2005-01-12

Winchester yesterday: ancient capital of England! Legendary seat of Saxon kings! In fact, I popped into the cathedral and took a few snaps of a carved wooden box containing the bones of several of said kings going back to the 9th Century. I�m sure King Aethelred would have died a happier man knowing that his earthly remains would be providing entertainment to ghoulish tourists from halfway around the globe a thousand years into the future. Fuck me I love history. I also trod upon the grave of Jane Austen. She�s much shorter in person.

After that bit of fun, I hiked up St Giles Hill to a promontory perched in a grove of majestic yew trees, which dripped majestically on my head in the dank English drizzle, whence I gazed upon � or rather squinted at � the city spread idyllically before me, receding into the thick winter fog. Then I enjoyed a well-deserved pint of bitter at the Royal Oak, which claims to be the oldest bar in England, whilst waiting for my trousers to dry off. It just doesn�t get much more British than that, no sir.

The day took a bit of an upswing, and then a downswing, when I stopped in at another bar for an evening-capper, was adopted by the locals, as per usual, and managed in the heat of conviviality to miss my last bus. I sprinted to the train station just in time to catch the last train of the evening, dishing out an extra �7.50 for the pleasure. On my way home, I gripped my seat armrests like a pair of hand-held life-saving devices, desperately willing the train to stop rocking and pitching: I�m afraid a long evening�s worth of ale and no supper had left my tummy a bit poorly. Thankfully, I arrived home without inflicting any fresh stainage upon the upholstery. All in a day�s work!