"Oh I do like to be beside the seaside..."

A day at Skegness.


That’s the seaside UK style, with donkey rides on the sand, fish and chips in paper and bingo on the sea front (no brass bands a la song.)

Now as to the sea…nothing has changed, it’s so far out you can barely see it at low tide, and it’s not much better at high tide. When you do see it, it is brown. It did not detract from our enjoyment when we were kids wearing our knitted bathing costumes which sagged (seriously)when wet. We used to jump the waves singing ‘Shrimp boats are a-comin’ a-comin’ a-comin...’

seeeing the sea from the big wheel

Did I say ‘waves?’ I never saw them more than a few millimetres high, which of course made it safe for us kids, but of course on our day trip last week I could hardly see them at all until we rode the big wheel. Never mind it was a beautiful sunny day.

STOP 1: the donut kiosk for fresh made donuts, 4 for a pound except that the donut maker gave us 5. (I think he fancied Jose, always handy to have a young personable woman with you on these occasions.)



donut kiosk


STOP 2: coffee, not bad but I’ve been starved of really good coffee in the UK. The Starbucks instant packs have helped, but for over the counter, Neros are the best. They advertise double shots hence the attraction for me.

STOP 3: Bingo; you sit at a machine a bit like a ‘pokie’ sliding a black cover over each number as it is called. The caller sits behind the players instead of in front. He had a problem with his ths so 33 was ‘firty free’ etc. No matter. We each put a pound in the slot and played till it ran out. No need to call Gamblers Anonymous on this tight bunch! Maxine won a prize, a tatty looking hedgehog which seems to have found a permanent home in the back of her car.

STOP 4: Fish and chips at the Clock Tower restaurant where we had to wait a while. Personally I think we might have done better with them in paper sitting on a bench in the warm sun because the fish was over cooked and the chips average. Given that the restaurant advertises that they cook to order, hence the wait, we expected a better meal. 

clock tower Skegness



STOP 5: Baby Boutique; okay not strictly the kind of thing for which one goes on a day trip to Skegness but hey, there’s a new baby girl in the family and I’m drawn to these places, and …they had a sale! (This side trip put paid to our plans to play crazy golf.)

STOP 6: Went on the Big Wheel instead. At last a big wheel where it’s supposed to be, in a fun fair at the seaside, not cluttering up the cities of England where there seems to have been an epidemic since the London Eye went up in 2000.

STOP 7: camel races. No not the real thing that occasionally take place at Canterbury race course in Sydney. These are the kind at seaside funfairs where you roll balls into a slot to move camels along grooves in competition with your fellow rollers. Of course Maxine won again…twice.

STOP 8: the ice cream stall, the soft white kind. I ordered a 99, which has a Cadbury Flake in it. The flakes are smaller now and they cost twice as much.

STOP 9: Authorpe to visit Hedgehog Care, which merits its own blog. See you next time.

Last of the Summer Wine country

Another day out with dad, this time on a luxury coach to visit Holmfirth in West Yorkshire. It is a two hour bus journey from Lincoln. Unlike Bushie, the Ozzie bus driver, Dave was personable, chatty and obliging. While waiting for the stragglers we pointed out that the bus clock wa an hour ahead of the time. The bus had been to Spain the week before and was still on continental time. Dave changed it with a round magnet - never seen that before! 

According to Wikipedia, Holmfirth originally grew up around a corn mill and bridge in the 13th century. Three hundred years later Holmfirth expanded rapidly as the growing cloth trade grew and the production of stone and slates from the surrounding quarries increased. We saw evidence of old quarry sites and the ever present low stone walls fencing off the sheep in the surrounding pastures.

Everyone on the bus but me (who has hardly seen the series) was excited to see Norah Batty's house, Sid's Cafe etc from the longest running sitcom in the world, 'Last of the Summer Wine.' For those of you who don't know (like me) the series centred around a trio of old men, and their crazy antics. As dad said, they should have cast him. 

I got caught up in everyone's pleasure, and will take in some of the re-runs on UK TV when I get back to Australia. One of the longest serving cast members, Bill Owens who played the part of Compo is buried in Holmfirth.

Holmfirth is beautifully situated among steep green hills, with narrow roads and treacherous corners. On a day when heavy rain was forecast we were lucky that it held off for most of the day. Once it did rain however the stream through the village went from gently trickling to heavy rushing in the space of half an hour. The place has flooded from time to time and we could see how.

It is a tiny but busy place. If we hadn't had dad with us (still recovering from his knee replacement op) we would have explored the steeper byways in the town. Apart from driving round in the made-to-look- old little bus which took us on a ten mile tour of many of the filming sites of Last of the Summer Wine there wasn't much to do, although I imagine hikers would have a ball!

We learned of other claims to fame of Holmfirth. Did you know that at one time it was a busier film making place than Hollywood? According to wikipedia, during the early 1900s Holmfirth was well-known for film making; the West Yorkshire film industry, for a time, surpassed that of Hollywood in terms of productivity and originality. 

The originators of that film industry were the Bamforth family who went on to produce those saucy seaside postcards famous throughout England for many years. Now they are produced in Scarborough.

It's amazing that such a small place should have so many claims to fame. Some of these are more sinister. The Australians among you will remember the case of Peter Falconio who was presumed murdered (his body was never found) in the Northern Territory of Australia . He came from Hepworth, one of the nearby villages. Then there are the notorious 'Moors murderers' Myra Hindley and Ian Brady who buried some of their victims on the nearby Saddleworth moor.

This was a wonderful day trip which had everything: beautiful scenery; intriguing history; not bad weather; lots of laughs with reminiscences about the 'Last of the Summer Wine.' As to getting there under your own steam; the nearest large town is Huddersfield and buses run frequently to and from there.

Highly recommended: The tour by the bus company Summerwine Magic. Even if you know nothing about the series the drive round the beautiful countryside is worth it, and there are bound to be people on the bus who know the series and will get you laughing.

Kinema in the Woods, Woodhall Spa

We visited Kinema in the Woods with dad who knew plenty of history about the place. Nevertheless, I went searching online for more.

Yes, that's how it's spelt, Kinema with a 'K', and there is an Australian connection, namely a Captain Archbold Weigall who returned to the area after serving as governor of South Australia. He and lady Weigall saved the Spa Baths from being closed down, and in the same year (1922) commissioned Captain (later Major) C. C. Allport to convert the concert pavilion into the pavilion cinema.

Backtracking:

as the name indicates, Woodhall Spa was a spa.  John Parkinson's dream was to open a coal mine, plant a forest and build a new town. In 1821 he found Spa water instead, and by a quirk of fate it was this that was to prove his most lasting legacy.

From the start, the architect commissioned to create the Spa, Richard Adolphus Came, had a vision of his own - an elegant and spacious community in a woodland setting, with broad tree-lined avenues and large residential plots. This is still percieved as one of Woodhall Spa's greatest assets - 'the space is the place' is an often quoted observation.

Tourist blurb:

Woodhall Spa is a beautiful inland resort with an Edwardian character, set amidst magnificent pine woods. Regarded as one of Lincolnshire's most attractive villages, Woodhall Spa is famous for its peaceful and relaxing atmosphere, and with many fine hotels and guest houses it is the perfect location for a short break or holiday. The village has a variety of attractions including two top class golf courses, the unique 'Kinema in the Woods', Cottage Museum, Jubilee Park outdoor heated swimming pool and several aviation heritage sites associated with 617 Squadron (the Dambusters).

In case you are wondering, the original spa baths are no more, being described as semi derelict in one online information page. The Jubilee Park baths are open only between mid May and mid September.


Info via wikipedia:

the Kinema in the Woods dates from 1922, and it is the only fully-functioning cinema in the UK to employ back projection.[1][2] (Dad told us this too.) The Pavilion Cinema (as it was then known) was only the 68th cinema to be opened in Britain - and the unique rear projection system is still used today in the original screen (screen 1).

The Kinema was also unusual, if not unique, in having deck chairs for its most expensive seats at the front.  There was often a high class clientele of customers, even including Royalty, who were staying with the Weigalls at Petwood (now a nearby hotel.) On one occasion, Princess Marie Louise, granddaughter of Queen Victoria, was heard to request a seat where she would not be kicked!

It was christened 'flicks in the sticks' by the hundreds of servicemen who crowded into it during the second world War.

The Kinema is open 7 days a week, all year round, except Christmas Day. Evening shows run every night, with matinée shows at weekends and during school holidays. Resident organist Alan Underwood performs in the intervals of the film showing in the main screen (screen 1) every Saturday night.

Alan was the main source of entertainment for us the day we went, rising up out of the pit and bobbing about while he played old show tunes on the Compton Kinestra Organ, taking the oldies in the audience down Memory Lane.

We were with a group from the Women's Institute. We sat in front of them, Dad singing at the top of his voice (still strong in spite of his years) and beating time on  the seat in front. He had a ball and we enjoyed his enjoyment.

Part of the deal was afternoon tea at Petwood hotel.

The hotel is mock tudor and judging by the scones, they were too. By that I mean they were vintage, hard and straight out of cold storage. What were they thinking? This was the WI for goodness sake! There was a collective pursing of lips when they made an appearance. You could have cut the air with a knife, and it would have been a darn sight easier than cutting those scones. To add insult to injury they did not provide enough tea,  not even  hot water to add to it until asked. Not happy Jan!

But it was not enough to mar a beautiful warm day, the only day so far when I've been able to wear a dress, and the gorgeous surroundings.





weather vane honouring RAF bombers



Lincolnshire, food and ancestors

River Cruise:

The day after arriving in Nettleham we took a cruise on the Boston Belle down the River Haven. The weather was fairly kind but the sky was not brilliant blue, neither did the sun beat down as in the river cruises I just experienced in the Top End of Australia. We saw cormorants, herons, black-backed gulls, egrets and seals. No crocodiles. I saw the Boston Stump (the cathedral) up close for the first time and thought about the pilgrims leaving from here to make a new life in America.



Boston Stump from the river



Food:

En route to the pier in Boston we stopped at a great butcher/deli at Navenby (Odlings) to pick up meats and pies. I couldn’t resist getting stuck into a pork pie then and there. What makes these Lincolnshire pork pies great? Apart from Lincolnshire producing good pork products, it is the crust that does it for me, crunchy and fresh. Yumm! Speaking of pork products; dad bred pigs for a while and a local farmer (who had such a broad accent I could never understand what he said) helped us make sausages, hams, haslet and brawn etc. I never knew what was in the brawn but we ate it for weeks there was so much of it. 

[I just called dad to find out what was in brawn: 'pigs' snout and ears' was the reply They were tough and had to be cooked for a long time. Prolonged cooking produced a jelly in which the pink bits sat. I had no idea]

Wikipedia tells me that Haslet, pronounced 'Hacelet',^[2][3] or azelet, though sometimes 'hazlet' in areas outside Lincolnshire) is a herbed pork meatloaf, originally from Lincolnshire. It is typically made of stale white bread, pork (traditionally the entrails), sage, salt and pepper, and sometimes onion. (We ate lots of this too!)^[4]

The next must on the food agenda is fish and chips. We had to queue up for about 25 minutes at the fish shop on the way home from the cruise. It’s worth the wait. Proper size chips, not those weedy, skinny McDonald types, and fresh North sea fish, not to mention the mushy peas and salt and vinegar sprayed on top.

A stay with my sister is not complete without one of her gargantuan roast dinners. The meat was chicken but the piece de resistance were the veggies, eight of them: roast potatoes; baked squash, parsnips, yams, egg plant; stuffed marrow; cauliflower; carrots.

Of course I’d already sampled the steak pie at the Plough in Nettleham. We’d met dad there on our arrival from Sheffield. It has real meat, well cooked in tasty gravy and topped by a delicious crust, not too thick and not too much of it. That is definitely going to get a second visit before I leave.

Another must is Malt loaf, a rather sticky dark brown loaf with raisins, eaten with butter. Not good if you have false teeth. Blue Riband chocolate wafer, and of course Cadbury’s chocolate. It definitely tastes better here. My sister had Bassets Jelly Babies waiting for me when I arrived bless her!

Of course, apart from the veggies, none of these foods aren't what you could call healthy but what the heck, as Maxine says, ‘I’m on ‘oliday, I can do what I like!’

Ancestors:

The day after the cruise we drove to Southwell in Nottinghamshire, specifically the Minster where some of my ancestors are buried in the church graveyard. They are the Brailsford family and Mary was the originator of the Bramley apple. Wikipedia tells us:

The first 'Bramley's Seedling' tree grew from pips planted by Mary Ann Brailsford when she was a young girl in her garden in Southwell, Nottinghamshire, UK in 1809.[2] The tree in the garden was later included in the purchase of the cottage by a local butcher, Matthew Bramley in 1846. In 1856, a local nurseryman, Henry Merryweather asked if he could take cuttings from the tree and start to sell the apples. Bramley agreed but insisted that the apples should bear his name.

On 31st October 1862 the first recorded sale of a Bramley was noted in Merryweather's accounts. He sold "three Bramley apples for 2/- to Mr Geo Cooper of Upton Hall".

Look, there's Mary!

(Cooper was my maiden name, I wonder if an ancestor from the other side of the family bought them!) You do not want to eat one from the tree, they are sour. They are very good for cooking and comprise 95% of cooking apples used in England. My niece has a Bramley apple tree in her garden.

Last year Southwell Minster had a ceremony to consecrate a stained glass window dedicated to the Bramley apple.

On October 23 this year, the Southwell Bramley Festival takes place comprising a festival of cookery and food, apple themed events (the mind boggles!), even the Bramley Apple Celebration handicap Stakes at Southwell Racecourse.

All this for a cooking apple.

As to the living ancestors, namely dad, now 97, we listen to the Premier league football matches together in his hot living room. He feels the cold now and is a little deaf so the radio shouts at us. He’s still enthusiastic about the game as he is about MotoGP and Formula 1 racing.

Lincoln City:

Stokes Cafe no longer wafts coffee over the High street. It is still there but they’ve taken the coffee grinder out of the window. In the days before I knew what good coffee was I used to love that smell, breathing it in as I lingered for a while on the bridge, watching the swans. They are still there.

I suppose you can say Lincoln has 'arrived' - the University of Lincoln has expanded, there's a proliferation of student accommodation and there is now a Holiday Inn and a Nando's! But really not much has changed since I was here 2 years ago. The cathedral still dominates, geographically at least.

I discovered that while the High Street is a pedestrian precinct, if you go there between 9-10 it is not. I found myself dodging delivery vans and feeling cross about it. There is a new phenomenon known as 'Lincolnhire Day.'


There is a Nero’s in the upper High street. They make the only good coffee I’ve found in the UK. They advertise that they use a double shot of espresso in their coffees. I think the others use half! Fortunately Neros are all over the place so I know where to go for a decent coffee when I’m out and about.

Edinburgh Woollen Mills (EWM) are still there and I found a couple of bargains on the ‘Buy one get one free’ rack. I did not bump into my cousin, the ‘pseudo nun,’ she was busy chasing after the pope who’s been visiting the UK.

I notice the Liberal Club is up for sale. My mother used to sing there when she was a young woman. Her father, my grandfather was secretary there, and I think it's where my parents met.

The Liberal Club

The Ggreen Dragon Pub is still around, not a bad pick up joint, especially for RAF guys, the scene of many a fun night!



The Green Dragon



England by sea

We went to Bridlington, a trip down memory lane for me and Val.

From wikipedia:  Bridlington is a seaside resort, minor Sea fishing port and civil parish on the Holderness Coast of the North Sea, in the East Riding of Yorkshire, England.

Val's aunt Barbara used to live there, now she is buried there. She ran the family newsagency, and we stayed with her for a few days from time to time when we were student nurses. The problem was getting there. Having no money, we hitchhiked.

Once we got only as far as Hull before it got dark. (Hull is now referred to as Kingston upon Hull in the east ridng of yorkshire and famous for housing the poet Philip Larkin, now deceased.) This was of no concern to us then. All we needed was a bed for the night free of charge. We called on the police. It so happened that Hull had a system of providing rooms (paid for by the city) for waifs and strays like us. In no time the cops delivered us to a suburban home where we were greeted with smiles.

It was early evening. Not wanting to waste the opportunity for a good night out, we found a pub. Before we knew it beer was flowing and the conpany looked good. Hours later two guys brought us back on  their motorbikes to the temporary digs. No smiles from the landlady this time, she thrust our bags upon us and sent us into the night. We'd broken curfew. There was nothing for it but to walk the streets until it got light.

About one in the morning we knocked on the door of a policeman's kiosk. These were small wooden structures in the street to which police on the beat could repair for a break. The hut was warm and the cop was kind, made us a cup of tea and gave us a Kit Kat. But we couldn't stay there all night so he suggested that we return to the police station and throw ourselves on their mercy.

Back we went in the cold March air. We found the police station, explained our predicament and asked for a cell. At 2 am we ended up lying on the waiting room floor, travel bags under our heads for pillows.

The cleaners woke us in the morning, thought we were on the Duke of Edinburgh Award scheme (for genral derring do and endeavour) gave us tea and custard tarts. Our lift out of Hull was on the back of an open top lorry carrying straw bales. The wind sucked all the moisture out of our bodies and the air from our lungs. We fetched up in Bridlington with wild hair and stinging cheeks.

Today's journey was more sedate and much warmer in a diesel engine VW Golf.  The tide was out, the sea a sandy brown seguing into grey. Broome this was definitely not. A number of people were taking the air in wheelchairs. The Brits are a hardy lot. It was bracing walking against the wind to the harbour, the scene of another past adventure.

There is nothing more forlorn than an English seaside resort out of season. It was three months before the amusement parks opened and the day trippers showed up. We talked some crab boatmen into taking us out with them. At 4.30am, clutching sandwiches made by Aunty Barb we boarded. The fsherman were brothers, big strapping lads with ruddy cheeks. Did I mention it was March and we were heading out into the North Sea? It was freezing. The toilet was a bucket. I was not game to use it and held on until we docked at noon. The men raised up crab pots, released the crabs into vats on the deck, re-baited the pots and put them down again. Sometimes one of them would cry 'Lobster mine', claiming the lobster which had crawled into the crab pot. The lobsters were dark blue which surprised  me. I'd only seen boiled ones before. Mercifully the seas were not rough and the sandwiches stayed down.

After fish and chips at the Dolphin restaurant we, the older versions of those young adventturers, walked onto Bridlington Spa. In the 1960s on another trip to Bridlington Val and I went to a jazz concert there. It was very dairng in those days because it started at midnight and went on until 6am. At one point I stepped out of the large double doors facing the ocean to watch the sun rise. With Johnny Dankworth playing in the background and Cleo Laine singing it was one of those magical moments one sometimes experiences.

The large ballroom area remains although it has seating arranged on it now. They still have regular performances there of a vareity of artists. Now there is a cafe on the upper floor with a sweeping view of the ocean and Flamborough Heads. it looks good, worthy of a future visit.

We paid a visit to the kind maiden Aunt Barbara's grave before heading home.

a week in Sheffield

I trained as a nurse in Sheffield from 1957-1961. The place has changed a bit since then. For one thing, the smell of coal gas has gone; it used to hit me as I walked down the ramp from Victoria Station to the bus stop. There are no coal mines any more and the station has disappeared too. The one remaining (Midland station) has been tarted up with a steel sculptured curving wall and a wide open space in front of it, impressive.

 Of course the engine of the city, the steel industry, disappeared a long time ago, sucking the life out
of the place for a while. In its place are monuments to its memory and museums.

'Sheffy Stan' pouring molten metal out of his crucible

Speaking of crucibles, The Crucible is a very famous place among billiard players in the world. In fact the World Snooker Championship is taking place there as I write this. It is making local cafe owners  nervous, as I found when trying to pay for lunch for me and my friends at the Crucible Cafe last week. They didn't want to take my 50.00 pound note, and pointed to the notice behind the counter stating they did not accept such notes. 'Why not?' I asked. Apparently the 50.00 pound note is the easiest to replicate and around World Snooker championship time the cheats and touts gather for rich pickings from the innocent punters passing counterfeit notes. I managed to convince them I had the genuine article before repairing to the Lyceum Theatre nearby to watch the play 'Carrie's War.'

The Lyceum has been there a long time. Nursing students used to get free tickets to pop stars' concerts, usually on a quiet night and usually near the front. We saw the likes of Tommy Steel, Adam Faith etc, the early stars of British rock'n'roll. I fancy I saw my first ballet at the Lyceum too. I couldn't get over the sound of the dancers' feet shuffling over the stage, something you didn't hear on TV or in the movies.

The theatre was full of schoolchildren, I suppose because the play was about the experiences of  two children when evacuated during WW11. They screamed and guffawed at the stage kiss, but generally were well behaved. We weren't sure however that they understood the premise of the play.

The stores have changed. C & A where I bought my first short skirt (a straight feltish green job) has disappeared. I didn't know it at the time but I had the reputation of being the first person at the hospital to wear a short skirt, albeit a rather modest precursor to the minis that followed.

The buildings are cleaner; there are more pedestrian precincts in the city centre with gardens, fountains and sculptures; smelly breweries have been replaced by high-ceilinged, well lit flats like my friends'.
BUT the sooner they get rid of that bloody great Big Wheel the better! What is it about English towns and big wheels? Even Windsor has one. It is becoming fetishistic!

I fancy I see the same faces and physiques of long ago, however, tarty bleach blond women and be-ringed skinny men hanging about the city centre.
One thing that hasn't changed in Sheffield are the beautiful surroundings. People used to describe Sheffield as 'an ugly picture in a beautiful frame.' In a matter of minutes you are out of the grime and into the Derbyshire Dales, with its soft green rolling hills, low stone walls and picturesque villages.

We visited Chatsworth House, the seat of the Duchess of Devonshire (aka Jessica the youngest of the famous Mitford sisters). It was too late to inspect its interior so contented ourselves with walking the beautifully landscaped exterior, sampling the wares of the cafe (of course) and the gift shop.

A wedding was taking place outside, atop a stone structured platform (a bit like a small pyramid without the pointy bit at the top). It is a beautiful venue for it, and we saw a young couple with mum and dad in tow being wooed for a possible future wedding.  In such ways the titled owners manage to keep their palaces and stately homes afloat.

 A few of my nursing friends and I lunched together at one of the many pubs in Derbyshire.  Ours was
The Hearty Oaks. The food was as the name suggests, hearty, especially the huge beef and Guinnesss pie I tucked into. We were served by a very solicitous young waiter, James who could not do enough for us,  except cook another batch of lasagne which had run out. He was so charming we didn't mind. Of course Lasagne was unheard of in the pubs of 50 years ago, not to mention fried camembert, chili prawns etc. so things are looking up.

We haven't changed a bit of course!

24 hours in New York

Krista met me at JFK and off we went to her studio apartment in Brooklyn. Lovely space, nice and light, very comfy, thank you Kris.

Had a great hamburger (no beetroot in sight) at The Farm nearby and a pretty dark beer the name of which I can't pronounce and most of which I couldn't drink. Must remember to avoid that one in future.

The next morning I was on my own as Kris went to work, taking my largest suitcase with her. What a great gal! After a few hours taking stock, editing Day 7 of the Darwin-Broome blog and repacking I made for the underground.

Securing the ticket should have been easy but the woman behind the grill referred me to the screen at the turnstile. I let the next person go as I tried to figure out how to get my ticket. Ah a slot for money! In went the note. It wouldn't go.  A line of impatient New Yorkers began to form. I tried again. No luck. someone in the back shouted press 'Start'. There it was in big letters on the screen. Relief and shame competed for attention. At last I got the precious ticket. I turned round apologising profusely to the irritated faces behind me. I don't think New Yorkers know how to handle apologies.

I hopped on the first train that came along. Kris had told me her office was nine stops away. I wrote 111111111 in my notebook carefully crossing out each stop we passed. The ninth was Broadway and Lafayette, not quite the Broadway stop I was expecting as per Krista's instructions but I got off anyway.

Didn't seem to be any streets near the 14th street I needed. I asked the way. Just 3 or 4 blocks. Off I went with my two bags, handbag and raincoat which mercifully I didn't need. It was also good that the temperature had gone down from the 33 degrees of the day before because it took me half an hour to find Krista's office. It appeared I had caught the B train instead of the Q. How was I to know that trains had letters on their fronts!

After meeting the men and women of Project Achieve (within sight of the Empire State building) and a Thai lunch with Kris I took a stroll down Fifth Avenue, not the fashionable part but interesting nonetheless. There is ALWAYS something going on in NY. Stopped for a while to listen to and film some Nashville boys stomping and hollerin', wondering if we'd run across them again in Nashville in 6 weeks time. A doubles tennis match was being screened from the US Open in Madison Park. A model shoot was going on further down the avenue. The male model's face was chiseled and totally expressionless, beautiful but blank, how I could imagine a zombie looking.  See what I mean!
A halal food cart looking like one of those mad Pakistani buses also came in for some camera work.

Then it was back to the airport, Newark, NJ this time. Kris and I took the train. Easy enough but confusion reigned when I tried to check in at the Continental Airlines desk. I was glad I pre-booked my seat online because the flight was chockers. Another touch screen affair which confused me yet again. although I managed to get a boarding pass for the leg to Brussels but not for the leg to Manchester. Instead I had a piece of paper stating 'THIS IS NOT A BOARDING PASS' which gave me visions of being stuck 'In Bruges' like those guys in the film.

Not much sleep on the flight to Brussels, not enough time what with dinner and breakfast being served, then more confusion at Brussels Airport. First of all we all marched about a hundred yards down the concourse then came to a full stop. A big crowd developed as we went nowhere. I was too far back to see what the hold up was. Eventually I found a man, said 'Manchester' and he directed me up stairs away from the throng. Another crowd of people up there but in an orderly queue waiting to go through security. I'm still worried about not having a boarding pass and didn't want to get through to the Other Side only to have to be turned back. Someone assured me there was a Brussels Airlines desk there, so shoes off, netbook out of suitcase etc etc and I was through security. After another enquiry I was directed to the Bus gate. Bus gate???? There I would receive my boarding pass.  At Bus gate 91 I received the precious pass. Eventually a bus showed up and drove at least a mile (maybe it was only half but it seemed a  long way) and we climbed up the stairs to board the Avro flight.

I've since learned Avro is the UK's award winning cheap ticket operator for low cost flights. I was definitely in the cheap seats, some in the front were eligible for free drinks and snacks, we in the back had to pay for them. I didn't bother, knowing I'd be getting a good cup of tea with my friends when I arrived at the other end. Besides it was the principle of the thing.

Now, I'm not a Luddite but I can't help thinking how much easier life was, not to mention more efficient, when some smiling face behind a desk supplied you with your tickets, passes etc and sent you on your way. Okay I'll do without the smile, just give me a person who knows what she or he is doing!!!!