UK - The Cricketers’ Arms & Berwick Church

One of the first questions everyone asks me in Corsica when they realise that I’m English, is ‘is England really like it is on Midsomer Murders?’ and on days like today when I have been sitting in the garden on the Cricketers’ Arms, I can honest say that it is (with perhaps slightly fewer deaths!).



The Cricketers’ Arms is the English country pub of most people’s imaginations. The pub itself is a traditional flint stone cottage pub close to the South Downs. The gardens are particularly pretty; Buddleias attracting butterflies, cherry blossom trees and all sorts of spring flowers.



We sat in the garden with glasses of chilled cider mulling over the menu, and in the end we plumped for two of their speciality platters. We took a cheese platter with mature cheddar, stilton and brie, served with real ale chutney and a Spanish platter with Serrano ham, Gran Vera chorizo, Salchichon sausage, Manchego cheese, olives and sun-blushed tomatoes which we shared.



They were absolutely delicious, so after lunch we decided to be good again and walk up to the church. I didn’t know there was a church close to the pub as they are a little way out of the main part of the village, but it was great as we got to see beautiful thatched houses and an amazing clematis clinging to an old wall



We wandered through the graveyard which sounds a bit morbid, but with wild flowers all over the place, you couldn’t help but feel uplifted.





The church is small but perfectly formed as the saying goes, and Kerry’s dad who had visited before gave us a top tip because otherwise we’d never have known that you can light up the inside to illuminate the colourful 20th century frescos, some of which were painted by the Bloomsbury group.



Kerry sat for ages reading all about them, but I have to confess that I was more interested in the stone windows as architecture is more my thing, and the view was just beautiful…

UK - Herstmonceux Castle and grounds

Herstmonceux castle is tucked away in the leafy lanes close to the village of the same name, but even though I lived in the area for yonks, I have somehow never visited. So, as I had a couple of spare hours, today was the day!



The first surprise was the Canadian lady at the gate and it reminded me of the war memorial at Vimy which is actually Canadian soil in France – very weird set up. Anyway, it turns out that the castle is privately owned and today is a working university.



It was a bit strange to see all the students milling about and sitting on walls that must have seen bloody battles over the years, and it’s a great shame that there isn’t much of note inside – as the lady on the gate said, antique furniture and students just don’t mix! - but the best thing about Herstmonceux is that because it’s privately owned, you can wander wherever you want through the grounds.





The first thing I noticed was the walled garden behind the castle, with ancient brick built archways and little gates leading to further themed gardens. I particularly liked the Shakespeare garden where all the plants have featured in the work of the Bard, and there are quotations from his various works.



It was here that I managed to corner one of the peacocks that roam freely through the grounds. I have never heard such a racket in my life and a couple of peacocks in your garden would be much more effective that a burglar alarm I am sure!



I was actually trying to step on the very end of his tail to bag myself one of their gorgeous feathers, but he obviously rumbled me, as he ran off at quite a pace, but it was whilst chasing him that I happened across the Elizabethan garden by accident, and was thrilled to discover an exhibition of sculptures dotted amongst the flower beds.



Beyond these structured gardens are huge fields of what must have previously been boggy marshland (mind your ankles), leading to some enormous Rhododendron bushes and super pretty apple blossoms. At the end of this field is the 1930’s folly with little garden of its own and another short woodland walk by the side of the stream.





At this time of year, one of the main attractions of the castle and grounds are the bluebells. They were absolutely everywhere and the density of flowers made them look more purple than blue. There are miles and miles of trails through the woods and as usual I was so busy taking photos that it wasn’t long before I realized that I didn’t know where I was!



I knew that sooner or later I would end up back at the castle, so I kept going and came across a clearing with information panels telling me about ‘Herst Henge’. Apparently, this is a ring of tree stumps into which various symbols have been carved. I suppose it’s the same idea as Stonehenge, but on a much smaller scale.



So, after a lovely woodland walk I found myself back at the castle gardens and an area that has been planted with impressive red maples – not surprising when you consider that the castle is Canadian owned! Below these trees, a stumpery has been created.



I’d never heard of a stumpery, but they are similar to rockeries but made from parts of dead trees instead of rocks. This can take the form of whole stumps, logs, pieces of bark or even worked timber such as railway sleepers or floorboards. The pieces are arranged artistically and plants, typically ferns, mosses and lichens are encouraged to grow around or on them.



I spotted another gate almost hidden behind the purple Magnolia, so I wandered in and found some amazing rhododendrons and azaleas in all shades from bright yellows, fiery oranges and deep reds and pinks.



Tucked away in a corner was an Asian style area with a budda statue and round the corner a really peaceful/tranquil area when you can sit and meditate in front of the fountain. Of course, I hadn’t read the blurb that the lady at the gate gave me, otherwise I would have known all this was here, but it was quite nice to discover it all as a surprise!



So, how did Herstmonceux Castle become a Canadian University? Well, in the 12th century a saxon lady, Idonea de Herst married a Norman nobleman, Ingelram de Monceux, to give the place it's name. The name of the owners changed through marriage to Fiennes, and the family increased in wealth and power. James Fiennes distinguished himself fighting for King Henry V at the Battle of Agincourt and later became sheriff of Surrey and Sussex.



The family fortunes are interesting and varied, but by 1700 the last Lord Dacre, Earl of Sussex, was forced to sell Herstmonceux Castle. Over the years the castle saw good times and bad times, first falling into ruin before being bought in the 1900’s by Lt. Col. Claude Lowther who started the renovations that would continue for many decades to come.



In 1993 Herstmonceux Castle was acquired by Queen's University of Canada through the generosity of Drs Alfred and Isabel Bader, and is now an International Study Centre attracting students from around the world.

UK - Bluebell Walk and Farm Trail, Sussex

When I woke up this morning and saw the gorgeous blue skies, I knew that a bit of fresh air and exercise would help to assuage my guilt at all the naughty things I have eaten recently! So the only question was where to go.



Fortunately, my lovely friend Kerry had the situation firmly in hand, and had planned a whole day of excitement starting with a stroll along the bluebell walk and farm trail, lunch at a fabulous country pub and then a visit to the unusual church at Berwick.



The bluebell walk is only open for a few weeks each year, obviously when the bluebells are out, so we were very lucky really that the spring has been quite late this year because otherwise we would have missed them.



Entry is £4 which all goes to charity, and included in that are all sorts of extras such as a small petting zoo, farmers market stall, book stall, plants for sale and even a café selling homemade scrummy cakes and lunches.



The trails cover several different routes that can be done individually or joined together to make a huge trail even passing through the working area of the farm. They have a herd of Fresian dairy cows that are absolutely HUGE but I wasn’t quite so scared of them as I am of the Corsican cows as they don’t have horns. Phew!



There are also areas of wild garlic that smelt divine, so it was lucky we were almost at the end of the trail as our thoughts were turning to a yum pub lunch. I’m not sure that we managed to work off as much as we ate to reward ourselves afterwards, but who cares!

UK & FRANCE - Driving to Corsica & the CGT

Surprisingly, the journey home this time was relatively uneventful - no near death experiences, no people dressed as cows (see Beaune), just hundreds of French army vehicles heading north - presumably in an attempt to liberate Calais from the British (anyone who has visited recently will know exactly what I mean!) and three van loads of CRS who, with their wild psychotic staring eyes, could have been taken for a contingent of Millwall supporters if their silly cardboard hats didn't make them look like they work at McDonalds in their spare time!!

The thing about French motorways is that they are compratively quiet and you can easily find your mind wandering. This time, my attention was focused on the extraordinary amount of random shoes littering the carriageway. How does that happen? I for one have never come across someone who said ' you never guess what happened to me today. I was driving along when all of a sudden my shoe came off and blew away!'. Doesn't really sound plausible does it? And I'm not talking 2 or 3 random shoes here people - there were easily enough in the stretch from Villefranche sur Soane down to Marseille to be considered a small but well stocked branch of Stead & Simpsons! Recently I discovered that one of Che Guevara's jobs before he became a raving revolutionary was to collect odd shoes and try to sell those that most resembled a pair. He should have moved to France instead of Cuba - he could have made a killing!!

It was as I approached the port d'Arenc in Marseille that I was reminded of my recent panic over the CGT strikes and port blockages. The CGT stands for Confédération Générale du Travail, basically the General Workers Union, but the word 'workers' has obviously been used in it's loosest sense as they should really be called the CGG - General Union of Strikers. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not against unions per se, but what I am against are selfish lazy toads who are onto a serious cushy number with lots of perks and very little actual work, who don’t want anyone rocking the boat, if you’ll pardon the pun. This time, not only did they call an indefinite strike during the school holidays, but they illegally blocked all ports on the island so no one could get in or out, including freight (such as food and petrol), and even the other ferry companies from France and Italy. What better way to hold the government hostage as the island is practically crippled within a week.

Now the reason for the strike sounds fairly noble; they are protesting the cut to the budget for maritime links between Corsica and the mainland. OK, fair enough, but when you consider that Corsica Ferries also offers this link (with no strikes) and manages to turn a profit using half the workforce, I think you’ll see where the problem lies.

As I arrived at the port, there were 3 blokes idling in a little shelter, ostensibly to direct people to their ferries. However, as there are huge boards and arrows for each route, and as they never bother to speak until spoken to (and then they don’t bother to get up), it’s a pretty useless role. From here it’s 2 minutes to the CMN waiting area where you park and check-in. Five workers here chatting with each other, and one bloke to deal with the single file traffic directing them to the correct queue. Hhhmm, I see a pattern forming. On to the boat and a queue for the reception to collect cabin keys. Two people behind the desk, one to highlight the cabin number, the other to hand him the key that is within arms reach behind him. Disembarkation the next morning was no different – one bloke to wave the cars off and at least 10 at the doors chatting. I don’t think it’s hard to see why this nationalized company has yet to turn a profit and is supported by the tax payers – the same tax payers stuck at the ports each time they strike.

So what to do? Well as French union workers are paid full salary whilst striking(!) there seems little incentive for them not to. Plus the perks are fab, as anyone who has tried to eat in the restaurant of the Scandola will tell you when they manage to run out of meat and fish with only 20-odd cars on board (guess where the stock for some of the restaurants in Propriano comes from). I for one have chosen the cheery yellow boats of Corsica Ferries for my next trip onto the mainland. Cheaper, more efficient and never on strike, so up the yellows and two fingers up to the CGT!

UK - London & Chinese New Year

The day didn’t get off to a fantastic start, what with needing a defribulator to revive me when the ticket office told me how much it was going to cost to get to London by train, but I knew that my smiley Italiana friend from Sardinia would soon cheer me up!



It’s been a toss up between Sfizio, an authentic Caffe' Bar Paticceria in Holborn or Princi just off Oxford Street. We both indulged ourselves with scrummy Italian pizzas with a crispy thin base and melt in the mouth toppings of Quattro formaggi and parma ham. Stella got so carried away with the taste that she actually forgot the Italian for chilli oil. Luckily the waiter was a fake Italian so he was happy for her to order in English!



After an espresso so strong that it was more of a brush stroke of coffee paste in the bottom of my cup than a drink, we thought we ought to be a bit virtuous and walk off some of the delicious lunch. It wasn’t long before we found ourselves at the tea shop where you can but basically anything connected with tea; leaves, canisters, pots, beautiful cups.



I was seduced by some mulled wine mix that is tucked away amongst the rest of the packing as I speak – hope the sniffer dogs don’t get a whiff of the suspicious looking package...

From here it is just a hop, skip and a jump to Covent Garden. I love Covent Garden and to be honest, I’m not really sure why! I do like the old fashioned market stalls on wheels and I do like the live music, and on this occasion rather dodgy escapologist, but I don’t like inflated prices specifically for the tourists, and the rows of tat surrounding the old market place.



We wandered around the Apple Market and found some fab t-shirts at a not-so-fab price and some tempting Thornton’s Champagne Truffles at twice the normal price so we went off to look at the Disney store too as we are both big kids are heart. The assistant spoke to Stella in Italian and she was really shocked because she thought she’d become quite English – no chance! The hand gestures alone would have alerted a fellow countryman!

It was starting to drizzle, so we decided that high tea was in order and headed through Soho.



I’d forgotten that it was Chinese New Year and the coloured lanterns and intricate dragons adorning all the buildings were really impressive. I have never seen so many Chinese tourists in my life and it was fascinating listening to the mix of languages all mingling together.



We soon found ourselves close to Oxford Street which – as luck would have it – is close to Princi which was our second choice for lunch. Princi is a chain of bakeries from Milan (in fact I am sure I’ve been to that one) that do a whole range of squidgy cakes, delicious savoury breads, salads and pastas to eat in or take away.





It would have been rude to have just tea without at least trying one of the pasticcerie, so we indulged just a little to give us courage for the packed train journey home

UK - Sussex

Sunshine and snow is one of my favourite combinations and recently we’ve had both – in abundance!!



I am such a tourist (as one of friends recently pointed out!) so it didn’t take long before I’d found an excuse to get out and about. I headed over to Bodiam which is a lovely old village, but for those who don’t know, the main attraction is the castle.



I knew that the castle would be closed, but as it’s a ruin anyway I was determined to enjoy the walk. The car park charges £2 so I’d prepared myself with the ‘I only have a £20 note’ ploy that has worked so successfully in the past in getting me waved straight past the window!



The snow was REALLY deep and the problem at Bodiam is that there are lots of ponds and the river runs through it (to coin a phrase) so I was mildly terrified I might either drown or freeze to death.



I tried to stick to the tractor treads, but the temptation to walk across crunchy fresh snow was just to great and I found myself criss-crossing the hills and dips to get the photos I wanted. It was amazing to see all the animal foot prints; deer and ducks mostly.



In fact, I’d been cursing the noisy ducks since I arrived – I can quite see why the estate houses are so far away as some of them seemed to be auditioning for the next round of ‘pop star to opera star’ and they were making a hell of a din. I did feel mean that I hadn’t remembered to bring any bread for them.



I was quite surprised that the moat wasn’t frozen, but I hadn’t realised that the façade was in full sun, so as I wandered round to the entrance at the back, the castle took on an altogether more sinister air, the sandstone coloured stones taking on a dark grey hue and great hunks of ice floating by. Bbrrr!



The day before, I am sure Sarah thought I was deranged when I called her at during a snow blizzard 10am to see if she was still able to make it for lunch. We’d had about 10cm of snow overnight and I’d had to dig the car out of the driveway.



Apparently Chichester was all blue skies and sunshine, so kitted out with my non-standard-issue survival kit of choccie, flask and a tat-mag to keep me entertained if I got stuck, I headed off. After a scrummy lunch, I headed back passing by the castle at Arundel.



Tempted again by the blue skies (and the camera in my handbag!), I decided to stop off for a quick wander. Of course, I managed to completely miss the castle, despite the fact that you can see it from miles around, and ended up at the bird sanctuary. Fortunately, my French habits kicked in, so I just held up the traffic and did a u-turn.



Another one that doesn’t open to the public in the winter – ggrr! – and I can’t say the ruins of Blackfriar's Abbey really did it for me, but I’d caught a glimpse of some olde worlde shops in the highstreet.



Despite the sunshine, it was bitterly cold and I wasn’t sure how far I could go before needing to amputate frost-bite affected limbs, so after a quick wander, I decided to head back to the car



Of course, by now I’d well and truly given myself the shopping bug, so as the temperature had risen to 3 degrees – woo-hoo! – it would have been rude not to take a teensy weensy detour to Brighton on the way home…



Believe it or not, I have never actually seen the Royal Pavillion before, and this time I came across it quite by chance. I’d been looking for the bead shop, but was slightly hampered by a) not remembering the name of the shop, and b) having no idea where it was(!), so in the end I just explored for a bit.

I am a great fan of Terry Garoghan, the ‘unofficial mayor of Brighton’ who used to do ‘The Last Bus to Whitehawk’ radio show, and I found myself humming ‘Brighton the Anthem’ as I wandered through the streets (to the Brighteyes theme tune);

♪♪ There’s a building shaped like an onion
A seagull eating a condom
A man and a woman completely nude ...
... for all to see.
Oh lord, where can it be?

Brighton, dead handy for London
Brighton, Gatwick’s not that far
Where everyone sleeps with everyone else…
… but there’s nowhere to park your car
Bri-ighton! ♪♪



Yup, there’s the onion!!

It wasn’t long before I found myself in The Lanes, a higgledy piggledy rabbit warren (here’s the Bright Eyes link!!) of tiny shops specializing in all sorts of things, as well as pavement cafés and arty farty bohemian type shops.



Still no sign of the bead shop though :-(