Rolling Hills: Day 2 - Bognor Regis

After waking up to the sound of departing semi-trailers and a windscreen soaked with condensation, we made our way to the service station to freshen up and snack. Deciding we were too tired and too lazy to head back to Portsmouth for the Maritime Museum, we blindly drove until reaching Bognor Regis.

Bognor Regis, the coastal resort of the Kings!

..Or royal family members who may have at some point visited... possibly to by shoes (so says a plaque).

It was a dreary place at eight in the morning, with a slight ocean breeze that was more bone chilling than refreshing. Its beach was brown and pebbly, with decaying piers groping out towards France. Unfortunately, the seaside towns of England have fallen into disarray, starved of funds as holiday makers fly to the Mediterranean to get their dose of Vitamin D. We came up with naught searching for a breakfast cafe, and decided to make our way towards Brighton, another seaside town, but famous for another reason. Its white chalk cliffs.

We entered Brighton knowing that parking would be hell, so made our way through Brighton towards Rottingdean, a smaller town just east of Brighton. On the way we passed many a Victorian-era building, all built for the Victorian rich and famous. Rottingdean, however, was for more humble folk, and consequently featured more Bed and Breakfasts than five-star hotels. Parking on a cliff, we made our way down to the waters edge, to marvel at the chalk cliffs. The cliffs had clearly appeared over the years through weathering, and it's face was left a relatively smooth white, but with layers of "pimples", which were striations of flint embedded in the chalk. Satisfied by our toasted paninis and sunny view, we decided to drive onwards to return home later that day.

Taking a few wrong turns here and there we ended up driving through Ashdown Forest. Making a few stops to snack and absorb the freshly generated oxygen; of which one stop was Bolebroke Castle. Sadly, this castle was more a holiday home for King Henry VIII and due to a lack of visitors, somewhat dilapidated. After a quick cup of tea, we made our way back to the M25, the main highway that would lead us to our destination, and towards a couple of soft beds. Alas, our journey could not be completed without figuring out the oddities that are British road signs.

Instead of numbers for speed limits or short phrases for warnings, the British use symbols and stripes, that would mean nothing to the unknowing (i.e. us). Dealing with the obscure signs, and the sometimes hilarious road rage of fellow drivers, we finally made our way back to Chelmsford, where we prompted ate and passed out.

Sadly, I couldn't see you while sleeping in the car, Betelgeuse.
Edwin
2011-07-13

Rolling Hills: Day 1

After completing my long aforementioned journey, I made it to my friend's place in Chelmsford , in Essex east of London by about 40 miles. After a day's rest, my friend and I went off for a mini road trip around the Greater London area and across through to Sussex. We initially aimed to find the white horses of Sussex, chalk horses carved fields scattered across the countryside. Unfortunately, we couldn't quite find the way to a white horse and stopped at a local pub. This stop allowed me to have my first beer in England, a half pint of Otter, slightly warm. It was strange to have beer at such as warm temperature, but it refreshing and flavoursome nonetheless.

From the pub we made our way to the Avebury Stones, rather than the more well known Stonehenge. The stone circle formed by the Avebury stones encompassed a much larger and lived in area, also passing through the centre of town. The main difference between the Avebury Stones and Stonehenge is that the Avebury Stones are uncut, and open to the public to get up and close to, to feel with your own hands. Unlike Stonehenge where the monoliths are all fenced off.

Realising that time was running out, we made out way to Wincanton, twin city of Ankh-Morpork of Discworld, and also the only town twinned with a fictional city. Within the hilly town of Wincanton lies The Cunning Artificer, the only shop that carries Terry Pratchett memorabilia and a must visit for any fans of Sir Terry's works. We were greeted with warm cups of tea from a smiling shopkeeper and furry cats laying lazily in the display cabinet. A lazy ginger cat, a attention-seeking long haired black cat, and a feisty Bengal. Upon hearing of our trek across England, and hailing from Australia, the lovely shop lady gave us "scout" badges from a 2007 event. Browsing the shelves, we found our swag and went on our way. I bought myself an Ankh-Morpork passport and birth certificate, a sample of stamps and a Procrastinator pendant, something I wish would work in reality.

Back on the road we went, to find the Ankh-Morpork/Wincanton sign, on the edge of town, where we came across a house set ablaze. Thankfully the fire services were on the way, but the house was engulfed in flames reaching metres above the roof line. Confident the blaze would be under control soon, we left and headed towards yet another Pratchett stop, a stage performance of "Jingo!" in Portsmouth.

Two hours later, we arrived in Portsmouth, with not enough time for dinner before the play. So we watched the play hungry, tired and kinda stinky... The seats we had were brilliant, better than the Lord Mayor's seats surprisingly. The play was... fairly amateur but still a fun performance. Unfortunately, I must confess I dozed off during lulls in the play... due to sleep deprivation, tiredness from travel and... the slow pace of some scenes.

After the play, we found that there was near nothing still open at 11pm at night in Portsmouth, bar a few pubs and a lone Subway were a single, bored worker waiting for the night to finish. Figuring that we needed to find somewhere to sleep, we drove to a truck stop, and promptly passed out.

Perhaps Betelgeuse was shining over us that night.
Edwin
2011-07-12