On board the Cap Finistère

We managed to tear ourselves away - imagine the sensation of ripping velcro - having done everything that had to be done, and much of what I wanted to do, Not everything, obviously: defrosting the freezer will be urgent on our return, and I had wanted to post about the places we visited over the Heritage Open Days (Segedunum Roman Fort, transformed since we walked the length of the Wall however many years ago, the Spanish City where we were able to go out onto the roof, and Earsdon Church - I think - with a memorial to the victims of the Hartley Colliery disaster). But we did manage to spend a day on Lindisfarne with D., and to finish all the urgent work, including setting up one new page which has been pending for altogether too long, and to do a batch of washing despite he washing machine springing a leak (thanks to the hospitality of a friend), and to call in on Biscuit Publishing's half-day extravaganza at the Lit & Phil - and set off from there without passing go.

We overnighted near Rotherham, which gave us an easy drive down to Portsmouth. It was strange driving through Hampshire: when my father lived there we visited quite often, but we have hardly been back since his death. Now we were passing quite close to his home, seeing the familiar place-names, the watercress beds, the brick and flint walls.

I took it as a good omen, though, when I sighted the first scallop shell of our pilgrimage in the ladies' of the Crown in Kingsclere, where we lunched. The bitter was a choice of Black Sheep or London Pride: has the micro-brewing revolution not reached Hampshire yet?

Posrted from somwhere between Portland Bill a Cherbourg on very flaky Internet@sea.