Wandering Winchester

It looks like Winchester is becoming our El-Jadida of England, and Chrissie our Hachim. This morning we saw a doctor, who thankfully knew what she was talking about and prescribed penicillin for Carol. While she went back to bed I got the prescription, bought some supplies, and walked down the High Street.

After setting Carol up in comfort, I set off back down the hill to the centre of town and headed for Winchester Cathedral to do a bit of sightseeing on my own. The cathedral was suitably imposing – I wandered around for a bit by myself then joined a tour for some more detail. It’s so wonderful to immerse yourself in all this historical paraphernalia – the grave of Jane Austen, the bones of King Canute (perhaps…), the beautiful Winchester Bible.

I wandered a bit around the area – unfortunately the nearby ruins of Wolvesey Castle were closed – bought some fake old coins in the cathedral shop to use for boardgames, and bought some more food supplies for the evening and a new book on the English Civil War.

After checking in on Carol and reading to her for a little while, I walked back into town and found this little, homely pub. I’ve been listening with one ear to the conversation of a few guys in their 30s as I write – one is a sculptor with an interest in wartime memorabilia, another has just finished his Masters in creative writing and literary criticism. It’s a tiny, old little pub with white walls, thick black beams, time-worn tables, and mismatched furniture, and a fire burning in the grate. It reminds me of living in Stamford back in 1991, and conversations about Shakespeare in the Blue Bell after theatre play rehearsals with the Tolthorpe Theatre group. The overheard conversation is eccentric, educated, and very English. Everyone knows each other. Places like this I will very much miss when I return to Australia. In fact, I really don’t want to go home. I just wish Carol would get better so we could enjoy this together. 

I know, of course, that if I happened to live here, I would rapidly become used to, and then become sick of this kind of life. But for now, it exudes an incredible attraction – not only the comfy little English pub, but the incredible history everywhere, the thousands of interesting places to visit, the sheer variety that is accessible if you live in England – not only here in the UK but within a plane flight’s radius.

Anyway, it’s 7pm and time to drink up and head back to Clifton Terrace.

20th October

Now that Carol has some strong drugs in her, she’s starting to improve, though the spent the entire day in bed. We also moved rooms up to Chrissie and Alan’s guest bedroom in the attic (up about five flights of stairs), since someone else had booked our room for tonight.

As I write I’m back in the Eclipse lnn, at the same table I was writing at last night, and a new little cast of characters is arriving. It’s a run-down little pub, but the fire is warm and the place certainly has character.

Today I had breakfast with Jim and Anne, an older couple staying at the B&B who were dong some genealogy research in the area. After breakfast I took all our dirty clothes and hunted down a laundromat, then hit ‘Places of Interest’ in the GPS and headed for Bishop Waltham’s Palace, a ruin about 20 minutes drive away along narrow country streets. Nice drive, but unfortunately the ruin was closed (strike two for English Heritage), so I could only take a few photos over the fence!

Back to Winchester, and I bought some sandwiches for lunch and took them back to the B&B. Relaxed with Carol for a while watching antique sales and renovation programmes on TV, then did a bit of online browsing on Carol’s iPhone. I picked up the laundry, bought some sandwiches (again) from Marks and Spencers, and here l am again at the Eclipse Inn to fill in my diary a have a pint of bitter. It’s been raining most of the day and it’s pretty damn cold outside. Good old English weather.

Hopefully Carol will be well enough to get moving again tomorrow, and we can head down to Portsmouth to see Nelson’s ship Victory and the Mary Rose, then end up in Salisbury.

We’ve certainly had our share of kicks to the teeth this trip. I can’t imagine how fed up Carol must be with being sick.

It’s probably lucky I don’t live in England – l’d end up spending every evening sitting in little atmospheric pubs scribbling in diaries…

A bit of an uncomfortable night due to a small creaky bed and a crappy mattress.