Lincoln: The rain was light and the Londoners ignored it. Me, I'm chuffed. For too long has the sun shined. At home, I can ignore it, but here? Where it supposed to be rainy? I left the luggage at the hotel and took off for Marble Arch and the car I'd hired back in Aus. Feltham to Waterloo, change for Bond Street and then Marble Arch. The problem with London is that the street signs are plastered to the sides of buildings. I went one way out of the station, then turned around and went the other – just in case Murphy was messing with me again. Hah! I found the Hertz place, but the car wasn't ready; interesting since I was supposed to pick it up at 9.00 and it was now 10.30 (more signalling problems). But delays can often be opportunities and I went to take some photos of the Arch and to check out Speaker's Corner. Not a weekend, so no speakers.
Finally, the car was ready and with maps in hand, off I went. I only got geographically embarrassed twice... okay, three times... (London is a mongrel to drive in) and headed north at about 1.00 pm.
Sometimes, fate let's you know you're wasting your time by… wasting your time. I searched high and low for somewhere to stay in Lincoln and found myself on my way out of the city headed for Horncastle – where I'd planned to go the next day. Nothing there and then I saw the turn off to Hagworthingham where my forebears came from.
The cemetery was easy to find and, since the sun was still up, I checked it out. Unfortunately, I think where my ancestors were buried was in the nettles that overgrew the bottom half of the graveyard. I took a lovely photo of a big horse in the next field and headed back to Lincoln. See? Isn't he nice?
This time I found the Lourder Hotel. A lovely little B&B on my proposed route to Lancashire. The proprietor was friendly and very helpful. A chatty sort of bloke. Exhausted by the drive I headed to bed.
The next morning, he gave me directions to the Public Records office which, of course, I couldn't find. Frustrated, annoyed I couldn't find anywhere I could get pounds for parking, I left Lincoln. I should also note that doing the laundry proved just as expensive as in London except it was five pounds for the wash and twenty pence for five minutes in the dryer. But you can't argue with fresh clothes, in particular, underwear and socks.
I drove through the Peak District; a staggeringly beautiful area of England and duly took more photos of hills and valleys. I stopped at a lovely pub for coffee and a break. Interestingly, the manager said that the English Pub might soon be a thing of the past. "The government," he said "wants to turn them into continental pubs." I'm guessing that means stricter rules, a more cafe kind of atmosphere. It's shame how many for sale signs I've seen on pubs. The traffic was miserable. It's Friday in summer so the English are out and about on long weekends and off on holidays. There's also the FA cup this weekend and a number of other things.
The Bridge Inn, Peak DistrictI didn't want to spend three days in Burnley, so I thought I'd head to Blackpool. My great aunt was here in the seventies and brought us all Blackpool Rock, a hard sweet in a long tube. I don't know if they still make it, but I thought if they did, my nieces and nephews would enjoy some.
There are many jokes made about Blackpool, but wow! What a place. I found a nice hotel overlooking the promenade and the sea.
Blackpool's famous towerI have never seen any tide move in that fast! I also feel better about being here for two days. I think the constant movement and plans and search for somewhere to sleep wears me down; or it's the cost. The last time I was here, B&Bs were about 15-20 pounds a night. Now, it's over 40 and a pinch on the budget. And don't get me started on petrol!
From here, it will be back towards Burnley. I'm hoping to go to the public records office there. I've decided that my lack of progress is because perhaps the records aren't there to be found, which means Burnley may prove problematic as well. I'll give it my best shot. Tomorrow, I'll decide whether to head up the coast or simply wander around Blackpool. The promenade has to be a few miles long, and I think I'll head to the tower, see what interesting things are down there. There is still the lingering need to go home. I'm tired. Up with the sun and down with the sun. The constant watching for traffic on excruciatingly narrow roads and streets is also a burden. How more people don't ding their vehicles, I don't know.
The feeling of homesickness hasn't faded. I thought once I was out in the countryside, it would, but this country is as busy as ever. It is so crowded. Maybe writing more postcards will ease the feeling.
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