To the East I Go
And now I once again have enough socks to last a month without washing
Well I'd been putting it off for various reasons, but I finally decided to make that necessary trip back to my old city of residence to retrieve the rest of my belongings, stored in my friend's dank and musty cellar.
On Saturday morning I awoke very early to catch the 7:30am bus to Birmingham. As the bus was boarding the rain began to fall, a light drizzle. I managed to stay awake for most of the journey, as the rain gradually increased in intensity. In Birmingham, the bus pulled into the newly-built National Express coach station, which I must say is a disappointing deterioration of the grungy old bus station across the road that just screams Birmingham. The rain was pouring now, and the narrow strip of shelter was failing to keep me dry or warm. I was keen to get out of this city as soon as possible.
The bus to Nottingham via Leicester (a very roundabout way of getting from Brum to Notts) bound eventually for Newcastle, began boarding, and the crude Geordie attendant loaded my empty backpack into the cargo hold. I arrived in Nottingham nearly two hours later and went immediately to The Living Room to drop my bag in the staff room. Oh the benefits of remaining on the payroll! I popped upstairs to say hi to all the crew. The kitchen had a full slate of chefs and dishwashers working away, and flashes of last year's hectic Christmas season entered my mind as I slipped away, glad to be a visitor rather than a worker.
I walked through the centre of Nottingham, passing by the Salvation Army brass band, playing Christmas carols and shaking their plastic money bins. I passed through Old Market Square and came in for a closer look at the outdoor raised ice rink. This is a new trend in Britain this year. Despite staying above the freezing point for most of the winter, artificially frozen rinks have cropped up in city centres across the country.
I caught the Red Arrow to Derby. When I arrived, the rain was tipping. Luckily I had my decrepit pound shop umbrella to keep my semi-dry. I had some time to wait for my bus to take me down to the South Derbyshire village where live my friends, John and Marian. I decided to pop into the Market Hall. Derby has one of the nicest markets I've seen. The building is a gem of Industrial Revolution architecture and wares of all kinds are on sale there. On the way back to the bus stop I walked by the ice rink outside of the Assembly Rooms, and laughed to myself at the sight of people skating in the rain, something I can say I have never seen before.
By the time I got to the village the rain had settled. It was nice to be back in this country community, my home for a fortnight when I first arrived in the country over a year ago. When I got to the house, I was greeted by John and Marian and their little dog. I remarked how the dog seemed quite trim, and noticed her fur was much blacker than I had remembered. When I got into the living room, it became clear that there was now a second dog in the house, of the same breed but much younger. That would explain it.
We had a good visit. We had a nice meal of Indian delicacies from a favourite shop of John and Marian's, and a nice cake for dessert. I had brought them a bottle of Harvey's Bristol Cream sherry, as a seasonal and geographically appropriate gift. In spite of its name, it is in fact from the Jerez region of Spain. I appreciated the subtle humour in that.
I caught the Villager back to Derby and made arrangements to meet up with old penpal Adam. We stopped at the Babbington Arms for a couple cokes and a packet of crisps, and caught up on all the news. He asked if I was going to watch the fight. "Fight?" I replied, and then realised what he was talking about. The fight every Brit has been waiting for, Hatton v. Merryweather, the Union Jack v. the Stars and Stripes. I told him not likely. This is probably the last time I'll be visiting Adam in Derby, as he is bound for America in the new year, pending his green card clearance. The next time I see him may be on my side of the world.
The ride back to Nottingham was, to put it in Bristolian terms, gert lush. I was the only passenger on the Red Arrow. I felt like a rock star. In Notts I headed straight for The Living Room, where evening service had just ended. When I got there, the chef told me they had done 190 covers. Again, I was happy to have not been working. We stuck around there until after closing and then talk of the fight began to arise again. Hooters (which you may recall is the only Hooters in all of Britain) was open till dawn, showing the game. The doorman called ahead to give us clearance to go, as it was a ticket-only event. I felt a bit of a buffoon walking in there with my big backpack, but nobody said anything.
We arrived by cab to the very busy bar. The pre-fights were on the tellies and the chants of "There's only one Ricky Hatton..." were already in full swing. At about 4:30am, the fight started and the despite the late hour, the Brits were pumped for their Manchester boy. But by the fifth round, the joy was waning as their man was getting weaker. In the end it was another disappointment for the English, who've really had some hard luck in the sport department this year, especially with losing their spot in the Euro 2008 competition. We left the bar at about 6:30am.
The next day was a bit of a lazy one. I boarded the bus back to Nottingham around 5:40pm, this time with a large suitcase, guitar, and backpack stuffed with a duvet. The driver was unfamiliar with the route and was using a satnav (GPS) to guide him. This became obvious when he asked if anyone knew how to get into the Leicester station. It became even more obvious when we got into Birmingham and one of the passengers informed him he was going the wrong way to Digbeth Station, and then proceeded to guide him there via directions from a friend over the phone. It was all a bit amusing, and reminded me of the journey Darryl and I took from London to Nottingham, when the driver's satnav instructed him to drop us off three blocks from the station.
I finally pulled up to my door in a Hackney carriage at 11:30pm, and with that, was finally officially living in Bristol, with all my stuff. I was pleased to discover, upon opening my suitcase, several pairs of socks. I'm now fully stocked.
I have a couple busy weeks until Christmas, when I can relax for a little bit back in the East Midlands.
Cheers.
Well I'd been putting it off for various reasons, but I finally decided to make that necessary trip back to my old city of residence to retrieve the rest of my belongings, stored in my friend's dank and musty cellar.
On Saturday morning I awoke very early to catch the 7:30am bus to Birmingham. As the bus was boarding the rain began to fall, a light drizzle. I managed to stay awake for most of the journey, as the rain gradually increased in intensity. In Birmingham, the bus pulled into the newly-built National Express coach station, which I must say is a disappointing deterioration of the grungy old bus station across the road that just screams Birmingham. The rain was pouring now, and the narrow strip of shelter was failing to keep me dry or warm. I was keen to get out of this city as soon as possible.
The bus to Nottingham via Leicester (a very roundabout way of getting from Brum to Notts) bound eventually for Newcastle, began boarding, and the crude Geordie attendant loaded my empty backpack into the cargo hold. I arrived in Nottingham nearly two hours later and went immediately to The Living Room to drop my bag in the staff room. Oh the benefits of remaining on the payroll! I popped upstairs to say hi to all the crew. The kitchen had a full slate of chefs and dishwashers working away, and flashes of last year's hectic Christmas season entered my mind as I slipped away, glad to be a visitor rather than a worker.
I walked through the centre of Nottingham, passing by the Salvation Army brass band, playing Christmas carols and shaking their plastic money bins. I passed through Old Market Square and came in for a closer look at the outdoor raised ice rink. This is a new trend in Britain this year. Despite staying above the freezing point for most of the winter, artificially frozen rinks have cropped up in city centres across the country.
I caught the Red Arrow to Derby. When I arrived, the rain was tipping. Luckily I had my decrepit pound shop umbrella to keep my semi-dry. I had some time to wait for my bus to take me down to the South Derbyshire village where live my friends, John and Marian. I decided to pop into the Market Hall. Derby has one of the nicest markets I've seen. The building is a gem of Industrial Revolution architecture and wares of all kinds are on sale there. On the way back to the bus stop I walked by the ice rink outside of the Assembly Rooms, and laughed to myself at the sight of people skating in the rain, something I can say I have never seen before.
By the time I got to the village the rain had settled. It was nice to be back in this country community, my home for a fortnight when I first arrived in the country over a year ago. When I got to the house, I was greeted by John and Marian and their little dog. I remarked how the dog seemed quite trim, and noticed her fur was much blacker than I had remembered. When I got into the living room, it became clear that there was now a second dog in the house, of the same breed but much younger. That would explain it.
We had a good visit. We had a nice meal of Indian delicacies from a favourite shop of John and Marian's, and a nice cake for dessert. I had brought them a bottle of Harvey's Bristol Cream sherry, as a seasonal and geographically appropriate gift. In spite of its name, it is in fact from the Jerez region of Spain. I appreciated the subtle humour in that.
I caught the Villager back to Derby and made arrangements to meet up with old penpal Adam. We stopped at the Babbington Arms for a couple cokes and a packet of crisps, and caught up on all the news. He asked if I was going to watch the fight. "Fight?" I replied, and then realised what he was talking about. The fight every Brit has been waiting for, Hatton v. Merryweather, the Union Jack v. the Stars and Stripes. I told him not likely. This is probably the last time I'll be visiting Adam in Derby, as he is bound for America in the new year, pending his green card clearance. The next time I see him may be on my side of the world.
The ride back to Nottingham was, to put it in Bristolian terms, gert lush. I was the only passenger on the Red Arrow. I felt like a rock star. In Notts I headed straight for The Living Room, where evening service had just ended. When I got there, the chef told me they had done 190 covers. Again, I was happy to have not been working. We stuck around there until after closing and then talk of the fight began to arise again. Hooters (which you may recall is the only Hooters in all of Britain) was open till dawn, showing the game. The doorman called ahead to give us clearance to go, as it was a ticket-only event. I felt a bit of a buffoon walking in there with my big backpack, but nobody said anything.
We arrived by cab to the very busy bar. The pre-fights were on the tellies and the chants of "There's only one Ricky Hatton..." were already in full swing. At about 4:30am, the fight started and the despite the late hour, the Brits were pumped for their Manchester boy. But by the fifth round, the joy was waning as their man was getting weaker. In the end it was another disappointment for the English, who've really had some hard luck in the sport department this year, especially with losing their spot in the Euro 2008 competition. We left the bar at about 6:30am.
The next day was a bit of a lazy one. I boarded the bus back to Nottingham around 5:40pm, this time with a large suitcase, guitar, and backpack stuffed with a duvet. The driver was unfamiliar with the route and was using a satnav (GPS) to guide him. This became obvious when he asked if anyone knew how to get into the Leicester station. It became even more obvious when we got into Birmingham and one of the passengers informed him he was going the wrong way to Digbeth Station, and then proceeded to guide him there via directions from a friend over the phone. It was all a bit amusing, and reminded me of the journey Darryl and I took from London to Nottingham, when the driver's satnav instructed him to drop us off three blocks from the station.
I finally pulled up to my door in a Hackney carriage at 11:30pm, and with that, was finally officially living in Bristol, with all my stuff. I was pleased to discover, upon opening my suitcase, several pairs of socks. I'm now fully stocked.
I have a couple busy weeks until Christmas, when I can relax for a little bit back in the East Midlands.
Cheers.
posted by Mark Bauche at 8:02 PM
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