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I'm back in London-or the city the Cockneys affectionately refer to as "Smoke" . . . I've been up home seeing my family, doing the rounds. Nothing wild, just a relaxing time. I woke up, first day back in Huyton, to the precise BBC English voice of the announcer on the radio informing me that there was "a hold up on the approaches to the Severn Bridge near Bristol. Motorists are advised to avoid this area unless it is essential." Working it out that my bed was 200 miles from the Severn Bridge, which our Queen recently opened, I'd give it a miss that morning. It's great being home. Though I cover hundreds of thousands of miles every year, I still get that rather unique feeling soon's I pull up to my house. I guess deep down I'm a family person, and that sentimental journey back after a trip to see Mom, Dad and the girls is a feeling, an emotion, if you like, that I do not experience elsewhere in the world, however much I like the place. I am independent by nature. Strongly so. l live more away from home than I do in it. Maybe this is what triggers my feelings for the family. But being on the road, making my own decisions, does not blind me to the debt I owe my parents. I respect them immensely. They allowed me freedom, but I am the first to admit their vaster, overall understanding of life; they have set a pattern for my sisters and I. They have given us a code, a set of rules, and we try to honor them. I have just had breakfast. The same breakfast menu I had yesterday, Sunday, Saturday-every day. Just grapefruit juice, buttered toast and tea. The two Besses - Little and Coleman-recently asked about my eating habits. I had to admit that they are governed by moods. Culinary moods of the moment. For instance, I love steak, medium rare, with French fries and mushrooms. But I couldn't stick it as a standard diet. Must have variety; it's the spice of life, as the man said. Do I have sweet or savory to finish? Rarely. Coffee and benedictine. You know this is one of the quaint things about England's legal system. The licensing laws for the sale of intoxicants in a public house, or bar, are clearly defined: NO PERSON UNDER THE AGE OF 18 MAY BE SERVED WITH INTOXICATING LIQUOR IN A BAR. Yet, if that pub or bar has a restaurant attached anyone under eighteen may get a drink-providing they are eating a meal. That's dear, quaint England. The Besses asked about dinner. |
Well, I eat late, but when I'm in England I love going to a CHIPPY. This is a fish and chip shop-a place where chipped potatoes taste differently to anywhere else in the world. They have a tang peculiar to these shops, and there is a marvelous informality about the whole place. The fish is fried in a manner one doesn't get in a smart place; it's just great. This trip into London I have been on Operation Morpheus-catching up on as much sleep as I can get. Head-down has been the order of the day. After all the traveling it's the height of luxury to know that you can get into the sack and just sleep as long as you want. But in the afternoons I have been rubber-necking it around London like any other visitor to this capital. You know London has so many nooks and crannies, old hostelries, ancient monuments, historical buildings, that it would take a million years to see and know everything. I've taken in the Tower of London (that's the old spot which Henry VIII used to lop off the heads of his brides). In it are the Crown Jewels . . . did you know that the Queen has three Crowns? One is St. Edward's Crown and is 404 years old; another has the 309 carat Star of India diamond in it. WOW What a ROCK! And it also has the sapphire from the ring of Edward the Confessor, who died exactly 900 years ago in 1066. But girls, think of this! Besides those two stones this one Crown has 11 emeralds, 16 sapphires, 4 rubies, 277 pearls and 2783 (yes, two thousand seven hundred and eighty three) diamonds! That's only the crowns-the rest is equally fantastic-and their value! Makes you feel they are so highly valued that maybe even Fort Knox would be pushed to raise the ante. In fact, my sightseeing in London has been a revelation. As I've wandered around Big Ben, West-minister Abbey, almost living out the lyric of ROGER MILLER'S old disc England swings,I've been struck by the lack of Londoners I've met. Maybe they have all seen the sights before-or, maybe, they are so close to everything that they cannot see the wood for the trees. Time is slipping away, and I still haven't taken my Ministry of Transport driving test; the waiting list is so long that I am off traveling abroad again before I can settle behind a wheel for an examiner to deliberate on my faults or otherwise. But I MUST pass that test! I have a white Cadillac and a blue 3.8 Jaguar, which I can never, as an official "learner," use one of the fast new super motorways . . . and what's the good of fast cars, that you cannot go fast in?
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  1: Herman & Dave Clark chat Up; |
 
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