After
visiting Brighton in the south, Patrick’s family home in Lincolnshire, then on
to Stonehenge with the boys, Carrie and I were on our own. On to Wales (Aberystwyth), then
Liverpool.
For
the U.K. road trip with my sister after the guys parted ways with us, I hired a
motor -- in the American parlance, I rented a car, a Vauxhall of some
sort. There are some who are wary
of driving in a car with me whether English or American. . . but I did just
fine, driving on the other side of the road. Surprised myself. . . it wasn’t that hard getting used to.
Best
of all were those roundabouts, some showing up in the middle of the proverbial
nowhere. The countryside was SO
lovely, make that intoxicating (and I don’t mean due to staying overlong in
quaint countryside taverns or pubs).
Carrie, my sister, and I stayed in a cute B&B in Wales; a sweet old
dear, Mrs. Davis was the proprietor.
Driving
through Wales, I was surprised at all the how hilly fields, surprised how many
sheep abounded. I thought, from
reading DH Lawrence, there’d be coal mines over every hill and dale. Oh well. We visited Blenheim castle because we were told we ought to
(it wasn’t terribly grand, but notable nonetheless).
The
biggest disappointment was actually Liverpool. The abysmal mid September rain and lack of the cool, touristy Beatles stuff (it was
before they’d capitalized on that, big time) made it a dismal visit. Carrie and I, bored, left a few days
early and returned to London.
I
was so glad that my cute, fun sister visited me in England, as she really liked
me as well as loved me, and we had a lot of laughs. My sister, Carrie, was also an Anglophile -- though perhaps
not as much of one as I’d been previous to moving to London. . .
Living
in the U.K. for eighteen months made me better understand the ways of the
Brits. It also pretty much cured me of Anglophilia -- though I do love the
sound of language as it passes through their mouths, still!
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