What I Love About England #17

Enough self-indulgence!

I was walking along the Blenheim resevoir smiling at all the people and their dogs (but mostly at their dogs) when I stopped at the bridge and saw:


Three Men in a Boat!

!!!

Bladon

I've finally worked out that the shooting season is an excuse to enforce Darwin's survival of the fittest on the pheasant population so that only the cleverest, most cunning pheasants will be left.


The best thing for a dreary December afternoon lunch break (other than huddling by a heater) is a short trip to Bladon.


Sights not to be missed in Bladon include the local cholera pump.


The Misanthropist's Lawn.


Drainage Compass where you can choose your own North.


Bladon cemetery is the final resting place of Consuelo Vanderbilt, the ultimate dollar princess, one-time 9th Duchess of Marlborough, object of James M. Barrie's affection, and daughter of the ultimate Psycho Mother.


Alva Vanderbilt used to whip her daughter with a riding crop when she disobeyed, instruct that a steel rod against Consuelo's spine to improve her posture, threatened to murder Consuelo's lover and pretended to be dying in order to force her daughter to marry the Duke.

Her parenting philosophy ultimately boiled down to what she said to Consuelo when she objected to her clothing choice. "I do the thinking, you do as you're told."


Bladon is also the burial place of Winston Churchill: Leader of the free world, Stalin's sassy antagonist, and crap painter.




We've also had our staff Christmas party this week. Alas! There was no flaming Christmas pudding thanks to Health and Safety regulations (Honestly, most of England's holiday celebrations seem to revolve around lighting things and people on fire). But there were exploding crackers full of dorktastic Christmas hats which I am going to treasure forever and ever.

A Walk Around the 'Stock

I decided to take a quick afternoon jaunt, camera in hand, to illustrate why Woodstock is the Most Wonderful & Picturesque Village in Oxfordshire and Would be Perfect if Only it Had a Bookstore and a Wool Shop. And a Japanese Restaurant. And a Library with Better Hours (Honestly, open from 9-1 on a Saturday?) and a DVD Rental Shop.


One of many Woodstock churches. This church is especially notable for the long and involved bell ringing practice they host every Tuesday night where, for the next eighteen hours, the discordant sound of bells can be heard throughout the land by anyone who is trying to get some sleep.


In Old Woodstock, all the houses are charming and covered in ivy.


The ugliest tree in England. Second runner up for the ugliest tree in Oxfordshire county. It was beat out by an upstart, carbuncle-covered spruce in Blackbird Leys.


Alas, this is as far as I got because it started to pour rain and I had to duck inside the nearest tea shop and eat cake.


One of the reasons I love England.

I found these at the Oxford Market for ₤20. A complete 1897 set of Addison and Steele's Spectator nicely bound with little blue ribbon bookmarks. Worth every pence. Also worth the mental anguish of running through Oxford Conrmarket Street, dodging shopping mums with mega-strollers and uniformed youths while stopping to glare at the man butchering "Summertime" on his saxophone all at the same time trying to catch the bus back to Woodstock and shield the books with my jacket from the sopping rain.

Equally as fun as owning them was snatching them from under the nose of the robe-wearing, bespeckled Oxford don who was too weighed down by his own brilliance to chase me once he'd noticed that I'd already gathered them up and paid for them by the time he ended his lecture.

Oh the upstart classes!