architecturally appealing colleges, but also because it was the only one we passed which was open for tourists to wander through - capitalising perhaps on its very attractiveness by charging us £14 for the privilege. Still well worth it though, and what was particularly enjoyable was the peace and quiet compared to the hubbub only metres (or rather yards - when in Rome...) away out on the footpaths. And apparently none of any of the Harry Potter films were filmed here, even though parts of Hogwarts are very reminiscent of parts of some of Oxford's colleges, especially Magdalen, although they (the colleges) were apparently used as models for inspiration.

Had already been rung back by Jeanne who very kindly had offered for us to visit later in the afternoon, even though it was such short notice. Spent a lovely couple of hours with them, although we had made the mistake of, when being offered 'tea', assuming that this meant 'a cup of tea' - subsequently sat down, not to 'tea' as in dinner in the Australian sense, but not too far short of it - cakes, scones, chocolates and even mini sausage rolls. Certainly more than we were expecting, but lovely nevertheless, and meant that we did not have to order much for dinner or supper or whatever it is called when we made pubfall (the act or an instance of sighting or reaching a pub after a voyage or journey, and taking on a greater sense of urgency when the children in the rear of the vessel or car have begun the evening ritual of squabbling in order to gain the attention of the occupants at the front of the vessel or car).

Day 20

Upon reflection that was quite a rant yesterday about our accommodation - rest assured I am nowhere near as critical when it comes to staying with people we know. In fact, I am even prepared to accept cleanly laundered towels and sheets only every two days rather than daily. That's how devil-may-care I am.

We left Derby with the intention of just heading straight to Oxford; however, given that we had had dinner yesterday in such a nice little pub on a whim and it had turned out so well, and a lady who had struck up a brief, casual conversation with us (and as an aside seemed to be rather surprised that we did not know her niece who lived in the Blue Mountains) had suggested we visit Chatsworth House, which we had never heard of, we decided to go with the whimsical trend established yesterday and go there first instead. It meant a bit of a detour north, but by golly it was worth it. Just nudging into the Peak district, it is the ancestral home of the 11th Duke and Duchess of Devonshire, and, owing to good luck, good planning and questionable breeding, it is arguably one of the grandest stately homes in England, of one of the wealthiest personages in England. If we thought Muncaster Castle was impressive, we were overwhelmed by this home - staggeringly ornate, and set on beautifully luscious grounds, it almost looked like the setting of a Turner or Constable painting (complete with sheep and cows roaming the grounds). Definitely worth the detour. Again though, it brings into question, should society be holding on to seemingly archaic notions of aristocracy simply by birthright, or should responsibility for maintaining the history of such magnificent monuments be vested in people or organisations who/which ultimately (it could argued) have no real emotional nor personal attachment to the history they may be vouchsafed with keeping?

Had lunch at a nearby pub, and, in trying to get as much exposure to what might be considered more traditional English fare, I ordered the baked eggs, which I am not entirely convinced had any egg in it at all - perhaps one of those ironic English idiosyncrasies designed to fool the unwary and unsuspecting (sort of like sweetbread - a brilliantly deceptive way for butchers to offload tons of pancreas each year no doubt). Either way, whatever it was, it was rather delicious.

Drove to Oxford (or rather near Oxford, as our B&B is a few miles out), taking mainly A roads rather than motorways, as they seem to afford a bit better view of the countryside. Not that Isabel took much in as she nodded off for about an hour as we travelled. Constantly being on the move is possibly starting to take its toll - they are both doing extremely well, and we are still mindful of not pushing them too hard.

We had the address of the B&B, but just as we started to get to the fiddly narrowing down the field of where we going - quite literally as it turns out - we are in an old farm house in the middle of a field - the  mobile phone we were using as a GPS sort of system suddenly stopped getting coverage. We had to resort to the tried and true method of looking it up in the old AA map, and asking directions from locals - got us pretty much in the right direction, and then we (or rather Julianne - possibly out of desperation at wanting to find anything by this stage) used a bit of pot luck to make an astute guess which turned out to be correct. A lovely family whose house we are invading - this is the first what I would call real B&B that the kids have stayed in, and I'm not quite sure they know what to make of it, sleeping in the home of complete strangers. It will be interesting to see how they go.

Very nice dinner at the Wykham Arms pub a few minutes drive from 'home'. Kids starting to get a bit too used to eating out every night I fear. Must start taking them to some horrible places to get them used to the meals they will get on our return home.

Day 19 - Stoke

Regarding yesterday's comments about our hotel room, it is fairly clear that it has only recently been refurbished itself, as most of it has that very new quality to it; however, there is a certain unmistakable air of second-rate craftsmanship reminiscent of O'Reilly the builder in Fawlty Towers - there is already a crack in one of the double-glazed windows, one of the central heating units is hanging awkwardly at a slight angle on the wall, at least one of the drawers is misaligned on its rollers, and in the bathroom a section of architrave is simply not there, the runnel for the bath is cleverly angled so as to direct water onto the floor rather than back into the bath, there are doubled-sided adhesives still dotted around the wall, there are various drilled holes in the tiles, a number of screws are still jutting out, there are 2 screws half screwed in on either side of the door's lintel serving goodness knows what purpose, the exhaust fan has been installed at a slight angle (perhaps in the spirit of the installation of the central heating unit), a number of tiles have been poorly grouted in, some of the grouting is falling out already, a small chunk of tile has been knocked out, a small chunk of the rendered ceiling has also been knocked out, the sealant loosely follows the join in the wall, the toilet roll holder was cracked and barely supported a roll of toilet paper (granted, not necessarily a result of refurbishment, and easily rectified), the bath plug had been somehow removed from the chain which makes it easier to remove from the plug hole after use (again, not necessarily down to refurbishment), and the toilet seat was a few millimetres off centre (perhaps it is a local custom to have various fixtures and fittings set at a slightly jaunty angle). Now none of these nit-pickings have interfered in any way with our stay, and all of these minor faults are more than made up for by the toilet seat - yes, the toilet seat. It seems to function like those kitchen drawers that close softly, in that it......well, closes softly...both lids no less. At the merest of slight touches in the up position it slowly lowers itself to the down position. I am in awe of the direction that plumbing has clearly taken in this area and I cannot imagine where this technology will lead next - I eagerly await the next advance in toiletware. I must also say that my rather harsh observations are in no way a reflection of the staff here, who, to a person, have been very friendly, helpful and welcoming.

Julianne had her second and final day of work related fact-finding, for which she now went to Stoke-on-Trent, whilst I took the kids to Alton Towers theme park, an adventure park based very closely on the theme parks on the Gold Coast or in L.A. (think any of the Disneylands or Universal Studios etc.). Nothing spectacular to speak (not like the aforementioned toilet seat), but what was particularly nice was that one had to drive through very pleasant English countryside and little English villages [well clearly they were English, what other country could we have possibly be driving through?] to get there and back - it certainly made the hustle and bustle whilst there far more tolerable. And yes, it was a bit of fun for the big kid too.

Picked Julianne up and detoured through Burton-on-Trent and ended up (on a whim) at a little pub in Hilton for dinner - meal, service and surroundings all excellent - the King's Head - we can thoroughly recommend it if you are ever over this way, and before it changes hands - not that there was any indication that it is going to change hands, I'm just saying if you happen to come over in 10 years time or whenever, don't necessarily expect it to be of the same standard based solely on our recommendation from today.

Tomorrow, my birthplace.

Day 18 - Nottingham

Off to another great start with a cooked breakfast - not included with the accommodation, but at  £25 for the 4 of us, and the room only £135 for 3 nights, it seemed like a good price. Mind you, I think the renovations going on in some of the other rooms has possibly helped to keep the price down - hasn't added to the ambience, but if it keeps the cost down I am more than happy.

Uneventful drive to Nottingham to drop Julianne off for a day of work, whilst we headed into town to check out the castle. Patrick's navigation using Google maps [again, Mum, Dad, Liz and Allan, we'll explain when we get home] was excellent. Got a little bit disorientated trying to find a car-park, but, as so often seems to be the case, it is when we (I) try to be smart and disregard Google's advice and go it alone. Reading road signs a bit more carefully helps too.

The castle has a rather interesting history. Started off life  as a wooden fort only a couple of years after Billy C. came up trumps at Hastings, as it was an excellent site to guard the new kingdom from the northern hordes. A few hundred years later and it was decided to......stoneify it, at which point it apparently ranked second only to Windsor castle as the most magnificent castle in England. Had a number of additions over the years, and was where Rixchard III spent his last night before rushing off to get killed on Bosworth Field in 1485 - the last monarch to die 'in the saddle' so to speak. Also the site of the rise of Oliver Cromwell's parliamentarian movement which eventually lead to the overthrow and execution of whichever monarch it was at the time [Google it - that's what I've been doing for most of the historical stuff]. A few years later when one of the Cromwellians thought that his boss was getting too big for his boots he had the castle razed and left in ruins for many years - a fairly impressive dummy-spit in anyone's language. The land was eventually bequeathed to whoever the first duke of Newcastle was, and he built the ducal palace that pretty much looks like the current building - but of course there was to be a catch; the locals revolted against one of the later dukes and torched it, leaving only a burnt-out shell, to be left this way for about 50 years before it was rejuvenated as one of England's first council-run museum's. And again, as with the museum at Preston, it holds an impressive collection of interesting exhibits, well presented and very informative. The highlight, however, was the guided tour through the caves under the castle, not least because the guide was so enthusiastic and entertaining - he would even run (in his suit) between various points of the tour - as Patrick pointed out, fairly pointless, as he needed to wait for everyone to catch up, but it was a reflection of his infectious enthusiasm and clear love of the subject matter he was presenting. The tour ended up below the castle conveniently next-door to 'The Trip to Jerusalem' pub, allegedly the oldest inn in England, built in 1189, where of course we had to rest awhile and recuperate from our exhausting museuming. Unfortunately our imbibing was cut short by a request from Julianne to come and pick her up, which of course we dutifully did......eventually. As it was nearly dinner time anyway, we decide to head back to the pub for dinner rather than trying to find something on the way back to Derby. And of course one (me) had to try the outrageously cliche-named Robin Hood ale - turned out to be rather nice, but ever so embarrassing to actually ask for - the price one has to pay for indulging in the whole tourist experience.

As for Robin Hood, he (or at least the vague concept of what we think of as Robin Hood) is covered fairly extensively in the museum, where he has a well laid out display all to his theoretical self, and you will also find any number of Google sites dedicated to the legend/myth/folklore or whatever, so I shan't be boring you here......any more than I have.

As something of an aside, owing to the rather primitive (!!) nature of this tablet I am working on, the 'check spelling' function is very temperamental and, combined with the dodgy keyboard, some mis-spelling gets overlooked and editing is nigh on impossible due to technical difficulties too boring to go into here - suffice to say, in hindsight, it might have been better to invest in a notepad (the electronic type) to maintain these blogs.

Day 17 - Derby (and Marlies' birthday as it happens - cheers!)

Three out of three for the best breakfasts we've had 'on tour'.

Detoured past Preston North End's home ground to pick up a home strip top for Patrick, which he has already worn with pride - if I can work out how to upload photos I'll add it as soon as I can.

Uneventful two and a half hour drive down/across to Derby. Haven't caused a major pile-up on the motorway yet - to my knowledge at least. Have even overtaken 2 Mercedes and 1 BMW - I shan't say how old I guessed the drivers to be. On  the way I noticed an old church which had been 'decommisioned' and was now being used as a gym - the advertising banner proclaimed 'Give me strength' - rather clever I thought. Found our hotel accommodation without any difficulty. Even got to drive on Lara Croft Way - I kid ye not. What is this world coming to. Accommodation comfortable without having that special something. Excellent pillows that actually seem to elevate one's head off the mattress - looking forward to putting them to the test tonight. Nice view though. But glory of glories - the free Wi-fi works...in the room no less!

Observations rather thin on the ground today - one hotel room is much the same as another. Will try to dream up something profound after a wine or two at dinner.

Dinner - one gin and tonic and one (small) red wine (another one from Chile, and I must say they have all been very drinkable - not rip-snorters, but not at all shabby) later (and food as well), still nothing to say - not even superficially. Goodnight.

Day 16 - it's cold, it's wet, it's windy, and we're in England......let's go to the beach.

Another use for hotel bathrooms (and no, dear reader, you'll be pleased to read that it is not bowels-related) - Julianne was wondering why Patrick was taking so long in the bathroom - turns out it was the one place in our room where he could get good reception to access the internet - excited too that the Crows had won.

Another fabulously glorious start to the day - a different cook this morning, but breakfast still as delicious.

As suggested, we drove over to Southport to take in the sea air. Unfortunately there was a car boot sale taking place in the Park & Ride to catch a bus in to the shopping area and main tourist drag - but a sign did direct us to an alternative site - excellent signs to this site, but no actual signs at this site - ended up circumnavigating various carports and Southport about 3 times before we worked out where it was. Wandered around the main shopping strip for a while and picked up a few things for the kids. I could be wrong, but judging but the faded grandeur of many of the buildings I am guessing that Southprt used to be like a very posh Victor Harbor, whereas judging by the ill-fitting clothes, Ugg boots, tattoos, and people smoking, it is now rather more like Hackham.

Started drizzling, so I spent about half an hour sheltered under a department store verandah whilst Julianne played to her strength and went shopping. When the drizzle had subsided to a steady mist we decided to head out to the pier. Turned out to be a rather pleasant walk - bracing, but not too cold, and no rain. At the end of the pier is a collection of old arcade games, a penny a go. It would seem, judging by her response to having a few wins on the old-fashioned one-armed bandit fruit machine that Isabel has the potential to to form a gambling problem - must watch that. Started raining as we were about to leave, at which point, very conveniently, a tram arrived - £5 for the family to get back relatively dry.

Subsequently poured with rain for the drive up to Blackpool, which didn't bode well for the rest of the day, but it did start to ease up once we'd got there - took Mick and Jean's advice and tried Whelan's fish cafe/restaurant at Lytham St. Anne's on the way (as recommended by Rick Stein and Gordon Ramsay) for dinner - excellent fish and chips - well, for 3 of us anyway - Isabel not keen on indulging in the local fare.

Car-park near the famous Blackpool landmark, the Tower. 5 minute walk, still a reasonable bit of light for a good view, and the promise of a walk across the famous walk of faith across a  thick slab of perspex/glass at the top - closed due to the high winds. High winds on the west coast of England - who'd 'ave thought?! Mind you, safety first, and this was probably our first disappointment for the trip when there could have been so many already, so can't complain. Can't say the same for a couple of local lasses in front of us who were, for the most part, very lively in clearly expressing their displeasure at being denied the opportunity to scale the heights of this iconic structure. Subsequently took a walk long the promenade, out onto the pier where we were fleeced not once but twice by a couple of side-show operators - at least it was all in good fun, and everyone knew the score - them 2, us nil!! Wandered up the main street for a bit until the illuminations got lit, checking out just about every cheap and tawdry tacky souvenir shop along the way - and obviously made a few purchases of some fine local products - where exactly is 'China' in Lancashire? Hopped back in the car and joined several thousand other cars slowly inching [should the word be 'millimetreing' in Australia?] their way up the beachfront - lucky it's not summer and really busy. Because we'd only started about half-way up, we decided to turn around at the light's most northerly point and make our way back down the entire strip - 4.9 miles in 70 minutes. 14 miles back to Preston in about 20 minutes.

[Travel tip - only take 1 adaptor for each country being visited, but also include a local power board for however many electrical devices one needs to recharge - the slightly extra space will be more than compensated for by the convenience. Also, a recharger to fit into the cigarette lighter will help prevent the phone one is using to navigate via Google maps (Mum, Dad, Liz and Allan, we'll explain when we get back) to lose power and leave you stranded. And apropos of telephones, do not under any circumstance waste money on a travel SIM - couldn't get it to work, and found it much easier just to buy a prepaid SIM card here and top it up as we go - so far it has cost us less than £20, and it's been worth its weight...no wait, it hardly weighs a thing, so that cliche is pointless - worth the weight of the telephone in gold perhaps].

Day 15 - Happy birthday Jessica.

Well, any concerns we may have had about our accommodation's proximity to what seemed to be a main road leading from Preston to Blackpool were very soon quelled - hardly heard a thing all night, and I don't think that was entirely due to the double glazing. Beds O.K., but the pillows lack a certain depth...literally - I suspect that they are more like glorified antimacassars for the bottom sheets. However, this was more than made up for by the glorious breakfast served by the proprietors - to my mind, a traditional full English breakfast the way we remembered it from last time - bacon, eggs, tomato, sausage, mushrooms and baked beans, washed down with a lavish supply of tea - a glorious start to the day.

Today was a day of contrasting cultural events, both equally enjoyable in their own right. First up, a reasonably cheap bus ride into town (£5 for a day family ticket for the 4 of us) to visit the Harris museum - council run and free entry. An extremely well put together exhibition, very informative, and not too overloaded with information - just enough to keep one interested before moving on to the next display. A lovely collection of glass containers and ceramics over the past few centuries, with an excellent historical commentary on their evolution over time. Also an equally compelling potted history of Preston. Home of the Temperance movement and the first teetotalers (didn't quite catch on, did it?), birthplace of Sir Tom Finney, arguably on of the finest footballers ever to pull on a pair of boots and home of the Preston North End football team, a club with a very long, proud, but sadly not as successful a history as their pedigree might have suggested they should have had over the years - if my memory serves me correct one of the earliest (if not the first) winners of the football league championship. Also the first club to introduce the concept of paying players for their services as professionals. Preston also has a proud Guild history, the oldest in Britain, which they celebrate every 20 years, and which we missed by mere weeks - looks like we'll have to return in 2032, a bit earlier next time though. I also later learnt that Preston was the first place in Britain to open a Kentucky Fried Chicken 'restaurant', opened by the colonel himself - undoubtedly a town of 'firsts'.

I've noticed a number of buildings and streets referencing the name 'Arkwright' - surprisingly, not a reference to the Ronnie Barker character in 'Open all hours', but rather testament to the inventor of the spinning jenny during the industrial revolution - a revolution for a revolution so to speak.

Subway for lunch (kid's choice), then off to Sue' sister, Jean's. Jean's husband, Mick, had very kindly offered to take Patrick and I to the Preston North End game against London club, Crawley Town. Great atmosphere and the game started off reasonably well; nil all at half-time but Preston seemed to have the better part of the play, especially in the first half of the half, but lost their way a bit, not helped by some rather dubious refereeing decisions. Crawley then scored 2 what must be said were pretty good goals, and Preston struggled to get back. A late goal gave back a bit of pride, but it was too little too late, and sadly our presence was not enough to help secure a win for the home side - perhaps in 20 years time when we come back for the Guild. Excellent ground, and seemed, at first glance, to be bigger than Football Park back home, but I think it was probably something of an illusion - the stands were raked more steeply and only one tier.

Back to Jean and Mick's place where Isabel had been entertaining Sue's Matthew, and Jean and a number of her friends had been entertaining Julianne. Preston itself as a town may not be the most scenic nor picturesque, but to a person, the people we have met have been nothing but warm, welcoming and fine ambassadors of the northern hospitality which one often hears about. An especially big thank you to Jean and Mick for giving us your time and friendship - we hope to repay it in some  small way when you come to Adelaide.

Again, the promised free Wi-fi hasn't quite come to fruition at our current accommodation, as it would seem that again, we are quite possibly, in the room furthest from the necessary doohicky thing which makes it work. Luckily, Jean and Mick came to the rescue and kindly allowed Julianne to hack into their bank account and transfer all their money into ours access our blog and we were able to cut and paste successfully as I thought I was going to be able to do a few blogs ago. Hopefully our blogs will now become more regular (no Jean, that wasn't a 'bowel' reference!), even if the content remains abysmal. I will now have to update future blogs whilst we are here, in the awful peace and quiet of the downstairs lounge rather than the highly entertaining battleground between Patrick and Isabel which allows for unhurried and focused attention.

Day 14 - in which we finally get on-line.

Patrick's comment yesterday regarding whether B.P. may have based any of her characters' characteristics on real people known to her was answered today at the Beatrix Potter Attraction in Bowness. Yes she did. A delightful homage to Ms. Potter and her legacy - they have even developed a garden of plants and vegetables which are either mentioned in her stories or are illustrated in them. Of particular note, the vegetable so often seen in the iconic drawing of Peter Rabbit nibbling on is in fact a long radish, and not a carrot as is often apparently thought, based largely on its shape, whilst conveniently ignoring the fact that it is red in colour and therefore is more in keeping with a radish from that particular period, the late 1800's/early 1900's. I trust that this snippet of information has you all rushing to your faded copies of The Adventures of Peter Rabbit to confirm this.

Wandered around Bowness for a bit, but the only really interesting thing was the rather old looking sign embedded in the sidewalk which read, 'This footpath is not intended for public use', or something similar - apparently the footpaths outside the shop front are legally owned by the shop which it is in front of. The downside to this is that the shop owner is responsible for its upkeep (e.g. if it is broken up by a truck parking on it, or if it is flooded away), but the upside is that the shop owner has the right to request anyone outside his or her shop to move on.

Drove down to Preston, and it's back to civilisation. Booked in to our accommodation, which looks like it has probably seen better days, but it is adequate, and seems fairly quiet so far.

We'd been invited out for dinner by Sue (from Adelaide, over here with Matthew, to catch up with family) at her sister, Jean's place. Now again, I realise that Sue, Jean and Jean's husband, Mick, may well read this eventually, but again, without a word of a lie, it was a lovely evening, lovely home-cooking (with a fantastic trifle to top it off, although Patrick assured me that the lemon drizzle was just as delicious) and absolutely delightful company. Patrick and I are looking forward to accompanying Mick to a football game tomorrow, whilst the girls have an afternoon with each other. Unfortunately I have to take the credit card with me to verify my bona fides when we pick up the pre-ordered tickets at the game, so Julianne will be cardless.

Day 13 - we're still here, but has anyone bothered to keep up now?

Ferry across Lake Windermere to Near Sawrey and Hill Top, where we immersed ourselves in all things Beatrix Potter - any relation to Harry I wonder? Lovely to see it again, and the kids enjoyed it also - even the adolescent, but don't tell his friends. I think it had us all wanting to reread the stories, and place many of the pictures into context, given that most of them were inspired by the real environment in which she lived. Anthropomorphism aside, Patrick made the interesting observation as to whether some of the animal character's characteristics were based on real people in Beatrix's life - I must say it was an idea I had not previously thought of. Julianne and I were also fairly sure that there was an extra room opened up which we hadn't had access to when we visited with Julianne's parents.

Lunch at the Tower Bank Arms - the pub where I discovered the delights of Theakston Old Peculier with Julianne's parents in tow - sadly they no longer serve it - what is this world coming to when you can't rely on certain things to stay the same.

Long winding drive through minor roads, often barely wide enough for one car (all the while me thinking of the car hire insurance excess for any damage) let alone two, to drive over Hard Knot Pass and Wrynose Pass. We had previously made this drive with Julianne's parents, both for the stunning scenery, but also the thrill of driving over what is purportedly the steepest section of road in Britain, with gradients of 30% in places. At the time I had also noticed on the map a reference to a Roman fort, but wasn't able to locate it at the time; when we got back to Australia and had our photos developed, there, in one of the scenic shots, was the unmistakable outline of the remnants of what looked to be the foundations of some building, presumably the very fort that I had been trying to find. This time I was fairly determined to find it, and, after 20 years of wondering, we located it. A soggy, barren outpost if ever there was one. Out of the car the wind was whipping around us and the clouds were streaming across the top of the mountains - glorious.

Drove to Muncaser castle, which has been occupied by descendants of the original family (the Penningtons I think if I remember hearing right) for nearly 700 years. An impressive stately castle set on beautiful grounds with a fantastic view. Fairly hefty entry fee (£41 - not sure what the deal is with the extra £1), but worth it in terms of seeing a still working castle and a very informative self-guided audio tour, with lots of interesting snippets of history and information. Apparently, one of the medieval employees of the estate (Tom Skelton) is possibly where we get the expression 'Tom foolery' from. Also didn't begrudge the entry fee as a means of helping to keep the estate going, and thereby preserving its history, or, as Isabel put it, we were sort of the modern day equivalent of the servants of old who 'gave' their services in exchange for food, lodgings and protection. Perhaps reinforces the old notions of aristocracy, landed gentry, serfdom and birthrights, to name a few, but nevertheless a history arguably worth keeping - arguably in the sense that perhaps the state should take responsibility, rather than maintain outdated ideas, but one does wonder just how well the state would manage - perhaps some form of middle ground like the National Trust, like Hill Top, to preserve and maintain the history, whilst reinforcing the idea that supreme executive power is derived from a mandate from the masses, not some farcical aquatic ceremony (to badly paraphrase Monty Python).

Day 12

Managed to erase today's entry by forgetting to save it before changing it to the next day's entry. Not that anyone would have known if I hadn't mentioned anything. I'm only mentioning it because as I recall, it was probably the best entry I've written so far - witty, erudite and devastatingly perceptive in its clarity of observation. Sadly, I do not feel the muse flowing through me now that I realise what I have done, so it is going to have to be pretty much the same old drivel as we are sadly getting used to. Well, don't blame me - you're the one persistently sitting through all this - you've only got yourself to blame.

Now, as I recall, the day was rather wet and blustery, so we made it a fairly indoorsy kind of day. Drove up along the coastline [is the edge of a lake a coastline or simply an edge?] of Lake Windermere to Keswick. First stop The Puzzle Place - not a particularly Lakes-specific sort of exhibition/display, but it was a bit of fun and kept everyone entertained for about an hour - especially entertaining were the interactive displays involving altered perspectives. From there to the Pencil Museum, looking at the history of the Derwent pencil specifically, and the manufacture and history of the pencil generally. Normally a seemingly fairly dry subject, but it had been suggested to us as worth investigating, and sure enough, it was absolutely fascinating. Especially of interest was the story of how secret pencils were made during World War II for air force airmen who may have been shot down whilst flying over enemy territory. Because of the nature of the work, only a select few employees knew anything about these pencils, so they came back to the factory late at night and worked in secrecy. Because the Official Secrets Act meant that those involved were sworn to secrecy for a period of 30 years, the secret of how the pencils were made was largely lost to history. An attempt was made a few years ago to replicate the manufacture of these pencils, and whilst coming close, they still didn't fully work it out. The pencils had a central core hollowed out to hold a very thin, delicate, rolled up map of Europe, and a teeny tiny compass placed just under the ferrule holding the eraser. It also had to look exactly like one of the usual pencils made to avoid attracting suspicion. The man from London who apparently commissioned and orchestrated the work was apparently the chap upon whom the character of 'Q' in the James Bond series was based.

Also of interest was the recent manufacture of the world's first genuine, real actual lead pencil. It turns out that pencils have never ever been made with any lead in them at all, and no-one is quite certain why they were ever initially referred to as such - perhaps the colour of the graphite compound was lead-coloured enough to warrant the description. A researcher from a technical college or University (I forgot which) setting about making one, and his finished product is on display - apparently it is quite a serviceable item, although it doesn't allow for the shading and texturing that graphite pencils afford.

Drove out to Grange, a small village where a rather unusual double arched bridge spanning a bifurcation of the river had been built. Of particular interest though, was that a painting of this bridge by Cheryl's father was given to Julianne's parents as a present when they were visiting. We had taken a photograph of it when we were last here, but it was certainly a lot more overgrown, and it was rather difficult to clearly make out the 2 arches, but we were fairly certain it was the same bridge. We shall see when we get back home and compare photos.

Drove back down to Ambleside. Stopped to look at the Bridge House - a tiny 2 storey, 2 roomed home spanning a stream, in which a family of 6 once lived.

Day 11 - more excuses

Basically a day of driving after another poor night's sleep. To be honest though, glad to be out of the city. Not that we haven't enjoyed London (nor Paris for that matter) per se, but rather the frantic rushing around and trying to balance getting to see as much as we can in the available time with staying as rested as possible so as to pace ourselves - probably hasn't been entirely successful, particularly in the resting stakes, but hopefully we will all look back on our time away with fondness rather than fatigue.

Left the hotel at about 9 o'clock and got to Windermere at about 3.30, only about an hour after Google suggested we would get there without stopping, so not too bad, having stopped a couple of times for lunch etc. (etc. being due mainly to the effect of coffee). Traffic conditions excellent, with only a few small stretches of roadworks slowing us down, but nothing too hampering. What was particularly pleasing to note was that the drivers, almost to a person, are still (from what I remembered) courteous to a fault - none of the Adelaide tendency to undertake on the left-hand side or speed up to close the gap on someone indicating to merge in. Of course I imagine that one must 'play the game' or risk either being taken advantage of, or worse still, inciting a remonstrative toot. Luckily, I don't think we experienced either.

Both the countryside and Windermere pretty much as we remembered it, and I think even the kids were impressed at how picture skew they both are (the countryside and Windermere, not the kids......in this instance). And we've had our first real burst of rain - actually had to have the windscreen wipers on more than just intermittent, and at one point it absolutely bucketed, only to be bright sunshine 10 minutes later. Weather brisk - 9.5° when arrived, but what impressed us most was the quiet. Coupled with what looks like very comfortable beds, we are looking forward to a good night's sleep. Our B&B is probably more like a self-contained apartment, and is very well appointed, spacious and comfortable. No complaints here, so we'll have to wait until tomorrow to try and find something to whinge about.

Further to the difficulties we were having with internet access in London, the problems continue in the Lake District. Despite our accommodation promising free Wi-fi, this would only seem to be the case if one were down at the bottom of the stairs near to the door and close to the router (??) in the manager's office - as there was nothing at the bottom of the stairs other than the bottom of our stairs, I didn't feel like posting blogs sitting down in the cold. I did have the brilliant idea of writing up the blogs on our USB and then cutting and pasting them onto the blog, thereby enabling me to write them in comfort, and then posting them relatively quickly at the bottom of the aforementioned stairs. If only this tablet we are using were so accommodating - try as I might I could not get it to paste what I had written, so we will have to wait until we gain access to a real computer - I hope this tablet doesn't take that comment personally and decide to mutiny.

Day 10

Our first day without taking a single photo. This probably gives you an idea as to what we did (or rather didn't) do today - touristy stuff. Nevertheless, apropos of yesterday's observations regarding the numbering system for buildings here in London, we went looking for the car hire agency to collect the car which had been pre-booked for us before we left Adelaide. As it turned out, it's address placed it on the road that the other side of the hotel was situated this was going to be too easy! Off we wandered up the road, and sure enough, we ended up walking up, and of course back down the other side to end up back were we started. The care hire company had an office right under the hotel, and used the car park (which we had noticed yesterday and made mention to each other that we could park there once we had picked the car up) to store and maintain their fleet. Another day's exercise completed.

The drive down to Cheryl's to pick up our bags (which the keen-minded of you will remember from Day 6) was, for the most part, uneventful. Only 2 wrong turns, and no major drama getting back on track. Found Cheryl's easily and packed the bags in the back of the capacious boot, and then came the tricky bit - a journey which had taken us 40 minutes and which should have taken only 30 minutes according to Google, then took close to 2 hours for the return journey. And I cannot lay blame at Julianne's navigating. Surprisingly, the traffic conditions have changed markedly since we last drove in London - more vehicles obviously, but also seemingly more frenetic and perhaps not quite as forgiving as I remember; however, after negotiating a few inadvertent re-routings and finding ourselves rather more easterly than we would have liked (and of course the obligatory jostle to get out of the way of an ambulance screaming up behind), we managed to limp back to the hotel. I must say we are both looking forward to getting out into the country tomorrow. We have quite a drive ahead of us - about 5 driving hours if Google maps is to be believed, and roadworks etc. notwithstanding, but that should be the longest day of driving, and we shall wend our merrye way back from the Lake District over the course of a couple of weeks.

What was nice (and this of course did contribute a little bit to our extended journey) was a bit of a diversion past the Maudsley Hospital to see where Julianne did her ENB650 training and where I worked, and then down Coplestone Road to try and see the flat that we lived in nearly 20 years ago. Think we may have spotted it, but not entirely sure - possibly number 98, we'll see when we get home.

Time now to try and get some sleep, with emphasis on the word 'try', as it is fast becoming apparent that English hotels are unfamiliar with the concept of cooling in any way other than opening a window a few degrees to let the constant barrage of traffic noises into the room. The weather outside is actually not too bad, but the small rooms and whatever other factors are at play make for fairly uncomfortable sleeping conditions.

Until tomorrow.

Day 9 - we'll get this posted eventually, won't we?

Au revoir, Paris.

Up and packed, ready to leave our bigger bags in left luggage at the hotel, and then to check out. Again, took the Metro to spend the morning at Notre Dame. Got there in good time and managed to saunter [?  another word of french origin?] in with hardly a queue to be seen. Given that it was Sunday there was a morning service taking place. Whilst this meant we were not able to wander down the nave, it did mean we had the opportunity to listen to what is apparently arguably one of the world's finest organs [please, no comments guys, there are children present]. There was also a bit of a commemorative display to honour Saint Therese, who it would seem was quite the other-worldly and particularly pious individual, and who, apart from wrestling with a few of her own personal demons over the years (? madness of one form or another I suspect - isn't that the case with most saints and martyrs), devoted her life to the greater glory of God and servitude to the people at the turn of the last century. It was therefore something of a surprise to discover that she apparently invented the machine-gun, shortly before the start of World War I!! They probably made her a saint for fear of what she might do to them with her new invention if they didn't. Also of interest was the contrast between the feel of Notre Dame and that of Westminster Abbey. Whilst the former had more of an emphasis on religion (! thanks to Patrick for that particular observation), with respect to statues and paintings glorifying God, Jesus and saints in general, the abbey seemed to have more of a secular feel (rather paradoxically it would seem; although I imagine that the church would argue that the great figures of history (even the warriors) received their greatness from up on high and were divinely blessed in their quests, conquests and discoveries). From there it was around the corner to join yet another queue to climb the 300-odd steps to the top. Again, worth the climb, with wonderful views and continued superb weather (forecast top yesterday was 23° and today was 31°); nevertheless, still some smog in the distance, so the photos will seem a bit blurry I suspect, but a small price to pay.

Then had our last meal (I am loath to say supper, given our proximity at that point to a place of Christian worship) which was but a stone's throw from the cathedral (mindful perhaps, of earlier folk for whom a stone's throw in this vicinity was more likely to be an unpleasant reality than a simple metaphor). After having had steak tartare last night, one couldn't go past the french theme without having an omelette. And whilst the whole thing was obviously very much geared towards the tourists, it nevertheless seemed to be very well done, and we all had a thoroughly enjoyable time sitting back at our table on the pavement and watching the good people of probably every part of the world except for France go past.

After doing a spot of tourist shopping it then became something of a mad dash to get back to our hotel in time to get our bags and make it to the train station in time, until Julianne realised that she hadn't been reading her watch quite correctly. For those of you familiar with Julianne's Dali watch, this will come as no surprise, and is not an indication of poor vision nor of hungoverness. Metro ride uneventful, long boring wait in yet another train station for the Eurostar to load the cattle and ship us back to England. Lovely green pastures and farmland as we whizzed past, but it did have a sameness to it. Having said that, as Julianne pointed out, it would be nice to undertake a leisurely car trip along the back roads through the little towns in rural France.

Overall, pleased to have survived Paris without being mugged - well, illegally anyway, and not counting the €1.

Arrived at King's Cross Saint Pancras in good time (about 5 o'clock) and made our way to Russell Square tube station to locate our hotel. Found the road it was on without too much trouble, and, as the building numbers on the side of the road where we were standing were odd, we thought it not unreasonable that the even numbered buildings (which included our hotel) would be on the opposite side - oh no, nothing that simple. Walked until the road we were on changed name......and kept walking, as we noticed that it seemed to have changed name simply because it was the road surrounding a square, and that beyond the square it almost became the same name again - this should have been a clue. Adding the word 'Upper' to a road does not mean it is the same road. What it does mean is that the buildings are numbered sequentially up one side of the road, and then at the point where the road changes name (even though it is continuing in a straight line), they then continue sequentially back down the other side of that particular stretch of road - it's gems of information like this that they don't tell you in the travel guides! It also turns out that we should have remembered this bit of useful information the next day, even though technically we haven't got to tomorrow yet. But that will have to wait until tomorrow.

Booked in to an incredibly large and (to my mind) rather impersonal hotel, but it is well situated and serves our purpose well. As Patrick pointed out with some degree of incredulity, it has 15 lifts servicing the 7 floors. Then out for our first Indian meal in England - de rigeur, when in Rome (or Londinium, as the case may be, for all you Classics scholars out there). Buffet style, or, as the waitress referred to it, "Buffett" - I kept looking for Warren, but no joy (for all you Business scholars out there). Tomorrow we negotiate the roads of London. This may be our last blog.

Day 8 - a bit of an explanation for the delays.

Happy birthday Emily - I hope Patrick's little offering didn't leave you feeling too underwhelmed. And happy birthday too to Ian.

My apologies (to anyone who is even remotely interested in what we are doing) for the delay in recent blogs. Firstly too tired at night. Secondly, because of the nature of the hotel's Wi-Fi, we had to access the internet down in the lobby, and because of the firstly, I didn't fancy going downstairs to post this. And thirdly, we are really doing this primarily for ourselves as a bit of a reminder and a diary, so I'm really not too bothered if anyone is upset by my tardiness. Also, if anyone is wondering why none of the kids is eagerly trying to push their way onto this thing and add their two cents worth, it's hard enough to get them to brush their teeth at the end of the day, so please forgive them for not lending their own perspective to our journey. End of rant.

Breakfast - a chocolate croissant from a pastry shop in the shopping arcade under the hotel. If this is standard fare for the French, it still doesn't surprise me that there is not more obesity in France than there apparently isn't - going up and down the steps of the Metro alone each day is, I imagine, enough of an exercise to keep anyone trim and in good shape.

Caught the hop-on, hop-off bus to the Eiffel Tower, and took the Harpers' (Ali and Rachel's) advice to avoid the queue for the lift from ground floor, but instead walk up 2 surprisingly brisk flights and catch the lift to the top from there - thanks girls! Although I'm not too sure how thankful the less energetic members of our travel party were - not naming any names girls, O.K.? Had a bit of a stroke of luck, especially that everything has gone so smoothly so far. Whilst in the queue to take the final leg via elevator to the top, I suddenly realised (as we neared the end of the queue) that I only had 3 tickets in my hands. After a short agonised period of self-flagellation for having been so careless, and looking around quizzically, a very kind person saw our obvious disquiet and made mention that she had seen a ticket lying on the ground a short way back. After a relatively short, yet still embarrassingly undignified trek back through the crowd I was able to locate the errant piece of cardboard. Crisis averted and tour continued. Spectacular view from the top and really, really high up. Not much more to say. I'm also probably not allowed to mention that someone spent €10 on a (plastic) glass of champagne at the top, so I won't.

When we got back to ground level I got scammed out of €1 by a gypsy purporting to be collecting signatures in aid of deaf mutes. We then had a fairly leisurely lunch (baguettes - of course) in what would have been the shadow of the Tower if the sun had been facing the right way. Next stop the Arc de Triomphe - another stupendously large edifice that we got to climb. Magnificent views of the 12 avenues/boulevards leading into the centre, and the maniacal drivers who manage to manoeuvre [note the use of the french-derived word] their way around it, with no road markings to guide 5 lanes of traffic coming in at each entry point, and finding their way around to exit in a seemingly smooth and relatively effortless fashion - makes the Britannia roundabout look rather quaint and pedestrian.

Dinner simply had to be at the O'Jules restaurant just opposite our hotel. Not quite the rustic feel that last night's meal had, but still very pleasant, and again, the staff were extremely pleasant and accommodating.

Reflection on our first week - very quick would seem to be the main comment, but still very enjoyable. Kids have taken a lot in, and to my embarrassment, are actually taking in a lot more than I initially thought that they would. Pleasingly too I also think they appreciate what a privilege it is for them to be undertaking this trip, which is good, because it means we can probably hold it against them for many years to come.

Day 7 - due to a number of technical difficulties.

Bonjour, mon ami. Je suis Australien, et je suits embarrassingly bad at even trying to make a fist of communicating with the lovely people of France in their own tongue. The reputation that the French people have had in the past for being rude and arrogant is, based on our recent (and granted fairly limited) experience, completely unfounded. The people we have met so far have been, to a person, friendly, helpful and extremely patient - even apologetic for having the temerity to presume we could understand them as they launch into giving us directions, only to be met by our gaze of bewilderment.

The journey into Paris started early, and was incredibly fast and efficient. We were out of the hotel in London by about 5.45 for a brisk walk to the Tube. Cool but not cold, and very pleasant conditions. Usual efficient run got us into King's Cross with plenty of time to sit in the departure area and......well, sit. Seats on the Eurostar rather like aeroplane seats but without the capacity to recline, not that it is really needed, as the trip only lasted just over 2 hours. Incredibly fast - looking out at cars travelling on motorways going in the same direction as the train seemed to be standing still as we swept past them - and presumably they were doing at least 100 kph.

Arrived in Paris and eventually able to work out the Metropolitan (Metro - Paris equivalent of the Underground). Trains and signage not quite as good as in London, but thank heavens for different coloured lines on maps and automated ticketing machines which have in-built English versions. Managed to find our way to the rough vicinity of where our hotel was supposedly located and wandered around for about 20 minutes before eventually tracking it down. Dumped our gear and went down to the local shopping precinct under the hotel as Patrick's eyes had lit upon the golden arches. It turns out that McDonalds is equally bad in Paris as it is in Australia - probably worse.

Wandered up to the Seine (as one does) and caught the Metro to get to where we could catch the hop-on, hop-off bus, one of the numerous packages which Julianne had pre-arranged before we left Adelaide - thank heavens for her uber-organisation. Weather very warm, and I suspect we may have even got a touch of sun-burn sitting on the top deck of the open-topped double-decker bus. As we only had a couple of hours left we decided to just hop on the bus and leave the hopping off until tomorrow. As with London, and perhaps even more so, the array of architectural wonder on display was simply mind-boggling. And our minds were certainly boggled, not just by the grandeur and size of the usual icons (Eiffel tower, Arc de Triomphe, Notre Dame), but also by the everyday buildings and apartments. We are all looking forward to exploring these sites more tomorrow. [note to Sonya - the Cars Rouge bus was probably ideal for us as we are only in town for a few days, but the commentary left a bit to be desired - not particularly informative, but O.K. for us. If we were staying any longer I'd be suggesting the L'Open Line - no idea what their commentary was like, but they had 4 different routes (one price) covering a fair bit more of Paris].

One of the girls at reception suggested a place for dinner, and what a little gem - the restaurant, not the girl, although she may well have been, but it is not really my place to make such a judgement so quickly. We seemingly arrived about 20 minutes before the rush, and the place was packed when we left. The meals (2 salads and 2 chicken dishes) were enormous, and, to my mind were in the provencale style. Absolutely delicious, and not at all pricey if the prices in other restaurants we passed were anything to go by.

It has now been a week since we left, and the time has flown by. Patrick made the comment that he was surprised at how quickly the week had gone, and was hoping that he could continue to take it all in.

Day 6 - there will be short delay in transmission.

Brain still jet-lagged, but fortunately the bowels remain tickety-boo. At least something is working. Remain hopeful that brain will soon become regular also.

Anyway, enough of the gastrointestinal/cerebral update. Today was a bit quieter, owing to a number of factors; everyone feeling fairly tired, early start tomorrow to catch the 8 o'clock train to Paris, and going out this evening to meet up with Cheryl and Hugo.

Tubed it to Westminster, and then a short walk past the really big clock-tower that frequently gets erroneously referred to as Big Ben, and on to Westminster Abbey. Spent the next couple of hours walking around looking at various monuments, plaques, memorials, tombs, engravings and sarcophagi of dead people - famous dead people, but nevertheless, dead. Amongst the memorials, a tribute to 2 local lads made good - the Florey's. There have also been a number of bishops from Adelaide consecrated at W'minster over the years, including one back at the turn of the last century with the surname 'Nutter' - we were wondering if he was any relation to the 'Nutter' from Yankalilla who 'saw' the image of Christ on his church wall few years ago. Above all else, Westminster is, apart from being a repository of significant historical figures, an absolutely astounding piece of architecture. As with most of these public buildings and monuments, one cannot get an appreciation of their size and majesty simply from a book or a photo - it sounds corny, but they do have to be seen to be believed, especially when one puts it into context considering the era in which they were built. Also happens to be the site of the oldest known door in Englanddom - believed to date from 1052.

Back to the hotel to pack as much as we can to take round to Cheryl's, as she has kindly offered to act as a left luggage service for us whilst we are in Paris. We also wanted to give ourselves enough time to get down to where she lives in East Dulwich before it got too busy on the Underground or buses. Cheryl's excellent directions made it as smooth as possible, and the kids had a front seat view from the top of the double-decker bus from King's Cross station down to East Dulwich; and there to be met by Cheryl and Hugo whom we hadn't seen for probably close on 17 years. Once Cheryl had managed to extricate herself from Julianne's tearful yet joyful reunion hug we all reacquainted and introduced each other depending upon who had or hadn't been born the last time we met, or was too young to remember. Now I realise of course that Cheryl will probably be reading this at some point (hopefully before we get back, so as to curry favour with her!), but it is without a measure of hyperbole when I say that Hugo is an absolutely delightful young man, and a fine testament to both his parents - I imagine they are both justifiably very proud of him. And, with due deference to Douglas Addams, it was pleasing to see that Hugo, with due deference to 17 years of evolution, did not attempt to lick ice-cream (or indeed any other form of foodstuff) off the kitchen floor - well done to the public schooling system I say. And Cheryl was just as we remembered her; it was as if we had only seen her  a few months or even weeks previously. Such is the nature I guess of enduring friendships. An absolutely delightful evening of fine company and a wonderful meal of roast lamb followed by a delicious sticky toffee pudding - Patrick commented that he even enjoyed the beans! Quite an achievement Cheryl - Bravo!

And so it was back to the hotel, a few suitcases lighter and our spirits significantly uplifted, albeit rather tired - Isabel did very well to wake up enough to walk back from the tube station and then promptly collapsed into bed. Tomorrow we march on Paris.