Ghost of Goldwater

Quote of the Day

2013-05-21T13:31:00.000+02:00

Never settle with words what you can accomplish with a flamethrower.
- Bruce Feirstein

Quote of the Day

2013-05-20T13:30:00.002+02:00

A bachelor is a selfish, undeserving guy who has cheated some woman out of a divorce.
- Don Quinn

Quote of the Day

2013-05-19T16:04:00.000+02:00

When one person suffers from a delusion, it is called insanity. When many people suffer from a delusion it is called Religion.
- Robert M. Pirsig

Quote of the Day

2013-05-18T17:03:00.000+02:00

Expecting the world to treat you fairly because you are a good person is a little like expecting the bull not to attack you because you are a vegetarian.
- Dennis Wholey

Quote of the Day

2013-05-17T17:01:00.000+02:00

Deyr fé, deyja frændr, deyr sjalfir et sama, ek veit einn at aldri deyr, dómr of daudan hvern
[Cattle die, friends die, oneself dies in the same way, I know one that never dies, the judgement over each death]
- Viking proverb (rendered in ancient Norse, mind you…)

Quote of the Day

2013-05-16T08:43:00.002+02:00

What this country needs, is more unemployed politicians.
- Edward Langley

Quote of the Day

2013-05-15T23:38:00.002+02:00

As a rule, what is out of sight disturbs men's minds more seriously than what they see.
- Richard David Bach

Quote of the Day

2013-05-14T20:46:00.002+02:00

When a woman is silent it’s always because she wants to say something.
- Elinor Glyn

Quote of the Day

2013-05-13T20:45:00.000+02:00

When I was born I was so surprised I couldn’t talk for a year and a half.
- Gracie Allen

Quote of the Day

2013-05-12T20:31:00.000+02:00

I believe that religion, generally speaking, has been a curse to mankind - that its modest and greatly overestimated services on the ethical side have been more than overcome by the damage it has done to clear and honest thinking.
- H.L. Mencken

Quote of the Day

2013-05-11T20:30:00.000+02:00

The urge to save humanity is almost always a false front for the urge to rule.
- Henry L. Mencken

Quote of the Day

2013-05-10T20:30:00.000+02:00

The worst government is the most moral. One composed of cynics is often very tolerant and humane. But when fanatics are on top, there is no limit to oppression.

- H. L. Mencken

England part X: Ottery St Mary

2013-05-10T14:17:00.002+02:00

The last place we stopped and made a proper tourist visit was the very nice town of Ottery St Mary, in Devon. The place takes its name from the river Otter, which again is named for the animal.

Besides being a quaint English town with all that that entails in the form of narrow lanes, ancient buildings and one way streets to make a grown man cry, Ottery St Mary is also known as the birthplace of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. One of the most famous names of English literature, the ~~philandering, moneybegging dopehead~~ inspired Coleridge wrote such masterworks as The Rime of the Ancient Mariner and Kubla Khan.

All Ottery St Mary pics here.

The church in all its splendor. Coleridge's father was the vicar at the church and principal of the King Henry VIIIs grammar school.

Looks like some ancient form of public humiliation.

The poet hisself on the graveyard wall. He's buried at St Michael's church in Highgate, London.

England part IX: Beer

2013-05-10T13:55:00.002+02:00

There is a village in southern Devon named Beer. 'tis true. The name has nothing to do with the beverage, it is derived from Anglo Saxon "bearu", meaning "grove". Being the mature, responsible traveler that I am, I naturally took lots of pictures of otherwise mundane places while giggling like a loon.

All Beer pics here (snort).

Well, I hear they use spirits to preserve stuff, so...

Oh, I bet they know how to be social...

Notice the angle of the sign. It's as if it's been put up by a drunk man.

Oh, I bet it's a long hill. Especially when you're coming from the Beer social club.

Here they haven't even bothered with the "social" bit.

An ocean full of beer!

I wonder how they're able to read the addresses?

Strictly for medicinal purposes, you know.

Selling nothing but beer... and pretzels.

Even the church is in on this drunken revelry.

"Clap" is slang for gonorrhea. I know, I'm grasping at straws here.

This building is the Old Bakery, a little ways outside Beer. It's a 200+ years old building which hosts a working bakery. There's also a metal forge and a mill in the grounds. The National Trust owns it these days.

Quote of the Day

2013-05-09T20:29:00.000+02:00

Immorality: The morality of those who are having a better time.
- H.L. Mencken

England part VIII: Charmouth

2013-05-09T17:15:00.003+02:00

Right east of Lyme Regis lies the tiny village of Charmouth. A landslide had closed the path one could otherwise take along the beach between the two, so we had to drive the five minutes there. However, we had read that it was quite likely that we could find fossils on the beach in Charmouth, and I think we both had secret dreams of finding a new species of dinosaur.

That was not to be, but we did spend a couple of hours climbing over mostly rocky terrain and in my case digging a little from the hillside with my bare hands. There were several other fossil hunters out and about and you could easily tell the difference between them and us, because they'd gone through the small bother of actually bringing little hammers to crack open rocks with. Apparently, this is how you find the vast majority of fossils.

Still, I managed to find a couple of actual fossils, although the finest one, which was, believe it or not, the first rock I pulled out of the hillside, crumbled into pieces before I even got to the car park. All that's left is a photograph and the memories. Sniffle.

All Charmouth pics here.

You can clearly see the imprint of 3-4 fossils, right? Now most of it is fine dust, covering a spot of the Charmouth beach parking lot. Curses!

There were several rocks like this one. I'm not sure what molded them this way, but they're cool.

Further east there's Golden Cap, the highest point on the south coast of England.

England part VII: Lyme Regis

2013-05-09T17:01:00.002+02:00

After our visit to Maiden Castle we drove on to Lyme Regis, which is pretty much the typical little English sea resort town. Lyme Regis is known as "The Pearl of Dorset" and boasts several shops devoted to fossils (there was to be a conference on the subject the day we left England). Jane Austen visited the area and wrote about its harbour wall, "The Cobb". Thomas Hardy's connection to Dorset should be well known to anyone with a smidgeon of interest in English literature.

Tourist season was still a few weeks away, but there were lots of people about on Thursday, enjoying the warm sun - especially on the beach. It's a nice little town with some cozy streets and according to my travel companion, the river area is good too, although I didn't personally wander in that direction. The town is pretty steep, and the hill starts almost as soon as you're off the beach, so I imagine a life in Lyme Regis would either make me fit or dead.

All Lyme Regis pics here.

I believe this is as close to a center as you come in Lyme Regis.

There are some colorful houses down by the beach.

Some even have thatched roofs. *lubs*

Naturally, this being a resort town they also have modern places where you can give up your soul in return for some mindless amusement.

Nice little detail... the lamp posts look like fossils.

Here they were playing bowling outside.

This doggy had the witlessly happy expression of dogs everywhere and was very friendly.

Quote of the Day

2013-05-08T20:28:00.000+02:00

Every decent man is ashamed of the government he lives under.

- H. L. Mencken

England part VI: Maiden Castle

2013-05-08T19:09:00.000+02:00

The final touristy thing we did on Wednesday was to visit Maiden Castle just outside Dorchester. Here, we nearly fell pray to a peculiarity of English signposting: They will often post the directions to a place so that it is only possible to see them when approaching from ONE side. The first time, we drove straight past the exit we should have taken, and only upon approaching a second time, careful of the treacherous signs, did we notice the directions for Maiden Castle. Had we come from the opposite side we would have seen it as clear as the day.

The attraction isn't all that much to look at. It is an Iron Hill fort, which has been rebuilt and expanded several time since its earliest days. Nothing but earthworks remain to this day, but as such it is quite impressive in its size.

Wise from my previous near death experience, I took it easy while walking up the hill, and made it without further problems. There were several gates along the way to be opened and closed, as the area is now used for grazing by sheep. I also saw several dogs, big and small running around with that brainless, happy look on their faces which they tend to get when they're frolicking freely. There was a lot of mutual sniffing of each other's backsides and I dare say a good time was had all round.

All Maiden Castle pics here.

Hilly landscape.

Deep ditches.

This ewe had gotten out through a gate and couldn't get in again to its two lambs. It was loudly proclaiming its predicament to all and sundry. We tried to lure it inside the gate, but it was way too jumpy (possibly from experience...) to listen to our pleas.

The two lost lambs meeeehing pathetically on the right side of the gate. They were conversing and physically touching their mother through the fence a little way to the right, but would scatter if we tried to approach them.

Two other lambs eyeing me skeptically, ready to flee. I think someone should have a good talk with the local farmer; maybe he has a whole other definition of "animal husbandry" than the rest of us.

There was a wonderful area of yellow rape plants down by the car park.

England part V: Cerne Abbas

2013-05-08T18:41:00.000+02:00

After the near death experience at Durdle Door I was all for a lengthy drive up to Cerne Abbas, a bit north of the actual coastline. It is a very cozy village in its own right, but its claim to fame is the Cerne Abbas Giant carved into a hillside right outside town.

Experts argue about its age, but modern consensus seems to be that it isn't all that ancient; it was probably made sometime in the 1600s, as that's the first mention anybody made of it in writing. One would have thought monks and officials in earlier times might have noted the existence of it, had it been built earlier.

Also, we had lunch at the New Inn in Cerne Abbas, and let me recommend, nay sing the praise of their hamburgers. We both had it and agreed that it was absolutely yummy. I'm not sure what type of herbs or spice they had used but something in that meat made the flavor divine.

All Cerne Abbas pics here.

Not that I'm envious or anything.

We saw several small lambs on our journey. The little things were jumping around playfully, so cute you could eat them. Which is what we're planning on, broadly speaking.

The burger, a thick spicy lump of meat. Mmmmmmmm.

Cool, old car parked right across the street from the Inn.

England part IV: Durdle Door

2013-05-08T18:10:00.004+02:00

Durdle Door is a natural arch on the Dorset coast, just west of Lulworth Cove. I took the car and was there in three minutes, while my esteemed fellow traveler insisted on walking, just because she's so sickeningly fit. Hrmph. Anyways, having parked the car I actually walked all the way down to the lowest plateau over the Door and then back up again. T'was a climb that nearly killed me.

Dear reader, I coughed, hacked and spluttered. I heaved for breath. My head and heart were pounding like a heavy metal drummer on speed. Several times on the way up I had to stop simply because my legs could not physically take another step due to trembling too much. Finally, fucking finally, I made it up and collapsed in a sweaty, panting heap onto a bench right in front of the car.

I sat there for several minutes while my life passed before my inner eye, until my companion's voice led me away from the light and the sweet, merciful release of death. Needless to say, she'd gone straight up the same way without breaking a sweat.

All Durdle Door pics here.

Surely you've seen this landmark before?

This was the landslide the board in the previous post warned about. Normally you can walk the beach between the two spots, but nowadays you have to climb much further up the hillside, above the slide area.

Imagine, if you will, a rotund Norwegian moving across this field (which is much steeper than it looks), coming towards you with the speed and looks of a zombie.

The view to the west of Durdle Door. It is actually possible to walk the Jurassic Coast in its appx. 100 miles length. If you have a strong constitution/death wish, that is.

The bay just before Durdle Door. The road I walked down can be seen in the top left of the picture. I took an even steeper, shorter route when I walked back up. I think it was the incline that nearly killed me.

England part III: Lulworth Cove

2013-05-08T15:45:00.003+02:00

After some time on narrow roads we came down to the coast again, this time to a tiny village called Lulworth Cove. There's a small bay here where they catch oysters and in the summer I'm sure they're doing a brisk trade in all sorts of seafood. It was still a bit early in the season, but some tourists were out and I know I heard Dutch being spoken several times that day. All in all a very idyllic place with a calm, pleasant atmosphere. Do try and get there before it gets too hot and crowded, apparently the village takes in around half a million visitors per year.

All Lulworth Cove pics here.

The Union Jack on high, thatched roofs and a brightly shining sun. Who needs more?

A pond in the small stream that ran through the litte village. So, so cozy.

A duck was swimming about in the little pond, looking as cute as a button and generally contributing to making the scenery as pleasant as humanly - or rather anatidaely - possible.

View to the east.

View to the west. That's my former colleague on the beach, btw.

Nice, eh?

This place is know as Stair Hole. It is apparently in its geological infancy, and may in a few hundred thousand years be the size of today's Lulworth cove.

More about this major landslip in the next post...

England part II: The Purbeck Hills

2013-05-08T15:24:00.002+02:00

In the morning of Wednesday we quickly stuffed face and set out due west towards the Purbeck Hills. There is a place there called Tyneham Village which is in the ownership of the Army; they emptied it of people long ago and it is now used for training purposes. But iffin they aren't shooting at anything, they keep it open for tourists.

However, as we approached we saw the road was blocked and there were signs warning not to go any further. Ominous sounds of machine gun fire and artillery could be heard over the next hill or so. Never ones to get ourselves shot at unnecessarily, we therefore took the northern detour (as if we had a choice) on narrow English roads, reminding me of some of the bonechilling moments I'd had down Cornwall way in 2011, traversing the tiny roads in that area.

All Purbeck Hills pics here.

Thank you for the warning.

None shall pass. Or something to that effect.

The weather was stunning all of Wednesday and Thursday, and the English coast is mighty purdy.

These sheep must either have gotten used to all the shooting and bombing or they've just given up and are awaiting the sweet release of death.

A little pheasant running away from us. Probably the wise thing.

Engerland!!! Part I!!!!

2013-05-08T14:51:00.003+02:00

So, I had me a short trip to good old Engerland last week. I'll try and blog about the trip before I start forgetting stuff... I am old and frail and my memory isn't what it used to be. Now where was I? Oh, yeah... Engerland!

I flew over last Tuesday night with an old colleague to have a look at the Jurassic coast area, which boasts fossils, cozy villages, weird stones and sweet, sweet chalk. We had a rental car ready for us and decided to splurge on the extra insurance that would rid us of any and all deductibles, etc. As I understood it, we could basically ram the vehicle into the nearest brick wall and they'd still say "have a good day, Sir" when I handed over the steering wheel. Good thing, since I managed to scratch the back bumper when I was was backing up on our last day, but I'm getting ahead of things.

We first drove down to Swanage in eastern Dorset, where we spent the first night. None of us had done much checking up on exactly where our hotel was, except that it was in High Street. I had turned off the GPS, since it was constantly spewing out self explanatory directions, like every time we came to a traffic circle (which is OFTEN in England). Now the damn thing would not come back to life again even though it was plugged in and charging (it did not wake up till the next morning).

Anyways, we hit Swanage shortly after 11PM, and we found the street easily enough. But we could not find the effin hotel anywhere. We drove up the road. We drove down the road. We wondered if maybe we were in the wrong road and went down another one. No hotel. There was however a fork in the road about midways, where a one way street was coming down... it later turned out to have been "our" half of High Street.

Finally I admitted defeat and called the hotel. The guy who answered was some Eastern European bloke with atrocious English, so it was all I could do to give him instructions about where we were. I had no chance of following HIS directions to me. But I did get that he was talking about a traffic circle in town; a place where we'd already been once and had dismissed as beeing too far away. Goes to show what WE knew.

So we went down there and finally my dear passenger spotted a sign that said High Street. We were back in the game. Following the main roads I at last saw the sign for our hotel. The Eastern European guy was waiting outside (probably smoking) and gave us directions to the parking lot. T'was well past midnight when I could finally rest my weary head against a pillow. Still, I was in sweet, sweet Dorset and had survived another English drive. Chalk (ahahaha!) one up for the Ghost!

Quote of the Day

2013-05-07T20:28:00.000+02:00

Men become civilized, not in proportion to their willingness to believe, but in their readiness to doubt.
- Henry L. Mencken