Out and About in Nottingham
I'm finally getting to experience life in Nottingham, after living here for nearly six months
The Easter weekend was rather quiet around here. On Saturday, following the bus shelter ads I'd seen around town, I decided to take a short trek out to Wollaton Park to take in the re-opening of Wollaton Hall, the Elizabethan home of the Willoughby family. Today the hall doubles as a natural history museum,a museum showing what life was like for the Willoughbies. In the stables there is also a transportation museum. The weather was warm and people were out enjoying the day. Wollaton Park is quite expansive and is full of herds of deer that don't seem to mind all the people. Walking past the golf course I saw a rather large herd sitting in the shade, completely uneffected by the sounds of swinging clubs and flying golf balls.
Sunday was quiet. I decided I was interested in taking in an event the following day in Manchester. The Fall were playing their hometown and there was only one factor that was a bit iffy to me. I could get to Manchester for £7.50. That much I knew from my previous adventure into the Peak District that got me as far as New Mills. I also knew that I had to put a cap on how much I spend in light of the upcoming trip to the Continent, so I couldn't afford to get a room in Manchester unless it was under £10, and I certainly couldn't afford a train back that night. My option ended up being attending the show and then waiting out the hours in the train station until morning when the TransPeak bus started up again. In the end, my shaky Internet connection meant that I couldn't purchase a concert ticket before the last bus left for Manchester. I was greatly disappointed.
The next day, however, my housemate Jason had invited me to see his friends' band from Oxford. I had missed their last show in Nottingham and now that there is no work schedule to hold me back I was not going to miss this one. The band is Foals, a name that is gaining some fame here in the UK and following their visit to the South By Southwest (SXSW) Festival in Texas last month, North America may be buzzing about them soon enough. A few of Jason's friends had gathered at our house before the show, and eventually the band themselves showed up. Jason made them all a nice pasta dinner to compensate for their likely unhealthy eating habits that naturally comes with life on the road. Later, we all walked to the venue and enjoyed the show. We stayed until closing while the band packed up the van for the long drive to Glasgow for a show the following night.
Thursday was Tom's birthday, so I met up with his crew at the Pitcher & Piano, a pub that for centuries was a church, across the street from my former place of employment. It was nice to see some familiar faces again and catch up on the week-and-a-half that I had been out of the kitchen. In typical English fashion, we all moved from bar to bar and then eventually back to Tom's, which ,again is only two doors down from mine. People started to dwindle away and by the light of morning there were about six of us left. I decided to go home and catch some sleep. I ended up staying in bed most of the day. One of the great things about being on holiday I guess.
On Saturday, the weather got unseasonably warm and temperatures reached into the mid-20s. Late in the day I decided to take a trip out to the Attenborough Nature Centre in Chilwell. Very much like Fort Whyte Alive! (I still can't get used to that name change) in Winnipeg, Attenborough is a brownfield site, once industrial, now converted into a nature reserve. A visitor's centre sits near the entrance, with architecture similar to that of Fort Whyte. The emphasis, of course, is on green design and leaving as small a footprint as possible. The centre itself didn't offer much more than a cafe and gift shop which was a bit disappointing, but there was plenty of walking trails to explore.
A fellow walker asked me a question about the type of boat passing by, and noticing her accent I asked where she was from. She, Pierfausta, was from Italy and we introduced ourselves and continued the walk. I told her of my upcoming trip to Europe and mentioned that we hope to get to Italy. Immediately she told of some places I should visit. Eventually she invited me out with her friends that evening to a jazz pub.
I met up with the Italian crew later that evening at the Bell Inn, a pub that I have passed by many times, and stepped into once, but never visited properly. They were a bit disappointed that there was a rock band playing, and that the average age of the patrons was about ninety. They decided we should go somewhere else, and oddly enough the name that came up was the Pitcher & Piano. Having worked across the street from the Pitcher for five months, it was only two nights before that I had set foot in there for the first time. I reluctantly agreed. I had been looking forward to something other than that kind of place, but at least I was with a new group of people, and dare I say, despite the friendships I've made and the good times I've had with English people, it was nice to be hanging out with non-English folk. In fact the drinking culture of the English became a large part of our conversation.
The next day was another scorcher. This one warmer than the one before. Again, late in the day I decided to head east on foot, to Colwick Park, a little oasis on the other side of the tracks. There were hordes of people out, on bicycles, on blankets, feeding the overly tame Canada geese, fishing, walking their dogs, sketching, barbecueing, eating ice cream, etc. I had been there before but in the winter it's not as bustling. I took a different route through the park this time, coming across sights I hadn't seen on my previous visit. A few hours later, I again met up with the Italians in Old Market Square, and while we were sat talking, the others noticed that the two people in front of us were also speaking Italian. And so the Italian snowball grew. We sat for a while longer talking about things like the fine art of Italian dubbing of movies and television shows. The Italians take great pride in putting dialogue into their own language, to the point of matching the voices as closely as possible. This came as a surprise to me, as I'm used to hearing French or Spanish dubbing, where the voice sounds nothing like the original actor's, or worse yet, Russian dubbing, where the voice is expressionless and the original voice is still audible. I'm looking forward now to hearing the Italian Homer Simpson and Arnold Schwarzenegger.
The clear weather remains, but the heat has subsided. I still have a list of things I want to do before Darryl arrives in eight days: day trips to London and Manchester, a trip out to Sherwood Forest, and a day out in Lincolnshire with John and Marian. I'll see what I can do.
Cheers.
The Easter weekend was rather quiet around here. On Saturday, following the bus shelter ads I'd seen around town, I decided to take a short trek out to Wollaton Park to take in the re-opening of Wollaton Hall, the Elizabethan home of the Willoughby family. Today the hall doubles as a natural history museum,a museum showing what life was like for the Willoughbies. In the stables there is also a transportation museum. The weather was warm and people were out enjoying the day. Wollaton Park is quite expansive and is full of herds of deer that don't seem to mind all the people. Walking past the golf course I saw a rather large herd sitting in the shade, completely uneffected by the sounds of swinging clubs and flying golf balls.
Sunday was quiet. I decided I was interested in taking in an event the following day in Manchester. The Fall were playing their hometown and there was only one factor that was a bit iffy to me. I could get to Manchester for £7.50. That much I knew from my previous adventure into the Peak District that got me as far as New Mills. I also knew that I had to put a cap on how much I spend in light of the upcoming trip to the Continent, so I couldn't afford to get a room in Manchester unless it was under £10, and I certainly couldn't afford a train back that night. My option ended up being attending the show and then waiting out the hours in the train station until morning when the TransPeak bus started up again. In the end, my shaky Internet connection meant that I couldn't purchase a concert ticket before the last bus left for Manchester. I was greatly disappointed.
The next day, however, my housemate Jason had invited me to see his friends' band from Oxford. I had missed their last show in Nottingham and now that there is no work schedule to hold me back I was not going to miss this one. The band is Foals, a name that is gaining some fame here in the UK and following their visit to the South By Southwest (SXSW) Festival in Texas last month, North America may be buzzing about them soon enough. A few of Jason's friends had gathered at our house before the show, and eventually the band themselves showed up. Jason made them all a nice pasta dinner to compensate for their likely unhealthy eating habits that naturally comes with life on the road. Later, we all walked to the venue and enjoyed the show. We stayed until closing while the band packed up the van for the long drive to Glasgow for a show the following night.
Thursday was Tom's birthday, so I met up with his crew at the Pitcher & Piano, a pub that for centuries was a church, across the street from my former place of employment. It was nice to see some familiar faces again and catch up on the week-and-a-half that I had been out of the kitchen. In typical English fashion, we all moved from bar to bar and then eventually back to Tom's, which ,again is only two doors down from mine. People started to dwindle away and by the light of morning there were about six of us left. I decided to go home and catch some sleep. I ended up staying in bed most of the day. One of the great things about being on holiday I guess.
On Saturday, the weather got unseasonably warm and temperatures reached into the mid-20s. Late in the day I decided to take a trip out to the Attenborough Nature Centre in Chilwell. Very much like Fort Whyte Alive! (I still can't get used to that name change) in Winnipeg, Attenborough is a brownfield site, once industrial, now converted into a nature reserve. A visitor's centre sits near the entrance, with architecture similar to that of Fort Whyte. The emphasis, of course, is on green design and leaving as small a footprint as possible. The centre itself didn't offer much more than a cafe and gift shop which was a bit disappointing, but there was plenty of walking trails to explore.
A fellow walker asked me a question about the type of boat passing by, and noticing her accent I asked where she was from. She, Pierfausta, was from Italy and we introduced ourselves and continued the walk. I told her of my upcoming trip to Europe and mentioned that we hope to get to Italy. Immediately she told of some places I should visit. Eventually she invited me out with her friends that evening to a jazz pub.
I met up with the Italian crew later that evening at the Bell Inn, a pub that I have passed by many times, and stepped into once, but never visited properly. They were a bit disappointed that there was a rock band playing, and that the average age of the patrons was about ninety. They decided we should go somewhere else, and oddly enough the name that came up was the Pitcher & Piano. Having worked across the street from the Pitcher for five months, it was only two nights before that I had set foot in there for the first time. I reluctantly agreed. I had been looking forward to something other than that kind of place, but at least I was with a new group of people, and dare I say, despite the friendships I've made and the good times I've had with English people, it was nice to be hanging out with non-English folk. In fact the drinking culture of the English became a large part of our conversation.
The next day was another scorcher. This one warmer than the one before. Again, late in the day I decided to head east on foot, to Colwick Park, a little oasis on the other side of the tracks. There were hordes of people out, on bicycles, on blankets, feeding the overly tame Canada geese, fishing, walking their dogs, sketching, barbecueing, eating ice cream, etc. I had been there before but in the winter it's not as bustling. I took a different route through the park this time, coming across sights I hadn't seen on my previous visit. A few hours later, I again met up with the Italians in Old Market Square, and while we were sat talking, the others noticed that the two people in front of us were also speaking Italian. And so the Italian snowball grew. We sat for a while longer talking about things like the fine art of Italian dubbing of movies and television shows. The Italians take great pride in putting dialogue into their own language, to the point of matching the voices as closely as possible. This came as a surprise to me, as I'm used to hearing French or Spanish dubbing, where the voice sounds nothing like the original actor's, or worse yet, Russian dubbing, where the voice is expressionless and the original voice is still audible. I'm looking forward now to hearing the Italian Homer Simpson and Arnold Schwarzenegger.
The clear weather remains, but the heat has subsided. I still have a list of things I want to do before Darryl arrives in eight days: day trips to London and Manchester, a trip out to Sherwood Forest, and a day out in Lincolnshire with John and Marian. I'll see what I can do.
Cheers.
posted by Mark Bauche at 11:55 AM
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