Steep Hill
I wrote an entire lovely blog a few days ago, but the computer at the Lincoln public library ate it, and my time was up, and hence you got no blog update, alas. Which is sad, as second time blogs are never as good as the first ones.
I was explaining to you, in the blog eaten by the free computer, all about the loveliness of Lincoln. I stand by that still, except for the excellence of the free computer part, which was worth about what I paid for it.
I was staying, in Lincoln, at the Mayfield Guest House, which was not only the charmingest nicest place I'll be staying this trip, but also the least expensive. Also, the cooked breakfast was the best English cooked breakfast I've had since 1977, when, for the first time, I came to England, and got fed excellent breakfasts I haven't seen since.
Till the Mayfield Guest House. Oh, what breakfasts! Crisp bacon, light fried bread, succulent mushrooms, and egg from a free-range hen, known personally to the landlady, who vouched for her character. The hen's, I mean. The hen had been rescued from a hen battery, and I suppose is running around freely in a state of great gratitude, producing excellent eggs. Oh, freedom! I hope she doesn't mind losing the eggs.
So. I had cooked breakfast every morning, instead of my usual muesli, cause it was clear to me that I shall not see the likes of that breakfast again.
Therefore, the Steep Hill was a good thing.
There's two Lincolns, you see. There's the upper city, and the lower city. The upper city has the Cathedral, and the Castle, and the Mayfield Guest House (where I lived); the lower city has the university, and the train station, and the archives (where I worked). In between is a steep hill, and to get up it, you have to walk up Steep Hill, which was created after the Romans left by the intrepid natives, who, I gather, got tired of walking up the steps that the Romans had built for the pedestrians (they'd built a zig-zag sort of road for the wheeled vehicles), and started mucking straight up the hill without using the steps. It must have been quite a sight in the rain. Or, God help us, the snow. Surely it's in better shape now, with the sidewalks and the cobblestones, than it was in earlier days.
Even so, it worried me to see people being wheeled down it. If I were to be carting my aged Mom down Steep Hill, I'd damn sure strap her into the wheelchair, on account of otherwise I'd expect to be having a Sad Event. But, as far as I saw, nobody fell out of their chairs this week. There were even some of the young citizens of Lincoln running UP Steep Hill. I was impressed.
(I think the proportion of elderly people using canes was a higher proportion than I generally see, though. I blame Steep Hill. My knees were beginning to feel it.)
But I'm glad about Steep Hill, anyway, cause walking up and down it a couple of times a day made up for the excellent cooked breakfast, I THINK. Do not disabuse me of this idiot notion in the comments section. It's difficult enough getting through my days.
Which, today, involved a 4 hour train ride, with two changes, in order to get from Lincoln to Northampton.*
Where the hotel is not a nice as the excellent Mayfield Guest House (do I recommend this place when you go to visit Lincoln and the Steep Hill? Yes. Yes, I do. Order the breakfast, I'm not kidding), but does have a phone line.
So. A blog update. From the Coach House, in Northampton. Where there are no steep hills. Back to muesli, for me.
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*Since I generally have No Idea what's happening at the train stations -- that is, what train is standing at the platform, what platform I'm on, when the train I want is supposed to arrive, what its final destination might be, what the HELL the announcer just said -- it cheers me greatly that nobody else knows what is going on, either. I mean, I'm sorry that the native population is having as difficult time as I am with the trains, in their non-Victorian incarnation. But it's nice to know that I'm not having trouble cause I'm an American. I'm having trouble because the trains are incomprehensible. I mean. Really. Four hours to get from Lincoln to Northampton. On three trains.
I was explaining to you, in the blog eaten by the free computer, all about the loveliness of Lincoln. I stand by that still, except for the excellence of the free computer part, which was worth about what I paid for it.
I was staying, in Lincoln, at the Mayfield Guest House, which was not only the charmingest nicest place I'll be staying this trip, but also the least expensive. Also, the cooked breakfast was the best English cooked breakfast I've had since 1977, when, for the first time, I came to England, and got fed excellent breakfasts I haven't seen since.
Till the Mayfield Guest House. Oh, what breakfasts! Crisp bacon, light fried bread, succulent mushrooms, and egg from a free-range hen, known personally to the landlady, who vouched for her character. The hen's, I mean. The hen had been rescued from a hen battery, and I suppose is running around freely in a state of great gratitude, producing excellent eggs. Oh, freedom! I hope she doesn't mind losing the eggs.
So. I had cooked breakfast every morning, instead of my usual muesli, cause it was clear to me that I shall not see the likes of that breakfast again.
Therefore, the Steep Hill was a good thing.
There's two Lincolns, you see. There's the upper city, and the lower city. The upper city has the Cathedral, and the Castle, and the Mayfield Guest House (where I lived); the lower city has the university, and the train station, and the archives (where I worked). In between is a steep hill, and to get up it, you have to walk up Steep Hill, which was created after the Romans left by the intrepid natives, who, I gather, got tired of walking up the steps that the Romans had built for the pedestrians (they'd built a zig-zag sort of road for the wheeled vehicles), and started mucking straight up the hill without using the steps. It must have been quite a sight in the rain. Or, God help us, the snow. Surely it's in better shape now, with the sidewalks and the cobblestones, than it was in earlier days.
Even so, it worried me to see people being wheeled down it. If I were to be carting my aged Mom down Steep Hill, I'd damn sure strap her into the wheelchair, on account of otherwise I'd expect to be having a Sad Event. But, as far as I saw, nobody fell out of their chairs this week. There were even some of the young citizens of Lincoln running UP Steep Hill. I was impressed.
(I think the proportion of elderly people using canes was a higher proportion than I generally see, though. I blame Steep Hill. My knees were beginning to feel it.)
But I'm glad about Steep Hill, anyway, cause walking up and down it a couple of times a day made up for the excellent cooked breakfast, I THINK. Do not disabuse me of this idiot notion in the comments section. It's difficult enough getting through my days.
Which, today, involved a 4 hour train ride, with two changes, in order to get from Lincoln to Northampton.*
Where the hotel is not a nice as the excellent Mayfield Guest House (do I recommend this place when you go to visit Lincoln and the Steep Hill? Yes. Yes, I do. Order the breakfast, I'm not kidding), but does have a phone line.
So. A blog update. From the Coach House, in Northampton. Where there are no steep hills. Back to muesli, for me.
****************************
*Since I generally have No Idea what's happening at the train stations -- that is, what train is standing at the platform, what platform I'm on, when the train I want is supposed to arrive, what its final destination might be, what the HELL the announcer just said -- it cheers me greatly that nobody else knows what is going on, either. I mean, I'm sorry that the native population is having as difficult time as I am with the trains, in their non-Victorian incarnation. But it's nice to know that I'm not having trouble cause I'm an American. I'm having trouble because the trains are incomprehensible. I mean. Really. Four hours to get from Lincoln to Northampton. On three trains.
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