Nashoba, Base Green, Suffolk

After nearly a week back here in the United Kingdom, we are settling back into our little home on this side of the world. The caravan is set up here at Base Green, now a familiar campsite, and one where we are welcome for as many weeks as are required to deal with family matters that must take priority over the joys of random travel.

We flew into London last Monday, after the usual lengthy trip half way around the world. Emirates Airlines proved to be a winner, offering excellent meals, roomy seats even in cattle class, and a good selection of movies unlike Qatar Airways whose censorship minimises the range of “acceptable” entertainment, or at least for the likes of my discerning fellow traveller. Of course the obligatory sleeping tablet helped and we arrived relatively refreshed in the first instance. This did prove to be a red herring as the next few days unfolded; we have watched the dawn of far too many mornings and fallen into interrupted sleep earlier than normal.

The Ambassador Hotel in South Kensington was our home for the first three days, the hotel meeting our needs rather than our dreams, providing a generous breakfast each morning, a comfortable bed and excellent proximity to the Gloucester Road Underground station.

The first of the two full days in the capital dawned as the day before; warm, sunny, dry and unseasonable. We had booked a tour of Lords Cricket Ground, a Mecca for those who follow the sport and a good spot to wander about on such a fine day. We arrived well before the ticket pick up time of 10.30 am, were refused early entry given the crowds of Indian tourists already swarming about the grounds, but offered a bonus alternative.

Lords Cricket Ground is in St John’s Wood, north of our hotel, accessed by the Underground to Baker Street and a quarter of an hour walk. Similar time on foot takes one further north to Abbey Road, the location of that iconic pedestrian crossing and the home of Abbey Road Studios, formerly known as EMI Studios, creator of albums by a multitude of celebrities from Amy Winehouse to Stevie Wonder, and of course The Beatles, which everyone of a certain age knows. Next year will mark the fifty year anniversary of the famous crossing by the Beatles, illustrated on the cover of their 1969 album, “Abbey Road”, an event that will surely draw even more crowds than were there last Tuesday. We were delighted to have received this little tourist hint and have the opportunity to follow in the footsteps of the Fab Four. 

Back at Lords, we and our fellow tourists were hustled through security and into the museum, which is surely worth more than the twenty minutes we were afforded. One tour after another, each defined by a different coloured sticker, were being shunted through the routine, most of these Indians from the sub-continent, arriving here by the tour busload. Our own group were a more international mix, but it was clear that Australians are the second most common takers of the tour after Indians, and the rest of us, almost insignificant.

Our guide, Joslin (seemingly an English upper class name) spoke clearly and was keen to impress us, although despite his hearing aids, struggled to understand or hear questions coming from the group. Often he would stop in front of a painting, or an honour board, to ask a question, and every time the correct answer would fire back, and not always from the Indian men, but their wives who seemed to be as passionate and informed about the sport as their menfolk. Needless to say, I was simply tagging along as support to my husband but I will confess, I found the tour most enjoyable, or at least better than expected. We were led around the grounds, into the Pavilion, the stands, the media tower and another building where we watched the end of a Real Tennis game. The court here is one of several about the country where the original tennis game is played, that which spawned lawn tennis we know today.

Lord’s Cricket Ground, considered by many as the Home of Cricket, is the third reincarnation of the site originally established between 1787 and 1814 and was named after Thomas Lord who was servant to George Finch, 9^th Earl of Winchilsea who put up the funds. The grounds are owned by the Marylebone Cricket Club (MCC) and are home to the Middlesex County Cricket Club. (I have to confess that until about half way through the tour I was interpreting MCC as the Melbourne Cricket Club, which is of course the MCG not the MCC; silly me.)

The current grounds can accommodate about 28,000 spectators; however the capacity will be about twice that once the two older remaining stands are torn down and replaced with more towering structures.  And the day we came, there were about 3,000 cricket fans checking out this cricket mecca.

After nearly two hours we emerged on to the street and made our way through to the western corner of Regent’s Park where we lunched in the warm sunshine on sandwiches and apples purchased from the Tesco Express on our way to the Underground. In fact it was so very hot, we sought the shade partway through our lunch.

We retraced our steps to the edge of the Park, back past London’s Central Mosque, a marvellous looking structure which almost invited further inspection; however we restricted ourselves to peering through the surrounding iron paling fence. Apparently it was designed by Sir Frederick Gibberd, he who designed the problematic Liverpool Metropolitan Cathedral, that very modern Catholic wonder that has been nothing but trouble since its construction. Hopefully the Mosque which was completed in 1978 has endured less structural problems; it is, after all, a little more traditional in its appearance, with its great golden dome.

Near here are steps providing access to the tow path of the Grand Union Canal, or more correctly this stretch, Regent’s Canal. Walking along this, heading westward, we encountered many fellow walkers and runners and cyclists, and were reminded once more of the joys of towpath walking. Grand houses gracing the southern bank of the canal soon gave way to the London Zoo, and then we arrived in the middle of Camden Town, and crossed the canal bridge at the Dock Markets, filled with tourists enjoying the bars and food outlets.

I visited Camden about ten years ago with my mother and two sisters; we were all amazed at the hustle and bustle, the variety, the vibrancy of this unique village in the centre of London’s urban sprawl. Today was no different, although I am immune to the wow factor of it all; the years of travel in the interim have sadly dulled the excitement of such places.

Still we enjoyed the buskers, and the service we received at our bank, and the two telecom providers we dealt with meeting our communication needs. After lingering some and absorbing the ambience, we caught the Underground back to Gloucester Road and so home. After freshening up and a bottle of wine, we took the Underground back to Victoria to have dinner at the Wetherspoon pub restaurant nearby, a tried and true choice, although this time the place was packed out with locals and very noisy. My previous menu favourites had disappeared however we received sustenance for good value and returned to the hotel satisfied with our day.

Our second full day in London was to be of my choice, although I had taken over the random touring of the previous day’s afternoon. We headed to the Museum of London on remnants of the old city wall. This offers free entry although in keeping with all such places, does request a donation and one must pay for a guide map of the museum. It’s an excellent establishment, full of items dug up around the city as archaeologists have been called in to assist during the construction of railways, rods and buildings. Visitors follow a route through history from prehistory, through Roman and Saxon times, and up to the present. Such is the museum’s popularity and functionality that school children from all over join the tourists in great numbers, with all the action and noise that only the younger generations can generate. In fact the noise level was so ghastly we escaped after an hour, seeking a quiet space, and lunched before re-entry. We had another appointment so as a result did not have enough time to see all the exhibits, so this will remain on our re-visit list however we will make sure we call during the school holidays or a weekend rather than term time.

The previous day I had talked my husband into seeing a show, because isn’t that what everyone does when they go to London? We had attended the opera at Covent Garden two years ago, so hadn’t missed out completely, but this time I wanted to see something a little less cultural, a Broadway type show. And so I found that The Book of Mormon had a matinee on Wednesday and we managed to secure tickets. Chris was not very enthusiastic, nor was he impressed with our seats in the theatre, however after a strumming up by yours truly, he found himself enjoying the show after all. In fact, so much so, that he said he would be happy to see it again.

 This musical show is totally irreverent, full of smut, political incorrectness, totally brilliant and not for those easily offended or children under 15 years of age. First performed in 2011, it won nine Tony Awards in that first year and has had rave reviews ever since, not least here and now from me.

We finished our excellent day with a menu de jour at an Italian restaurant near our hotel and turned in early in readiness for our departure the next day.

So Thursday, a day of great event, arrived, and we checked out in time to arrive at the Gloucester Road station just after 9 am. We took the Circle Line which took us directly to Liverpool Station, whence the East Anglian train service leaves. The train was packed tight and we stood for the half hour trip, clutching a central pole, with our large suitcases in front of our legs, our large backpacks between our chests and the pole, and my small zip bag strung about my neck. Bodies pressed in on us from all sides and I did consider a taxi would have made for a more pleasant ride. On arrival and after we passed through the turnstile, Chris took my Oyster card, considering himself to be a better keeper of cards than I. He reached into his pocket for his wallet, to find it was gone. “How could you have left it on the train?” I cried. 

“It’s been stolen”, he responded and I felt sick. Thankfully I had cards and cash on me, or did I? I reached into my small zipped bag and found that I too had been robbed. Stunned, nauseous, lost …... so many words, none of which really can convey the absolute dismay.

We made our way to the Transport Police office, tucked away in a corner of the station, where the one policewoman and clerk commiserated with us, and then on learning our train was to leave in twenty minutes, suggested we phone in our report later in the day after we reached our destination. They provided us with the appropriate telephone numbers and ushered us in our way. Fortunately our train tickets were printed on A4 paper and had been folded in the bag rather than our wallets, so we were able to board the train with bags and otherwise penniless, except for 50p Chris still had in his pocket.

On the train Chris phoned his brother, who was scheduled to meet us, for a cash advance. Naturally the call was overheard by our immediate fellow travellers and the couple across the table offered us snacks and drinks, all of which we declined, but we certainly appreciated their sympathy and advice. They were in the security business so had plenty to offer.

Hugs and kisses and cash were the order of the day as we emerged from the Stowmarket station, whereupon John took us back to his partner’s house where our car was already hitched up to our caravan and ready for us to head off immediately to our first camp of this 2018 UK trip. John and Mary were off to extend their bowling expertise; hence the greeting was brisk and efficient.

And so we have spent the intervening days cancelling bank cards and seeking renewal of all, talking to police and insurance companies, and being frustrated at the complexity of requesting new driver’s licences. Chris should receive his replacement UK licence within a couple of weeks, but the others will have to wait until we return DownUnder. I have recovered from the sense of violation and my fury directed at the cunning criminals has abated; Chris said even on that first day, “Don’t let them get to you”. Easier said than done, but the passing of time has helped me arrive in a better place.

We have spent bites of time with Chris’s sister and last night drove up with her to Blo Norton in Norfolk to attend the fourth reunion of long past residents, the third we have attended. There we were joined by John and Mary and spent the greater part of the evening enjoying family time rather than mixing and mingling with the senior folk of past Clarke memory. Rain was falling by the bucketful as we drove south late in the evening; at one point we ploughed into a great flood across the road and were glad we were in our rather hefty 4WD as opposed to the small sedan ahead of us who coped less ably than my own Chauffeur.

We are well set up on this little farmlet of Ivan and his partner, in the company of three other caravans, all of whom have been here since we left here late last year. The huskies still howl and moan at dinner time in the same manner they did when we were last here, there are now three more functioning showers, although still no washing machine and our hosts are no less friendly and hospitable. And the birdsong all day here in this rural spot is just a delight.