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Britian/Wales 1 of 2

 

BRITWALE TRIP, July 20 - August 10, 2009

MONDAY, 7/20/09: Beginning in Notebook I, up to the point where I've sent the Comfort Car to BROOKLYN to a nonexistent 77 7th Avenue at 14th Street, and when Ken doesn't get a call by 6:07, he calls THEM and finds they've sent a car to ME first and will get to him in about half an hour. He says he'll go outside and get a cab and come pick me up. I call Comfort and she, graciously, apologizes for her "mistake" and cancels the car to us. I sit outside and WAIT at 6:25PM, when by coincidence Bill Petersen comes by with two bags of groceries. I tell him, "Don't tell anyone, but I think I just made a terrible mistake." As we're talking, a cab with Ken in the back pulls up about 6:30! He says he got a cab quickly and found the LEAST traffic between his place and my place EVER, though the driver didn't even know how to get to my place. When I tell him about the mix-up, Ken says this is the SECOND time a car was sent to a nonexistent 77 7th Avenue in Brooklyn by MY phone call! My awful REPEATED fault! So what was quoted as a $45 Comfort Car ride turns out to cost $70, including a 10% tip for the $63.80 fare, which I pay in cash rather than paying the 5% extra (over three MORE dollars) for paying by credit card. Into the Delta terminal at 7:10 to drop our bags off (despite a "helpful" clerk saying we have to do something BEFORE we drop the bags off) at 7:25. Ken read on the Internet that there's a Chinese restaurant in the Delta terminal, so when Samuel Adams turns out not to be serving food anymore, we ask for the Chinese restaurant to find that there IS none. And Chili's, the next choice, is practically the whole terminal-length away. We get there at 7:50, he orders a mediocre burger, while I have a beef quesadilla that actually isn't bad. His $8 drink is large but not too alcoholic, while my big Bud Lite is big and lite. We finish at 8:40 for $50! To gate 21, exhausted, by 8:54, and start boarding, all places at once, at 9:01. Three gabby girls sit in front of me; there's an empty seat next to me with an obliging Dror-like fellow on the aisle. Ken's way in front. It's announced as a 6:13 flight, but then we sit and sit and finally the pilot announces that "The fuel tank must be MANUALLY checked for capacity; the cockpit gauge is working, but the gauge in the tank itself isn't working, so it has to be manually checked." No one seems concerned about it. We finally move back at 10:22, having been scheduled to leave at 9:40. Lots of planes in front and we take off at 10:50, after he said there were four in front of us and AT LEAST six took off, and probably a few landed. We have bright lights below until we hit Connecticut, and then we're above the clouds and it begins to get bumpy. I ask the stewardess if I can go to the john and she says she can't say yes, but she can't stop me if I REALLY get up and go, which I finally do, just before the seat-belt sign goes off and there are lines at the johns. I take an Ambien with my bottle of water about 11:05 and try to get to sleep, but have no luck. At 11:43PM, when the drinks come down the aisle, I have a glass of water and a tiny bottle of red wine. Still can't sleep.

TUESDAY, 7/21/09: Change my watch at 12:36AM to 5:36AM. No map is ever displayed, and our estimated time of arrival is 9:27AM. Seat-belt signs go on in the dawn turbulence at 5:41AM, though there's no sign of dawn. No real sleep. At one point I try four different computer games, but none of them are very satisfying. Finish piddling breakfast with my morning pills at 9:20AM. Announcement that we'll be on the ground in 34 minutes! My camera has no battery power at all! Thankfully, there are only boring fields and small clumps of villages as dawn lights up the ground when we finally pass through the blanketing clouds. Land at 9:53, so it was actually a 6:03 flight! Cloudy, 57 degrees and rainy. Barren airport, few planes on the ground, and we dock at 10:03. The girls resume their gabbing, having been mostly quiet during the actual flight. Off plane at 10:11. Get bag at 10:27, long after Ken gets his. Ken gets cash. Long train to Piccadilly Station at 10:50, Ken falling at the escalator bottom, lots of guys rushing to help him up. He doesn't know what happened, except tiredness killed his (poor) sense of balance. Onto train (in reserved-for-another seats) at 10:55 (which leaves at 11), passing through the same kinds of suburbs I recall in going from Heathrow into London many years ago: row houses, small towns, church spires, mainly old-looking countryside, and into the terminal at 11:15. Into a taxi at 11:23, and to Jurys Hotel at 11:28 to find that our room isn't ready yet. Leave hotel at 11:45, to the Information Office inside part of City Hall at 12:08, and back to hotel at 12:25 to get room 224, unpacking to find suntan cream ALL OVER the inside of a plastic bag. Throw icky things into the tub until I can clean the stuff off, then put all of it into the corner behind the toilet. Shit and pee at 12:40. Shelve stuff and leave room at 12:56. We go next door to Tetley's, which Ken later says is recommended in his book, because I love the sound of its main dish of Grunt, Gobble, Zoom, and Coo for 5.75£ of wild boar, turkey, hare, and pigeon, with veg and potatoes and a dark bitter, Britons Protection, established in 1811. That lasts 1:05-1:50, GOOD, alone in a pub room in back. Then to the John Rylands Library for dark reading rooms and a helpful woman who shows me where the cathedral is, and we walk streets to see a statue of Abraham Lincoln and the "little gem" church of St. Ann's, and are EXHAUSTED back to the room at 3:36. Up, still tired, at 5:53, and leave for The Ox at 6:35, closer than we thought, across from the Museum of Science and Industries, for good fish and chips with vinegar and my requested mayonnaise added to "good" tartar sauce (which I didn't quite agree with Ken about), but my chicken-liver parfait was one of the best chicken-liver dishes I ever had: 10£. Good conversation with a guy and his disapproving girlfriend next to us, and Ken didn't care for his dessert crumble, so they took it off the bill. Back at 9PM just as the sun is about to set. Start Sunday's puzzle at 9:25 but my eyes are closing, so I get to bed at 10:27, taking evening pills, a melatonin, and a shot of nasal spray, putting in earplugs and putting on an eyemask. Sleep fairly quickly.

WEDNESDAY, 7/22/09: Pee at 1:12AM and type DREAMS:7/11/09 at 3:32AM. The duvet is TERMINALLY uncomfortable: I sweat underneath, not warm enough with a towel around my shoulders, so I finally take it into the bathroom to remove it for the cover sheet. Back to bed and wake at 9:57! Ken suggests it's 5:57AM! Out at 10:53 to a strange Costa breakfast for 9£, my caramel crunch tasty enough, my date-cake rather dietetic, to 11:11. Ken takes 12 Cipro from me to finish his prescription. To the Art Museum about 11:30, getting a sheet to record my pictures, one room filled with kids screaming and "participating." At 12:49PM my last facial trial is named "Bobbins." Take photos of "Ulysses" by Etty (whose statue I see the next day), "Warwick" by Tresham, "Lethe" by Stanhope, "Hector" by Riviere, "Chariot Race" by Von Wagner, "Viking Funeral" by Dicksee, "Prometheus Vase" by Simyan, "Into Your Hands, O Lord" by Riviere. Lunch in cafe for 10£, 1:25-1:55, I with kid's five-piece meal. Then "Edge of City" by Currie. Out and MUST do Ferris wheel for 5£ at 3:17, Ken going to Cathedral, where I meet him after going around four times from 3:23-3:35; it's 60 meters tall; the Hilton is 171 meters at 47 floors. The English commentary points out other buildings and their functions, but I have trouble finding what they're pointing to. Only about five cars filled on each go-around. Then with Ken at the Manchester Cathedral for a small tour of the gloomy interior. At 4:46 I take a picture of the Urbis blue-glass building. To hotel at 5:08, trying to go another way to enjoy the contrast of new and old buildings together, particularly such spectacular reconstructions as the Midlands Hotel that take up a whole block. Leave at 5:55 to walk to the Hilton Hotel for the special elevator to Cloud 23 bar, where we get a table AWAY from the city, but can walk over to look over the panorama and through the smallish hole directly down to the street below. Ken has two drinks, cocktail-size, and I have a tall drink of pear and elderflower that lasts because the ice keeps melting and I keep making it less sweet by squeezing lemon wedges into it. A few cute waiters pass, and some of the customers are worth a look, too. They have lots of clients, but our view away from the city isn't very special. We pay 27.75£ for drinks until 7PM, and continue down that road to Evuna Spanish tapas bar and wine shop, where Ken consents to a bottle of Cava, which I finish most of, since he says he's had enough alcohol. He insists on ordering the meat balls---albondigas---rather ordinary, and the tomato-sauced toasts, and garlic shrimp that aren't very garlicked, and finally a paprika chicken that I really didn't want him to order, but when he does, the SAUCE is such a miracle of butter and cream that I drain most of it away. He orders a crustless cheesecake that I have a taste of, and he remarks that yesterday gave us good entrees and a lousy dessert, while today's dinner gives us mediocre entrees and a GOOD dessert. He admits it's not the best choice and he wouldn't go back, which makes me feel better about not liking it at all. The help, particularly the lower-lip-studded waiter, are all very pleasant, as is practically everyone in the town, making it a pleasure to visit and a great introduction to northern England, since everyone agrees this is NORTH of the Midlands. Back to hotel to mess up a sudoku at 10PM and take night pills and melatonin and get to bed at 10:15PM, with a wake-up call set at 7:30.

THURSDAY, 7/23/09: Pee at 1:05 and at 5:20 and up at 7:09 to shower to 7:30. Ken was up at 1:05, saying he couldn't sleep, and then I couldn't get to sleep for about an hour. Phone rings, and I change shirt and shorts and socks for the first time on the trip. Pack and dress to 7:50. Huge breakfast to 8:35 we thought we HAD to pay 7.5£ for, but found we COULD have had a free Continental breakfast (which would have been fine), but I stuff down two eggs, two rolls, two croissants, two glasses of juice, three strips of thin salty bacon, and a bowl of cut fruit with a side of yogurt---and a potato cake that's not very good. Ken said the sausages weren't bad, but I didn't try them. Thank goodness the screaming baby was two rooms away; most of the clientele seemed to be airlines personnel, though toward the end some tourist families joined us. Leave hotel at 9AM in a taxi that picks us up across the street, and we get to Victoria Station at 9:17. Few places to sit, and he checks the schedule, and I do some simple sudokus from free papers available almost everywhere; except for the problem, Ken notes, that they have no serious news whatsoever. Train leaves at 9:50 precisely, I writing RANDOM NOTES in file 4 through the trip to describe the countryside: 9:56AM: And the train just this MOMENT starts! Amazing number of canals; all woods along tracks; many old factories apparently abandoned. As in the city, MANY To Let signs all over. Many tunnels of unknown (great) length. Main impression is of AGE: OLD stones in bridges, embankments, and buildings and churches, OLD streets; even NEW buildings are of dun stones that LOOK old already. Villages are set on hillsides overlooking valleys as if in an amphitheater around the canal through the middle, on the other side of which the train goes, with its views constantly obstructed by trees and bushes in the way. Quiet train except for people on cell phones. Snack carts go past; luggage can block doorways for short runs; people are drinking mainly garishly colored drinks. Fields demarked by old stone walls, mathematically straight and true; row houses seemingly all built for factory workers in factory towns; some old factories with stacks still blowing dark gray smoke. Many "castle" ruins and some phallic monuments atop hills. Huge numbers get on in Huddlesfield, some groups of girls standing rather than taking single separated seats. Train cool, sky mostly cloudy, sometimes ominously dark ahead, sometimes mainly blue; quickly changeable. Much red fireweed, white morning glories still open, masses of yellow daisies, few bright reds or oranges. All trees appear middle-aged; many barges or rentable-looking craft in town sections of canals. Big orange floating blocks prevent people or boats from going over falls. Some canals dank with duckweed, some running quite clear. But, as the paper said, even ROME has more rain than Manchester, which is noted for its quantity of rain. Recall seeing VERY distant wind-power mills from the Ferris wheel. Some horses and cows, but most fields are empty, seemingly even of any discernible crop. Six people standing in doorway, not thinking of asking me to put my shoulder bag on the floor for the empty aisle seat next to me. Leeds at 10:51 another huge glass-topped train shed with multiple tracks. Constant updating of arriving stations. Much interchange of passengers, most in family groups that want bulk seating. Crowds on all the platforms. Overall impression of darkness because of the general cloudiness. No real pictures to be taken of the countryside. Many horses under blankets. Garforth at 11:05, next stop York. Off at 11:15 and walk to the Mount Royale Hotel with our stuff from 11:25-11:42, quite tiring. 15.95£ lunch in Hole-in-the-Wall in the middle of town after walking through green parks with lots of tourists, buildings mostly old, lending less of a viewing contrast as compared with Manchester, but the York Minster is visible against most skylines. I have a tuna mayonnaise and a mediocre Pedigree beer, and he has a Wild One (beer) and burger to 2:05. Next door to see Little Peculiar Lane, no big deal. Start the free guided tour at 2:15 with a kindly old gent who starts by pointing out the "smallest window in York," which many of us have trouble SEEING, and which probably doesn't show up very well on my photo of the end of the medieval wall, which they thought to take COMPLETELY down, but which remains now with about 80% of its extent and four of its original "bars" or gates. In original photo #104 the MIDDLE wall is Roman, the left is medieval, the right is an 18th-Century hospital wall, since taken down. Nine-angled tower from the inside shows the excavation down to the original Roman level---ground level has risen since then, and the angles really don't show up too well on the outside shot. Ruins are of St. Mary's Abbey, which was Catholic, but since the Minster was SAXON, Henry VIII left it intact. Nearby museum recommended for Roman antiquities, but Ken says he's not interested in them. We spend much of the time on the walls, and I take many views of the Minster from various points. Previously, no secular windows were permitted to overlook churches or cemeteries! Both yellow and purple flowering trees or bushes are called buddleia. Pass the Treasurer's House with many period rooms, and the backs of other famous houses, or houses in which famous people lived in the dim past. We walk to 4:10, ending in the rain in the church that retains its original candleholders, which gave it its only interior light---and there was no heat in winter. We end in the Shambles, former butchers' area, the name from the German "fleish"---whatever---"handlers," with our umbrellas up, and the guide requests donations for cancer, but I refuse to allow half of Ken's 2£ donation to be applied to me. We discuss the trembling muscularity of the German father's calves at great length as Ken sits over tea and I over a fabulous cinnamon-tapped-over-marshmallows-over-whipped-cream hot chocolate that I meticulously eat from the middle up and then down with a spoon. Take the same disorienting picture of the gotchwise (a word Ken insists is from Ohio) pillars inside the Earl Grey Tea Room that is featured in the lower right of the king-size postcard that I take when Ken has to pay the 6£+ bill because they won't take a credit card for under 10£ without adding 50 pence. Walk what I fear will be an arduously long way back to the hotel, but we get to the river and then the tower on Blossom Road, which then changes to The Mount, and of course there's no alternative to that long boring stretch of road. Back to the hotel at 5:28 and just take everything off and lie down to try to recuperate for dinner. Put on my black pants because I think the Blue Bicycle might be elegant, and we leave at 6:26 and get there on the dot of 7PM, regardless of needing to backtrack a block because Ken has misread his map for directions. I can't find much on the fish-centric menu that I feel like ordering, but when they say the prawn cocktail is served with a small Bloody Mary, I order that, and they surprise every table with a lovely roasted half-garlic with what SHOULD be a delicate popover-like scone, but this one sticks to the bottom of its flower pot (yes, its flower pot) and is slightly underdone, which means that when I finish the whole thing with butter to finish off the garlic that Ken unaccountably FIRST says I'm having too much of, and THEN says I can have the rest of, I've ALREADY had more than a full course. He insists we try the Gloucestershire English wine that, as the punkish owner-bartender-maitre d' fumbles for words, does indeed have the touch of a German wine, but with a primary taste of a sweet lemon, but really not bad, though Ken has somewhat more than his share. His breaded fishcakes aren't that special, and I luck into the asparagus (perfectly cooked) and cheese profiteroles (absolutely wonderful, but I'm so full I have to wrap up the second one MYSELF---they're not ALLOWED to wrap food up for customers, but they CAN give me four or five napkins to use in putting it into my jacket pocket), and some unidentifiable cake with almost BB-sized grits that resist any chewing at all, with a vegetarian filling that I find totally unappealing. Ken doesn't care much for his pan-fried cod, either, nor does he like his weird black-olive soufflé, and he decides the owner is just trying too hard and isn't succeeding, and he certainly doesn't want to go back, and hopes the OTHER two one-star restaurants recommended by Frommer here don't compare with this one. We're both much too full for dessert, not really wanting to test the chef's skills any further. Walk out, and I convince him to take a slightly different way to get a slightly different view, and we pass the 1500 meeting hall now used for weddings, very picturesque beside its stream. Again the walk back is shorter than I feared it might NOT be, hoping to walk off some of the food before going to bed, and get back at 8:57PM, EXHAUSTED. Take clothes off and take the damned duvet off the bed, happy that at least they have a sheet below that I can use, and decide I MUST get to typing, and put two pillows on the chair, which makes a good setting in the "closet room" after I find the light above that lets me see what I'm typing. Ken insists on going to bed before 10PM, even though he's set a wake-up call for 7AM, but he sure wants his nine hours' sleep. I think to type more, but my energy flags and I finish at 10:04, take pills, get to bed at 10:11, then remember to get up to eat the second profiterole, brush teeth, take a melatonin, and finally get to bed at 10:22PM.

FRIDAY, 7/24/09: 2:36 type DREAMS:7/24/09 to 2:57AM. Up at 5:55, SURE my watch said 6:55, but then get back to bed and get up to wash my face at 6:55AM, and type 7:02-7:18 while he shaves and dresses, insisting that breakfast service started at 7AM when I was sure it started at 7:30AM, but we get down at 7:25 and I stupidly order the "regular double" Eggs Benedict, after a bowl of Rice Krispies, a bowl of lovely fresh strawberries, raspberries, and a compote of blueberries, currants, and a few other fruits, and a lovely two-cup serving of intense hot chocolate to which I add milk toward the end to make it even better---though the master-stroke of adding honey contributed enormously, and I also tried Lemon Curd, which Ken knew and I didn't, on some of their rolls. THEN the two ENORMOUS mounds of TWO eggs EACH under Hollandaise sauce and large rounds of hammy bacon, but on toast, not muffins, and I tried and tried to finish the second, while Ken polished off his HADDOCK-filled Eggs Benedict (UGH!!), and I finally told the charming host that I KNEW it was rude to leave food this delicious, but I decided I had to STOP being rude to my stomach and leave it on my plate. I hope he took it the funny way. When I got to the room I simply splayed myself out on the sofa and hoped the totally full feeling would just go away. That went from 7:30-8:07AM. Then dash to the station---on the way I make the observation that I'm not TIRED, it's just that my HIPS are sore, and it's not muscular, it feels like the BONES or JOINTS are sore, so my arthritis, which has been relatively kind to me, might be acting up---or I MAY still be tired from walking on previous days, but a good night's sleep USED to refresh me, and now it doesn't seem to---could I just be getting OLDER???---by 8:35, where the kindly clerk says that if we take the 8:43 train it will be TWENTY POUNDS more expensive than it would be if we waited twenty minutes to 9:03 when the bargain day-rate takes over. Ken is actually inclined to BUY the early tickets, but I INSIST we wait the mere twenty minutes: it just doesn't make sense to spend a pound a minute! He's concerned about getting to the 10:30 guided tour, but I'm not. Read paper, which I have to get because he didn't bring ME a copy when HE took one, and get on train to sit in about the LAST window seat left. Off at 9:03 precisely: more cattle, horses, and sheep, sheep, sheep---and crops (young corn shoots, what look like poppies, and recognizable grain---well, either wheat or oats). Still rather boring, without the "oldness" of the territory farther west. Off in Durham at 8:53 just as it starts raining, so it DOES make sense to take a taxi to the Cathedral, away up and down hills, though very visible, and the car goes through so many twists the fare mounts up and the driver notes that he'll be charged two pounds to drive "up the road." Get there at 10:03, and the tour's 10:30-12:03, with a very informed plump lady in red who tells many stories and takes us to many hidden places, none of which we're allowed to photograph, but I buy a 1£ quick guide and know I'll buy the 4£ detailed guide. Lots of information, lots of names, lots of places, lots of angles and views---and I step on the "11th Dimension" art-piece and actually break a few lenses, but a friend of the artist, who's videographing the work, says really, she won't mind, so I thank him for her forgiving me---and the guide says, "Well, that wasn't there two days ago!" She DID say we could see the river from the window, but I couldn't get to the window. Then she lingers at the end, and I've been farting smellily, and ask Ken where the john is, and he says, "Can't you just wait five minutes, she's almost through." Well, she isn't, and after ten minutes I tell her I just HAVE to leave, and we go off to the quadrangle of the cloister, where there are suddenly NO signs to the toilet, and go around three sides, and have to double back one side, then go outside, and WAY around, and I ALMOST shit my pants before I dash inside a stall and relieve myself of mostly gas, but some turds, too, and get out to join Ken in the treasury for 4£, some interesting pieces from Cuthbert's tomb, but too dark for photos. That goes to 12:40; we go to the shop and buy the books, I'm now down to my last pound. Out to find that the bus leaves at 1PM. I take photos outside, and bus comes at 1:03 and goes to the station at 1:17, where I take the classic distant shots of the Cathedral and Durham Castle. Train from 1:29-2:24, filled with young kids with large bags who get off at something like Northallingford, and again I have to dash to the john to shit rather copiously, and my stomach STILL doesn't feel quite right. Walk to the York Minster at 2:41, getting our tickets and 5£ books by 2:50. East (black) window is 72x31 feet, bigger than a tennis court. I get to the Chapter House to find that it's closed, DAMN, and to the Undercroft to 4:14, lots of interesting history, but boring silverware and pewter. 4:20 take picture of "semaphore saints." Take photos to 4:34, and we've both had enough, and I try to find taxi but there isn't any to be seen, so AGAIN we get to a place where we part company: I want to walk on the wall just to do something different, and he doesn't, so I DO walk on the wall---getting an amused "Good catch" from a young lady as I bobble a caramel out of its wrapper---and push past people blocking the way, and down onto Blossom Road to take a picture of the gate as Ken comes around the corner, and we get to the hotel at 5PM, when he insists on tea, and I have ice water and look at the people at the race-buffet. Up to room at 5:36 to find they've put the beds back together, and even Ken's third pillow was put BACK into the plastic wrapper. This'll have to stop for the next few nights. I decide to catch up with this at 5:40 and actually DO so by 6:40, happy to be caught up, and ready to wash my face and walk the weary way to the Ivy Brasserie in a completely different direction---Frommer's favorite restaurant in York, so Ken says. Walk from 6:55-7:28, through the middle of town, to the Grange Hotel, which is hosting a wedding, and ask three people how to get to the restaurant: one says downstairs (where we can't find a stairs going down), another says upstairs (where we can't find a stairs going up), and finally the third person, who turns out to be our incompetent French waitress, says it's right here in the back. We're alone in a room with maybe nine or ten tables; Ken protests he doesn't want the setting sun in his eyes. I assure him he won't get it. The wine menu has lots of wines under twenty pounds, but of course he goes into the elegant section and finds a New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc that he really insists on getting, unless we get (only the cheap) wines by the glass, and since the only glass price listed is 4.95£ for a glass of a 23£ Cava, wines by the glass don't seem to be a good idea, so I agree to the New Zealand, which tastes surprisingly like the wine last night, to which he agrees except to insist that tonight's is better. Well, maybe. Then the menu doesn't have much to recommend it: the slow-cooked rosé veal topside is described as coming from the latissimus dorsi, which doesn't mean anything to me. Something with a sauce listed as Minestrone she agrees is vegetables, which don't appeal, so I order the rib-eye with Lyonnaise potatoes and Béarnaise sauce, always good, but expensive at 19.95£. To start, I take the smoked duck breast with peaches, really quite good, though Ken doesn't agree, even though it isn't as rare as he usually hates it. He has a shrimp dish that he says is nothing special, rather comparing tonight's dinner with last night's dinner, and saying that any restaurant guide should publish the caveat that any British cooking outside London has to be forgiven for not being very good, though he certainly expresses it somewhat differently. The wine is good, but she (from France, whom I christen Yvette) pours Ken's taste correctly, then proceeds to fill our rather large glasses slightly more than half-full, using maybe 60% of the wine in one shot. Ken rolls his eyes. Then Yvette had to get a helper to explain the difference between the onion tart and the hake, so he chooses the tart, which he says has exactly the same onions as on my potatoes, which I think are one of the best things about the meal. My steak is reasonably medium rare until I get into the thickest center, where it becomes almost bloody, so in defense I ask for another half-serving of Béarnaise, which is very agreeable. For dessert he supposes at first that the banoffee ice cream is banana and coffee, but then she says it's banana and TOFFEE, which Ken thinks sounds good, so he orders it with his "toffee sponge." I get the passion fruit cheesecake (which he grimaces at the taste of) with Chantilly, which is just lovely. But it takes an AGE for the dessert to come, during which time two couples leave from the next room, so we weren't the ONLY customers, but I remark that the hotel will have a great evening from the profits from the drinks the bridal party are soaking up. THEN I insist that there's a better way back to the hotel than making an enormous U through the center of town. He says no one will know, or there's no possible way to get across the river. I insist we try, ask the THIRD waitress we get, who asks around and says we should talk to Terry, the guy at the desk, as we leave. I give my credit card to two different people who finally put through the 78.10£ bill with an 8£ tip, and I sign it and everyone seems happy. Then to Terry, who says that we should go right on the next street, take an alley to the left at the foot of it, go way down along a parking lot to the river, where, slightly to the right, we'll find a footbridge across the river that will lead directly to the train station! I say that sounds just great, and even Ken admits it might be possible. The right turn is fine, but Ken wants to turn left down an alley in the MIDDLE of the road, and I insist that he drew the alley at the END of the road, so we go down toward the end and a person appears from behind a wall on the left and moves to the right, so I say, "See, there IS an alley there," and there is. We go along a few bends of the alley toward what may be a blockage at the end, but it's only two barriers with easy ways around them. We end up dead-ending at a road to the right, with houses on the right and cars parked against a brick wall on the left, which might well be the parking lot indicated on the map. We go to the end to find a few stairs going up with a low brick banister on each side that doesn't look hopeful, so we go along to the right, as directed, but find nothing but solid houses. Luckily, some guy is coming toward his car in his driveway and we ask him about the footbridge across the river, and he brightly responds that it's at the other end of this cul-de-sac, down some stairs, turn left under the bridge, and there's the footbridge. We go to the end, see the few stairs going UP that we'd seen before, but as we ascend these, there's a set of stairs going down, and at the end of this alley there's a row of houses, and even Ken remarks what a nice, quiet section of town this is. Until a number of trains go past, and I say, "Anyway, we know this'll lead somewhere near the train station." At the end is another alley that ends with a life preserver, which I call a Lifesaver, so I say it'll help if we fall off the footbridge into the Ouse River, and Ken adds, "Particularly if your breath smells." At the river we cross under a bridge and see people going up a ramp onto the footbridge, and as we get to the top it's clearly a RAILROAD bridge with footbridges on both sides. We cross the river, looking down at quaint barges parked along the near bank, and get to a bicycle path on the other side, with a sign to the Railroad Museum. Go down that alley, and a girl coming from a gate nearby confirms that this leads to the station. Get to a street that indicates the Railroad Museum is to the right. I figure that's toward our hotel and we should go in that direction. Ken insists that we want to go to the "front" of the station, and we'll get there only by going to the LEFT. At that point I INSIST we're walking away from the hotel, but confess that I don't know the relationship between the Railroad Museum and our hotel, so I go along with him, all the while insisting we're walking AWAY from the hotel. We get to a corner and turn right, and get to a main street that we recognize as the "far" end of the train station from the hotel and turn right AGAIN. "Now we're going in the direction of the hotel; I TOLD you we were going away from the hotel before." "No, we weren't," he insists, "We were NOT going away from the hotel." "You mean that two right turns don't make a U-turn?" I ask in amazement. He refuses to argue with me. I say, "OK, Spartacus, have it your way," and we pass the station, where some smart aleck asks us which way to the train station. "Do we look that much like tourists?" Ken wonders. I suppose we do. We continue toward the hotel, where HE goes ahead when I stop at the cinema to check that regular patrons pay 4£ and seniors pay 3.5£, and since it's showing Bruno it's clearly a first-run house. "Much cheaper than NYC," I observe, but he doesn't care. Then we get to the corner that I always cross whatever the light, and he ALWAYS waits for the light, so I'm way ahead of HIM for a long while. Get to the hotel at 10:23, rather chagrined to find it took LONGER (35 minutes returning as opposed to 32 minutes going) to get back this "short" way, but then we delayed a few times and backtracked, too. I get the key, he comes in to give a wake-up call time of 8AM, and we're to the room to find the music from the party downstairs blasting in our window. I start typing at 10:31 while he takes a shower, finding the controls "sort of backward" in the same way the controls in Manchester were: it STARTS hot and goes toward COLD. "But then they drive on the other side of the street, too," he says. I finish typing at 11:10PM, tired, and he's decided to shut the window to keep out the sound. I'm still full, but figure to go to bed because there's nothing else really to do except celebrate being caught up. And take my night pills. Bed at 11:17PM, sleep quite quickly with earplugs shutting out the festive noises from below. Wake somewhat later to two VERY loud female voices, but fall back to sleep.

SATURDAY, 7/25/09: Shit and pee at 7:38. Breakfast LOVELY (only ONE Eggs Benedict [still two eggs], two glasses of juice, two bowls of fruit, three cups of hot chocolate, and I wonder if too much fruit or too much hot chocolate may be causing my frequent shits) outside to 9:10. We ARGUE about moving to another room to 9:20: I wanted to SEE it, but Ken said we had to leave for the taxi IMMEDIATELY, and I EXPLODED at him with rage to say that five minutes just ISN'T going to make any difference. He clams up, and I later apologize, saying that I was making the offer for HIS sake and DIDN'T like being stepped on for it! Look at the room and it IS smaller, though it has a huge window out into the gardens, then get back to room and walk to taxi at 9:32 and ride to Castle Howard to 10:15, going through the Rose Garden to the Atlas Fountain, then to the House (which opens at 11AM), quickly through at the end in order to meet the excellent guide at noon for the tour to the Four Winds Pavilion to 12:47, feeling VERY tired as I take pictures back to the meeting point for the 1PM Brideshead tour, again wonderful, except that at 1:59 I RACE for the toilet and EXPLODE, getting shit on the toilet seat, and get to Ken having lunch in the cafeteria at such a late time that he was worried about me. At 2:30 we're back through the house again, and just before the Chapel I record some piano music in the Great Hall just as I'd recorded organ music in the Chapel the first time through. That goes to 3PM, and we go to the Exhibition Wing for "Building Castle Howard" and "Women at Castle Howard" exhibits to 3:30. Ken calls for a cab (for which we wait outside) that arrives at 4:17, taking a scenic, hilly route back to the taxi office at 5PM to pay the bill and get to the hotel for Ken to suggest buying a beer and drinking it in the garden: he gets a Guinness and I have a cold Heineken, very good, with nuts and potato chips, while we read his Saturday London Times. He goes in early and I go in later at 6:40, to 7:05, when I dress and we leave to Melton's by 7:28, having a good venison carpaccio after a curried sweet-potato soup, then a vegetable ravioli because I can't find anything better, and Ken has three appetizers (which he loves), and then the dessert of hot chocolate cake with vanilla ice cream and honey sauce and cherries isn't that great, nor is his raspberry crème brûlée, and we pay and leave and get back to the hotel at 9:50. I sort through stuff and find two MORE pillboxes to replace the two that the staff TOOK from my night table, much to my ANGER, telling the desk they should not DO that! Sort stuff into Visa bills, detailed receipts, and souvenirs, putting other stuff away by 10:35, then type to 10:49, Ken in bed already, not leaving a wake-up time at all. I take night pills and brush teeth and get to bed at 11PM. Sleep quite quickly, not that noisy outside tonight.

SUNDAY, 7/26/09: 6:39AM: Pee and type DREAMS:7/26/09 to 6:48AM, nose drippy. Didn't use Flonase last night and decide it's time I can stop using it. Keep thinking about all the swine-flu news while my joints ache and I have a low energy level and I don't feel 100% "up" for the trip. And, of course, the problems of intestinal gas and multiple shits during the last two days, despite having taken Ken's Lomotil at his lunch at Castle Howard after his very strong recommendation for "regularity," even when I don't have diarrhea. Up and shower 8:25-8:40 and change underwear. Breakfast of hot chocolate (which I later think might be the cause of my intestinal gas because of all the MILK that I've been drinking!), the British breakfast of ham, one egg, baked beans, fried tomatoes, two kinds of potato cakes, and a sausage I took a bite of and didn't like, after refusing the blood pudding. And a glass of tomato juice, a bowl of fruit, and a slice of toast. Leave hotel at 10AM to walk to the Jorvik Scandinavian Center by 10:15, stopping at an ATM to get 50£ with my HSBC card, giving me cash AND a comparison on exchange rates for my Visa and my HSBC card on the same day. We take "the ride" through some reasonable recreations of Viking life around 975AD, and then lots of exhibits of which I quickly tire. Leave at 11:20 and pass Barley Hall before entering with a discount from Jorvik, staying till 12:20 in a reasonably interesting but not fascinating place, and I'm beginning to tire. Then Ken suggests we return to the Minster to see the Chapterhouse, to which a kindly don admits us because we couldn't see it before, and it's quite impressive: I take several pictures, including one of "The Green Man." Whoever he is. Then pass the Yorkshire Museum and I remember the guide saying it was one of the best in the city, so Ken and I go in at 1:11, taking #270-271 of the 12th Century St. John statue, and return through the hall for the Middelham Jewel and the Ormside Bowl, both from the 1470s. That goes to 2:13, TIRED. To the National Railroad Museum at 2:20 and it's ENORMOUS. Look at the main engines, get explained (wrongly) that the 0-6-4 refers to no wheels below the carriage, six driving wheels in the middle, and four smaller wheels in front. I'm just SO tired that Ken suggests a snack at 3:45, so we share a Victoria sponge slice, I have a smoothie of pomegranate, blueberries, and acai berries, while he has his afternoon three cups of tea. See the royal coaches of Queens Victoria through Elizabeth, and start back at 4:26, where I blow up at him again because he REFUSES to believe that a nearby staircase would lead to the station, by the program only 500 meters away, and we go at least a kilometer around the block to get to his information about the train departure tomorrow, changing at Bristol East, or the station just BEFORE Bristol to get to Cardiff, stopping at 5:04 at Sainsbury's to get snacks for the train tomorrow: he gets a chocolate-nut bar and I can't decide, so I get a health bar, and a pack of seeds and nuts, AND a bag of 25-pence tortilla chips, while he gets the Sunday London Times, even bigger than yesterday's paper. Back to hotel TOTALLY exhausted, but after I lie down I start the Samurai Sudoku at 5:49, not really getting very far before he coaxes two Maalox on me to stop my stomach gurgles, and I dress in my black trousers, which he approves of, and we get down to the hotel's One19 restaurant at 7:30 to be served by an ineffectual "Manuel" (from Fawlty Towers), who has to be pointed to the Sancerre on the menu, takes my order for the tasty melon with fruit and Ken's sad Thai crab cake, and my mediocre roast pork with sage dressing and awful fresh vegetables, which also come to Ken with his enormous portion of salmon, crab, and haddock that he just hates. My Dark and White Fudge Cake isn't bad, but he doesn't even care for his Toffee Bumpy Lumpy, so odd that we both take the dessert menus from the flustered "Manuel." Sign for the bill, which will be charged on our hotel bill tomorrow, and up for Ken to fuss about the possibility of having to "sign in" to use our railroad tickets, which he then figures are for passes and not for one-shots like ours, but we're both sure to take our passports for the "foreign" passage to Wales. Up from dinner about 9:15, Ken sorry to be full with such awful food, and I take my clothes off and read the London Times to 9:41, and put souvenirs away before packing tomorrow (Ken packs primarily this evening), and then I get to this at 9:45, catching up to date at 10:10PM, wondering how to digest before going to bed. We're not planning anything except a full breakfast (I without hot chocolate) tomorrow before our 11:30AM departure for Cardiff. Tours guided by someone ELSE, with less walking, I SURE hope. Clip out the symptoms for swine flu, and I definitely don't have a temperature of 100.4°F. Finish tired, ready to tackle more puzzles, so I go back to the Samurai Sudoku but mess it up by 11:07PM, so I pee and get to bed at 11:10PM, falling asleep almost instantly.

MONDAY, 7/27/09: 2:33AM: Wake and pee and type DREAMS:7/27/09. Finish typing at 2:43AM. 6:25AM: Wake with a beautiful dream that I go to type. Finish typing at 6:48AM; pee and return to bed. Think thoughts to be later transcribed into RANDOM THOUGHTS. Up at 8:03, wash face, dress, breakfast 8:30-9:11 of salty scrambled eggs, warmed cold honey ham, a muffin, a bit of fruit and cheese, and three cups of "Fruit Bliss" tea: blueberry and blackcurrant. Still full, hoping to have no "bubbles" from milk now that I'm not drinking hot chocolate. Ham is very, as I termed it, interdentally agglutinative (I remark that I could have an entire lunch with what I take out from between my teeth). Take stuff from my teeth and then brush them to 9:20, and pack everything nicely (the bottom of my bag is breaking through, unfortunately) to 9:40 and type this to 9:43, having found the nights' stays in Wales are something like 2,2,4,1,1,1,1,1. Today will be mainly on the train, may play with rain. Feel a vague need to shit, but will wait until more like 10:30, when Ken says we should leave shortly before 11, accepting my idea that we should pamper ourselves with a taxi to the station. He sits on the sofa and reads. Then I have a shit of satisfying quantity and texture to 9:51 and come back to type RANDOM THOUGHTS: 9:53AM: Wonderful relaxed vacation thoughts lying in bed between 7 and 8AM this morning. Yes, as admitted yesterday, some of my fatigue may be due only to age; future trips might be planned with "optional rainy days" in the middle, so that just SITTING, reading, writing, musing, would give relief from incessant walking and being in discomfort caused by rushing from one place to another. As for actual destinations: the "three trips for next year" would ideally be 1) Arabian nations, as many as possible, 2) the Five Stans, and 3) West Africa, as many nations as possible. Future years would not only select among nations, but could select WITHIN nations: 1) India, with Ajanta, Ellora, Assam, and the Nicobars; 2) missed major cities: Hué, Guelin, Simla, Darjeeling, Vientiane; 3) scattered European destinations: more British cathedrals, more French Michelin three-star restaurants, more Swiss mountain-towns, Liechtenstein, and the like. Certainly don't like the idea of traveling alone, and the possibility of a major travel organization coming up with any of these in the near future is remote, though a future that includes a "make your own itinerary" would seem to promise unlimited patronage of agencies to countries where most people have been to most places, but are looking for the "fringe" places (different for each traveler, of course) which could be agglomerated into a "choose three from Column A and four from Column B" type of country or continent tour. Easy days within would be a requirement, with NO days with as much walking as Ken and I subjected ourselves to when we did Castle Howard twice, two tours, and then returned for the York Minster, the Yorkshire Museum, and the Railway Museum (and others) IN TWO CONSECUTIVE DAYS! More time for reading (Ken bought a copy of Brideshead Revisited) and simply sitting, as I enjoyed for precious moments in the Rose Garden at Castle Howard. Or even sitting outside Mount Royale in the gardens having a beer and looking through the London Times. And, unfortunately or fortunately, fewer trips per year. The month after this trip and before Canada, I fear, is going to feel quite rushed, with the ASME index put into the end of it. Which brings to mind the observation that indexing does, indeed, seem to be totally dead. Though the first of the year brought a few scattered small jobs, there's been NOTHING for the majority of the year, and nothing except ASME in the offing for the rest of this year. What a FANTASY it would be for JUST ONE MORE El-Hi literature or math series that would bring in multi-thousands of dollars for three or four months' work. Also, the thought passed through my mind that, REGARDLESS of the quality of the "color correction," it might be a good idea to digitize, say, 5000 slides for $900, or whatever, just to DO them; I can always tailor a few of the best to my own taste individually; but the idea of doing that with 5000 is just too laborious and depressing. I can at least console myself with the idea that three, or even two, trips per year could be QUITE expensive compared with trips taken four or five per year---like at least double, and since I'm not interested in travel much over two weeks, the daily cost COULD be considerable. A private ship putting in at ten tiny West African countries in ten days??? A semi-chartered plane from the Solomon Islands to Hué to Guelin to Darjeeling??? Boat-hopping east of Bali??? Still, the idea of adding, say, five new countries in each of two trips a year is very appealing. Now 10:13AM and I'm running short of typing thoughts. 11:08AM: Sitting in the station, with thoughts of the first third of the trip: good choice of places, rather hurried even with the cancellation of the visit to Harewood House. Little rain, though Ken had his umbrella up even when it wasn't raining. Our best luck was with the fair day at Castle Howard, despite the humidity running back between the first and second guided tours, during which the guide had more of his lunch sandwich and managed to catch his breath before walking backward most of the time talking to the lot of us. As Ken opined, having an enthusiastic guide is most of the pleasure of enjoying someone's speaking. Durham was a surprisingly little place, hardly a dot on the map, so some of the lesser cathedral cities may be like that: Ely and Exeter (though that IS a dot on the map). I was chilly wearing short-sleeved shirts the first few days, and the North Face long sleeves are perfect, and maybe Wales will be rainy and chilly enough to warrant my sole flannel shirt. My khaki pants are holding out well, never having to wear the elastic-waist blue trousers yet. Ken compliments me every time I get out the black trousers to wear for dinner. The cool weather makes multiple-day wearing of underwear and socks quite easy, though something will probably have to give when we're riding in a possibly cramped car with the two women, the driver, and the guide. Can't think of more at 11:13. Pay 493.40£ bill at 10:20. Down at 10:38 (Ken having succeeded in finally essaying a satisfactory shit) to wait for the taxi, after Ken got a lackey to carry down one of his three enormous saddlebags. Taxi 10:44-10:49 at 4.5£ just about the fabled pound per minute. Into the station to find the Metro papers gone. Ken gives me the ticket (which does NOT have to be validated in any way), and I feel my watch loose in my North Face sleeve and find the strap has broken in yet a THIRD place. Go into the York Visitor Information Center and she helpfully whacks the top of the strap with a stapler while I hold it in position and she suggests, "Time for a new one?" and I reply, "Not in the middle of a trip." But let's hope it IS fixed for the rest of the trip: her staples are not quite as thick as mine. We have to wait for a train leaving at 11:23 on our track before getting the 11:43 departure. He buys another London Times and I think to go back to RANDOM THOUGHTS. On train at 11:49, having to RUN about three car-lengths to GET to the first-class door, and then lug stuff through first class to see hordes of people waiting to stow their stuff. Ken luckily gets TWO people to remove THREE items so he can put his enormous bag onto a shelf, and I move past him and through the next two cars to find a backward-facing seat in a car that feels like an oven. At the first stop I poise myself at the door and am thus the first "new" person into the car at 12:10, finding a forward-facing seat and a place to put my luggage near his, and this car IS air-conditioned. Look at view, and at a probable model wearing DKNY, since he seems SO accustomed to being stared at, and during tunnels and valleys I do sudoku, finishing a difficult one at 2:55. Good herds of cattle, and toward the end we pass through the Cottswolds. Off train at 3:23 and have to go up a huge flight of stairs, over the crosswalk above the tracks, then down an elevator and through a ticket-gate to get to the john. When I return I tell Ken I should have gone to the toilet on the train. The scheduled 3:42 comes in at 3:48 and leaves at 3:53. Sadly at 4PM we go through the Severn TUNNEL (not the "Golden Gate-type" bridge built in the 60s, nor the new, modern, design that we'll see in a few days) and the train pulls into Cardiff at 4:31. Ken goes hither and yon, I following, and finally Daniel waves to us from the edge of the parking lot at 4:41. Ken goes in front of the eight-passenger (at least) van, which Daniel says he'll be using tomorrow for a family of three arriving later today, as well as two others, and he says we can get to the Castle on our own, and he'll meet us under the corner clock of the castle at 1:30PM tomorrow, but the drive seems QUITE long to me, so I say I'll be seeing him for the van-drive TO the castle at 9:15AM tomorrow, after breakfast (which starts at 8AM). Tina brings us up the flight and a half to room 4 at 5PM, small with no storage space, and a shelf on which Ken can't put his bag or it'll fall over. Small bathroom, but it does have a windowsill for stuff. I go down for a second key and pick up Cardiff Life, which doesn't have much, but Ken goes down for his own copy. I finish this at 5:34, wondering what to do next. Then Ken asks if I'm just going to "veg out" before dinner, and I ask what he wants to do, which is to walk into the park. So we leave about 5:45 and find the footbridge; he remarks about Butt Park, rather than Bute Park, for which I don't see the sign, and we walk through the park that seems much larger than on the map, and finally find "You Are Here" much farther north than we'd thought. He knows an alternative path to walk back on, along the river, where we see that Cardiff is twinned with Stuttgart, which explains the German street-names in town, and I remark that everyone in the park is either jogging, riding bicycles, or walking dogs. At one point it sprinkles rain, but before and after the sky is almost totally blue, and he says the weather changed three times since we were in the park. Back across the bridge to Y Black Pig, and taste three local ales, of which I have the Cwmwn, or something, and he has the more expensive, also ordering the Welsh Rarebit, which has wonderful cheese, but seems very filling, and then an enormous chicken salad, which he eats about half of. I do slightly better with my Steak and Ale, which is very tasty. He flips over a few faces, including the skinny "host," while I must admit I admire the biceps and shoulder muscles of the fellow who smiles and says he has the sirloin when I ask what's on his plate. A screaming baby provides the background music, and a rather cryptic representation of the Sistine Chapel's "Creation of Adam" adds a bit of mystery. We get back to Elgano at 8:25; I'm tired from walking already, and even Ken says he's tired "for some reason." I read part of Scientific American, then Snowdonia, and finally get to bed at 9:46, still feeling stuffed. Take out the duvet filling when going to bed, but wake cold in the night and put the cover back on. No trouble getting to sleep with the bathroom light flicking on, though I don't realize that the battery charger probably doesn't continue when the lights are off, which is most of the time.

TUESDAY, 7/28/09: 3:02AM: Type DREAMS:7/28/09 and pee, and again at 6:08AM. Up at 7:47; pissed at Ken for not taking my request to keep the bathroom door closed, and with it open he makes all his farting, throat-clearing, shaving, nose-blowing, shitting, washing all that more annoying, and I even think to take a Valium, though I figure that's not productive. Take the charger out of the wall and put the batteries back into the camera, hoping I've at least not WORSENED them. I'm in the bathroom when the phone rings at 8AM, and it goes for a long time, and when I come out of the bathroom I really can't FIND the phone until I realize it's right at the door, which Ken probably had a hard time locating, too. Out and type this, now at 8:15, traffic noises loud outside, but still overshadowed with Ken CONSTANTLY clearing his throat. Not even halfway through the trip and I'm beginning to lose patience with his idiosyncrasies, trip-planning skills notwithstanding. Can't think what I'll do until breakfast time at 8:30 and the car at 9:15. Stuff is just piled on the floor next to the suitcases because there's no storage space whatsoever in the room. Breakfast 8:20-9:05, GRAY eggs with black-inky mushrooms. GREAT Cardiff Castle rooms with funny guide who appreciates my "What if the angel who came to tell Abraham not to slaughter Isaac was late?" and a woman who looks VERY like Rosemary Harris [whose name took me 20 hours to remember] 9:55-11:07. Look at the Castle movie 11:22-11:32: tacky, non-informational, multimedia (sounds, lights, spinning cameras, almost-smells) with a spectacular finale with the screen moving up to show a panorama of the castle itself, Norman keep dominating the window. Take a picture at 11:54 of City Hall, having walked partway through the shopping section that Ken was headed toward and then gone north to cross highways to the Civil Center. In the Cardiff Museum---enormous---I watched the peregrines through the clock tower video camera, then to the Caergwell bowl from 1200BC. At 11:22 #360 Llanllyfni lunula from 2100BC. Leighton's "Sluggard." Edward Lear's "Kinchenjunga from Darjeeling." William John's "Morpheus." Museum to 1:05, going back for another nude: Pomeroy's "Perseus." Back to clock at 1:20, no one there. Sit and watch people until Daniel drives up at 1:30 and Ken crosses to us. Drive to Llandaff Cathedral for mentions of St. Troile, then by 2:12PM to St. Fagan's National Historical Museum, through endless transplanted houses and farms and barns and hay sheds and shops and Civic Institutes (missing the through-the-years miner's cottages Daniel recommended because Ken thought the map read something about Car Rental), and to the ornate castle and gardens at the very end to 4:45, to dash through the interior exhibition area, mostly for kids, to meet Daniel outside JUST as it starts raining for the first time in this mostly outdoor day at 5PM. Drink lovely ice water in the Elgano reception area to 5:37, up to read to page 24 of Avalon, and leave at 7PM for the harbor, going through the Millennium Hall (large, with words engraved in the facade outside), then to the waterfront to the Bosphorus Restaurant for mixed mezes appetizer, a good Sauvignon Blanc of Ken's choice, and lamb casseroles for both, ending with ice cream cones, mine of licorice-blackcurrant costing 3.45£. Restaurant did NOT accept my Schwab Visa. Oh oh. To hotel at 9:30, shower 10:03-10:23, read to 10:51, bed at 10:55.

WEDNESDAY, 7/29/09: 2AM: Pee and type DREAMS:7/29/09 to 2:12AM, and another at 6:22-6:45, taking two aspirin for a headache from the awkward pillow position at my neck. Finally remember the name Rosemary Harris that I tried to think of for the woman on the Cardiff Castle tour. Up at 8:11AM. 8:24AM: Ken is farting and clearing his throat SO consistently WHEN he is alone with me and NOT in public, that it's all I can do to resist asking if he does it, in some measure unconsciously, in some measure PURPOSELY, when he's ONLY with me, not so much to annoy me, as to establish his PRESENCE. Wake at 8:11 with the memory of a dream which totally goes after his "Wakey-Wakey." It's raining out, I'm glad we're spending most of the day indoors, glad that we have over an hour for a skimpy breakfast and the rest of my packing: I'd decided to have THREE MAJOR bags, each of which will have many smaller bags inside: 1) STUFF bag: everything that ISN'T paper; 2) PAPER bag: a) Visa slips, b) bill descriptions, c) souvenirs; 3) FUTURE bag with papers, lists, house keys, etc. Breakfast 8:31-8:48, talking to Jan and John and Alexa from Tucson in the breakfast room, where I have only Weetabix, a banana cut into peach yogurt, and tea, a minor snack, saving stomach for our Michelin one-star lunch scheduled for 1PM. Pack NICELY to 9:10, as indicated in RANDOM THOUGHTS, and then type to 9:25, only to today's date, before we have to lug our baggage down (Daniel taking Ken's monster) to the car. John gives us his cell-phone number of 07-971-877-862, of little use, since WE don't have a cell phone, but I think he leaves it with the staff at The Crown at Whitebrook, our lunch place. Into the Caerleon Museum at 10:20, after taking a few pictures of the grass-covered amphitheater in the rain under Ken's umbrella beforehand. One large room has many exhibits, a few of which I photograph, and then have to take my morning shit, which I do nicely in the single-hole museum bathroom after pulling sufficiently hard on the light-pull to turn on the light. By the time I'm out, Ken's gone to the Baths, a few doors down, a large T-shaped excavation over part of the huge swimming pool (rather like the situation at the St. George Eastern Athletic Club) and the entrance to the heating, warming, and cooling rooms, with a few tourists getting to the tapes before us to play the Welsh commentary when we can't get there first to start the English commentary, both of which continue as we get bored standing there listening and continue to look at the rest of the excavation. One baths is like another, so I go into the exhibition hall, and then Ken is abashed to discover that THIS hall has no bathroom, so John has to drive around to a public john a short distance away [start file 2 on 7/30/09: 8AM] so Ken can pee. Leave the baths 11:02, raining rather hard, and through twisting roads following the brown-highlighted signs to Tintern, into the Wye Valley, quite deep but mostly invisible because of all the leaves on the surrounding trees. As John says, it'd be spectacular in winter when the leaves are off, but Ken remarks that it's pretty spectacular now, which he can see clearly, since he's in the front seat, talking incessantly about Welsh words, letters, usage, and pronunciation with John, who's bought a fifty-pound Welsh encyclopedia that he offers us to read at our leisure---which we leave in the back of the car---that he bought when his father won some kind of lottery for a fifty-pound gift, but died at the age of 92 before he could buy anything for it. To Tintern at 11:45, John saying we can take as much time as we want: he'll be back in the car at 12:30. We go into the water-soaked ruins, some deep puddles right before the explanatory plaques, lots of people walking around in the rain, and my camera lens is sadly fogged, I fear, for many of the pictures, but I hope it gives the atmosphere of wet, wet, wet. Take pictures without a real visualization of what was where, even though some of the plaques give good reconstructions of the buildings and plans of the cloisters, infirmary, chapterhouse, Abbot's rooms, etc. Out at 12:30, after looking at the stones retrieved from the destroyed Pulpitry, and drive through even narrower roads, bushes dripping, puddles splashing, cars having to pull to the side to allow others to pass in the one-lane highway leading up to Whitebrook. A few cars are in the lot as he drops us off, and a kindly valet takes our wet coats. Sit in a lounge where I find that the guest book has NO American signatures, though they say they HAVE had American diners, and we order Kir Royales, very dark, before moving into the farthest dining room with four tables for two each, only one of which is occupied; by a sweet couple who talk in as whispered voices as we do except when exploding with laughter at some comment. Get a menu with all the foods and wines, many of which turn out to be excellent, some superlative, and Ken demurs when I say it might be one of the ten best meals I've ever eaten, but he might agree with placing it in the top twenty. Wines are served freely, but when I want "another splash" of the good red, they charge me for it. Ken gives me some of his dessert wine, so he says I've maybe had eight glasses of wine, somewhat under two bottles. It's possible: I don't feel DRUNK, exactly, but VERY fagged out. We get the bill at 3:09, with Joseph Sommers' signature on the menu, a copy of which Ken forgets to pick up. Bill of 196.90£. Into car at 3:16, squiffed, happy to let Ken talk to John, looking blearily out to the passing countryside, thinking how happy I am. Whitebrook lunch, upcoming BLACKbrook stay in Nant-ddu. To Monmouth at 4PM, wandering street, taking pictures of an old tower on a bridge. Ken finds a post office and I buy five stamps for 3.45£, and a postcard is 65 pence to the US. Back to car at 4:20, and take pictures of Raglan Castle in the rain at 4:35. [Car will come at 9:15AM tomorrow; breakfast from 7-11AM.] To hotel at 5:30 and to room 23. Totally zonk out on bed, Ken saying I snored, so I must have slept. Dinner 7:55-9:05, only parsnip and apple soup with crusty bread, an asparagus and cheese tart, and a glass of Sauvignon Blanc, even that a bit much, with VERY slow service, only other eaters, many children, to watch. Read the Tintern Abbey book until we get to bed at 10:25, fagged out, my stuff a mess around my bed.

THURSDAY, 7/30/09: 12:07AM pee, again at 3:35, followed by briefest mympths, first in a long time. 6:21 pee and type DREAMS:7/30/09 to 6:31, drink water for the first time this morning, and then shit a bit to 6:39. Up at 7:36 to type another dream and spray socks with the quickly depleted breath spray. Type 7:47-8:11, when we go a quicker way around to breakfast in the Conservatory, door open for coolth and starting rain (which the papers lambaste, saying, "the Met Office predicted a barbecue summer, and now it's changed to mostly rain," noting that the average August temperature is an incredibly low 58.something. Cooked breakfasts are extra, so I settle again for Weetabix, two cups of tea, a hard-boiled egg with two bits of tasteless cheese, and then a dish of yogurt, mixed fruit (notably without grapefruit), and sour red fruit; then glance through the London Times and back to type from 8:51 to 9:03, catching up to date, rather surprised that I'm into file 2; though I haven't STINTED on text, there hasn't been that much to say. Amused about some MP saying, "Too many twitters make a twat," and then the Times saying, "Usually the Times prints t***," but prints "twat" THIS time. A cartoon has it "tw*t"---now is that "twit" or "twat," or maybe even "twut"? Well, twut's wrong with that? Ken closes the window when he returns, and announces his gear for the presumed hike today. Now 9:05 and time to get ready to greet John at 9:15. JUST as we walk out the front door at 9:13, John is about to enter the building, so our timing is perfect. We drive for quite a while through variable showers until we get to Blaenavon World Heritage Site, where he says we shouldn't miss the Pit Heads Bath Exhibition farther up the hill. We go into the Underground Tour entrance after getting our free tickets and find about twenty-five people ahead of us. Somehow I had the idea the groups were of 24, so I didn't worry about how long it would take, since it was 9:55 and the first tour was at 10AM. He called in the first ten people, and the next ten went to fill up the first two rows of seats, and we were fourth and fifth in the third row, rather disappointing to me: if the tours were only groups of ten, we would be in the THIRD group, not even the second. But then the tour guide came out and asked if any of us were a group of two. I immediately waved my hand and we moved into the next room ahead of the intervening thirteen and were given helmets, which I put on over my jacket's hood, and then a waist attachment with what turned out to be a gas mask in the back. We were told we couldn't even go in with wristwatches with batteries, so I handed my watch over to the collecting bag, while Ken handed his whole bag over. We went down into the 60-meter-deep pit crowded in the elevator at about 10:10, and got out in a wet bottom to get a series of talks by the personable guide who'd spent his years from 15-35 in the pit and later became a guide. His talk of gas, explosions, child labor, women working, bosses exploiting, strikes, and government closings went on from space to space, and the worst part was keeping up with the group going up- or downhill while stooping so as not to bump my head on the low ceilings. Of course I DID bump my head MANY times, but the helmet prevented my being hurt. This lasted until 10:48, and we climbed the brick stairways to the Baths above, looking into the Explosives Magazine, then into the exhibition area for lots of data and history and biographies. At one point the directions said we should go one way, but when we passed to the end Ken remembered we'd missed a section, and got a guide to take us back through so we could see the Story of Coal, which gave no relation of the Welsh word "plo" for coal to any word like "glow." We start down at 11:31, thinking we're finished, and meet John AND Daniel in the downstairs area, taking us into the Winding House, and I was sorry I left my camera in the car, since the camera wouldn't have been permitted on the tour, but I could have put it into Ken's bag, which he checked, and then had it for the rest of the exhibit. But then John took us up the other stairs to the Mining Galleries, which I somehow thought we'd seen already, and it turned out to start with a movie that took us through the history of the hardships of the miners and their families, which we'd already seen in the other exhibitions, but with explosions from the sides and illuminations of equipment rather like the multimedia movie in Cardiff Castle. We were then led to another room, which turned out to have a televised miner talking in front of various exhibit chambers that turned out to be disappointingly static, mainly the "exploding wall," which I expected to explode, though it did nothing at all. Through with that about noon, then out via the shop, where Ken continued to try to find the Celtic Cross that a sister of his assistant wanted him to buy for something like $150, that would look like a printout that she got from an Internet site. A survey taker cornered me while Ken was shopping, and just as I finished responding, he was ready to go. Out to the car and John suggested we stop at a supermarket and buy sandwiches for lunch, which we'd then have outdoors somewhere. We agreed, and we ended up at ASDA, a member of the Wal-Mart group, at 12:44, going to the john, buying sandwiches and drinks and a bag of salt-and-vinegar chips for me for 6.40£, and meeting John in front, who had already somehow bought his sandwiches as well as filling up the Citroen with diesel, increasing the 112 miles he could go without running out of gas to 640 miles. Ken wanted to eat right there in the cafeteria, since he said he was hungry, but I suggested he let John lead us wherever he wanted. So we got into the car and drove out into the countryside of the Brecon Beacons for lunch 1:20-1:48, where he explained the wave-like silhouettes of the hills as I ate my "breakfast" sandwich and strawberry-banana smoothie and chips and Ken ate his three half-sandwiches and part of his Diet Coke, the rest of which he was about to throw away, but I finished it with pleasure. Back into the car where he led us to the base of Pen-y-Fan and encouraged us to climb from 1:55 to 2:30, but I just went up a bit, took some photos of the string of climbers going up and coming down, and just didn't feel like exerting myself, so we got back to the car at 2:22 and drove to the Penderyn Whiskey distillery, where a very cute guy with incredible latissimi dorsi talked us through the benefits of one-still distilling, even though it clearly involved two stills in continuous circulation between them, and at one point, when the female guide laughingly suggested it was he who drank from the bottle of 160-year-old whiskey, a remnant of the LAST legitimate distillery in Wales, he said, "I'd sooner inject steroids than drink from that bottle," and I was quite sure, based on his thick, wide chest, cannonball shoulders and great biceps under his thin white shirt, that he COULD be taking steroids to get such a wonderful look; even his hair was captivating: VERY short on all sides, but with a Mohawk that started in the middle of his head and lengthened as it got to his nape, where it curled slightly to one side with the longest hairs about an inch long. Arresting figure! We heard about their classical, their Madeira, and their gin and vodka and cream whiskey, and, having been given two chits, I tried their cream and their gin, both quite mild, and Ken wasn't impressed with their two regular single-malt whiskeys. We left at 3:45 and drove through Brecon, up to a viewpoint over the hills and a dammed lake, then through the Rhonnda Valley, where John got lost and we went a few times in a few directions through Pontypridd, home of Tom Jones and Richard Burton and a few other people he named that I didn't know, and then through Merthyr Tydfil, and even once found ourselves at a dead end. I took a few pictures, the weather improved with spectacular cloud formations, and he finally found his way back to our hotel at 5:52. I mentioned to Ken again about my Schwab card, and he suggested that, since I could, I should really give them a call, so I went to the reception desk and asked how I could call the US. She didn't know, but with some coaxing she gave me a six-digit number for information, who told me the US code was 001. I called, Schwab answered immediately, asked for my home address and date of birth, and said that my $7500 limit was within $300-400 of being reached. I was flabbergasted until he said that one charge was $2961 from Xplore Wales. Then he reeled off a few $100+ charges from this trip, and agreed to take $2500 from my Schwab One account to transfer into my checking account, and I verified that I'd be on the trip until August 10. That took to 6:22, which exhausted me, and Ken said what I'd thought: "How could you possibly have gotten to $7200?" But when I was told that my last payment was only $1090, it could NOT have included ANY monthly maintenance from Cadman, so what was not charged on the July bill must have been my July 1 maintenance, and now would include the August 1 maintenance, which could be about $1600. [In retrospect, however, my maintenance is charged to my HSBC account!] Totaling the Visa charges so far, I came up with approximately 1200 pounds, or roughly $2000, so $3000 Xplore + $1600 maintenance + $2000 current + maybe the Met for $400, Beards for $300, others for another $300, could easily bring it to $7200. Let's just hope I have enough for the $2500 I added---not to mention that I HAD $2500 TO add, or else it's a loan that I'll find out about when I get back in 12 days. Or maybe I'll have to call them again and give them my account number, which the Visa guy said he couldn't get. Since that exhausted me, I lay down a bit before Ken said we should go to dinner at 7PM. To the almost empty dining room, which the waitress said would fill up quickly, and Ken ordered the Jamaican prawn salad and was VERY disappointed by the tiny frozen shrimp that he said he should have learned by now was what the Welsh called prawns. He turned it back almost untouched; the waitress rather cheekily replied, "Each to their own," and when the lispy hostess (whose voice Ken said he just couldn't STAND) gave me a LOOK when she passed, I figured the waitress had passed this on to her, who had convinced Ken to ORDER it by saying how wonderful it was, and for how many years they've been serving this VERY special recipe. [Told Ken I'd just mistyped "VERY" as "VE$RY." "Very 'spensive," he responded.] And AGAIN he reads from his RIDICULOUS Welsh-language book: last night it was all about drinking, getting drunk, recovering from getting drunk, feeling awful about getting drunk; and today's was vaguely suggestive, with a wife concluding that a politician who visited her today "kissed well." We'd ordered other dishes and were enjoying them when SHE returned and asked Ken why he'd turned back the appetizer. Well, he just didn't care for it, and she consented to take it off the bill, which was nice. We finished and ordered dessert, and his sticky toffee pudding was ENORMOUS, three cupcakes in volume and shape, with a little dab of good vanilla ice cream. My cheese plate had three cheeses, grapes, and LOTS of "bara brith" (for which we'd asked, except it was ONLY toasted raisin bread, when I thought it had a few MORE ingredients; but it turned out the "tea and marmalade" that it "HAD" was probably a typo for what it was SERVED with). She returned and told me the mustard was definitely the Y-Innie (?) the waitress had described, which Miss Lisp ALSO said came with chives and horseradish versions; the bland Harvati-like hard cheese was the Caerphily, while the Brie-like (unripe) cheese was something from Harlech. She asked if she could bring me two other samples, and I paused and said yes, and THEN she asked Ken if she could bring him more ice cream, and he got a bemused expression on his face and said, "Well, yes." I guess the OTHER chive cheese was from Harlech and the fifth---something else. All this after a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. As we returned to the room, finding the shortcut through the Spa now locked, I suggested we walk along the river to which our "River Room" 23 alluded, and we looked at it and came back to the room. We get back at 9:04, I pee, and start typing at 9:13 after taking off almost all my clothes, embarrassed about my stinking feet, but Ken has so far said nothing about them, though I suspect he might be somewhat redolent too, since he only takes showers every three days too, though he showered this morning, complaining about the wasted water of the shower and the toilet, though we haven't been caught with the two-to-three-hour water shortage that some notice warned us might happen because of "local circumstances." I get place-names from maps and brochures, but can't find the name of the Penderyn Cream Whiskey, maybe cheaper at the airport than at the shop for 12.60£. Ken intones, "You are getting sleepy; your eyes are getting heavy," and I find it's actually 10:32, surprisingly late. He's arranged for a wake-up call at 8AM and John is to pick us up at 9:30, to move to three consecutive one-night stands. Ken "inadvertently" turns off all lights at 10:33, and I get to bed at 10:45PM.

FRIDAY, 7/31/09: 2:03AM: Hear a knock on the door, jolt awake, and pee and type DREAMS:7/31/09. The two-bite spot on my back (felt yesterday morning) and the bite spot on my left thumb (found when I was washing my hands for dinner last night) don't itch as much as they did yesterday, but I sure wonder what caused them. Ken has no bites. Finish typing about 2:10AM, but start thinking about finances and 1) consider checking on the Internet what my Schwab balances are, and even transfer funds from my IRA if I have any, 2) recall that I'd just charged my $665 Eastern Athletic Club renewal before I'd left. I keep thinking until I look at the clock at 2:57AM, start Actualism, and fall asleep soon after, having gotten almost nowhere with it. Then wake on the dot of 4:30AM with two dreams. I go to the john to pee, and start typing at 4:37AM. Back to bed and to sleep, but wake at 7AM and can't go back to sleep, so at 7:15 I decide to take a good shit and have a good shower, since it sounded like Ken's "wasteful" shower control was just like my gym's, and it was. I'm drying at 7:50 while Ken is still asleep, so I sit and read Avalon until the phone rings at 8AM and Ken answers. I put the lights on, for which he says, "Thank you," and goes into the bathroom. I type this to 8:05 and think to dress NOW and try for the Internet, if there is a connection here. Get to the desk about 8:10 and the blond hunk obligingly takes his paperwork out to the front desk while I initiate the PAINFULLY slow process of accessing Charles Schwab, putting in my ID and PIN, and needing to ADDITIONALLY verify my account, since I'm overseas. I can't say any of their stocks are in my account, and I can't put in whatever kind of SPECIAL PIN number they seem to want, so I phone 001-888-999-4512 and get a sweet-voiced woman in Phoenix, where the temperature has "only" been up to 114°, 122° being the highest she's seen there, after I suggest she's at 120°. She gives me a special pin of 8678 to use while I'm "in London," as her records show, and it turns out I have only $2920 in my Schwab One as a cash balance, enough for the $2500 yesterday (if they DO get it from there), and $200 in my Keogh and IRA, so THOSE are no good. I then ask if it's possible to get an additional credit-card limit while I'm here, and get a card representative on the phone, to whom I confess I'm retired, have $380,000 in Schwab Accounts that he can't access, and little income aside from Social Security, so he says I'll have to contact someone at 001-888-762-8363 between 9-5 EST to try to get a temporary increase, and he, like she, has no idea how easy or hard that might be. Let's hope tonight's hotel has Internet. THAT goes to 8:35AM, at which time Ken appears in the doorway and I tell him to go to breakfast. He asks for an explanation, I say I just want to EAT, but then partway through remember that John's picking us up at 9:30 today, rather than 9:15, so I explain briefly and get back to the room at 8:57AM and catch up with this by 9:05, ready to pack in the room cooling from the window I just opened to get some air into the stuffy place. Ken comes in just as I finish. Pack to 9:10, Ken stays in bathroom until 9:13! I check out to 9:25, Visa card going through for 90£ OK. John arrives at 9:29 when I'm outside to meet him, and he goes in to get a brochure because he's never stayed here before. To Melin Court Falls at 10:01, going through a gate meant to keep people away from the fallen tree, and I go "Oh" when I see the lower falls and "OHH" when I see the higher falls on the right. Take pictures, we look at the falls, and out at 10:25 (as opposed to Maria, who walked three hours to a much bigger falls with Daniel), satisfied. Into Swansea, where John lets us off at the Vivien Art Gallery at 11:05 while he goes to look for a place to park, saying he'll pick us up at 12:30. Photo Pink's "Ecorché," based on a previous flayed body arranged in the shape of "The Dying Gaul." Take a few more pictures, but there's not much to see, so we leave at 12:01 and go next door to find that it's NOT anything to do with Dylan Thomas, so we return to the Vivien, where I sit for the 14 minutes of the Berlin/Then/Now film and look through Ronald Searle's book of drawings about his prison term while building the River Kwai railroad to 12:30, and John walks along the sidewalk at 12:31 and leads us to St. Mary's for a local art show and a talkative sexton who shows Ken the Ceri Richards in the Chancel. To the Maritime Museum at 1PM, and get directed down an inner roadway to the block-away Attic Gallery 1:05-1:45, Ken buying two prints for 160£ plus 20£ for mailing flat and insurance. We glance through the purely verbal Dylan Thomas exhibit in a former Guild Hall, and Ken asks if I want tea or coffee, but I say I'll take a sandwich, and choose a smoked salmon and cheese and a brownie and a glass of water, while he has tea and a cheese and chive sandwich from 2-2:17. To Swansea Museum 2:21-2:41, Ken leaving almost immediately, while I'm charmed by the Cabinet of Curiosities, the mummy (whose photo didn't come out, illegal as it was), and the Crime and Punishment exhibit in the basement, and ask the caretaker's permission to take two photos of the top rooms, which she grants when I assure her I'm not about to send them to the Internet. Go wrong way around to the Maritime Museum at 2:45-3:20, ending with a sad case of data overload while sitting at the map of the entire bay and getting computer information about 15 locations, then looking over Ken's shoulder while he for some reason goes down many computer-generated streets to list 1850-census data for each inhabitant of each building on the street. I'm fagged out and go down to John on the seats at 3:20, and Ken finally condescends to descend at 3:32, and we go in the rain to the car, where John gets lost trying to get out of the Park-and-Pay lot, and finally we're onto the road to the Mumbles at 3:45, following long lines of traffic, which sometimes lets me take a good photo of the bay buildings. Glimpse of Oystercatcher Castle not photographable. Through green tunnels in the rain, up and down hills, traffic thinning at last, hills leveling off, stops for beaches that aren't visible, and finally to Worm's Head at 5:14. [Breakfast 8:30-9:30; bar closes at 11PM, and we're right above it.] Put the camera batteries on to charge at 5:30 and get to the bar for his Merlyn and my Bailey's Cream Caramel, which I think is thicker and tastier, though he doesn't agree, and then I get a cold Foster's and he gets another Merlyn while babies scream and get fed. I go back to the room for my earplugs, finding the right stairway to the Cliff Wing after the THIRD try, and back to look at some sexy smokers outside, meet mother Julie and daughter Maria for a few moments before they go out toward Worm's Head, and Ken goes upstairs, I finish my beer, and go outside to watch the half-dozen surfers, crazy though they are, then go upstairs at 6:50 to sort out the paper souvenirs to 7:06, and the batteries are CHARGED by 7:10. I put things away and start typing then, and get caught up now at 7:34. Ken puts on his shoes for our dinner downstairs in the hopefully quieter lounge now that the smokers have departed and the babies have been fed and removed to their rooms---though we'll probably eat with Julie and Maria. I wash my face, put anti-itch on my bite, pee, and we go down at 7:40 to get invited to their table, where they've started their main course. I order only fish and chips, very filling, and Ken has an appetizer, and we order a bottle of Cava for 15£. Julie and Maria are flatteringly fascinated by our travel tales, and we may have exhausted the topic on our first evening together. We're not traveling together tomorrow, but we all leave at 9:30AM. They get a toffee dessert that we share, and Ken gets vanilla ice cream that we share, and we have no trouble finishing the Cava though I've had a Merlyn and a chilled Foster's. We're up at 9PM to discuss when we're going to make the trip, weather permitting, to Worm's Head. I really think we should go BEFORE breakfast, especially when the Lithuanian waiter verifies my information that breakfast can only be ordered between 8:30 and 9:30AM, though we can remain eating until 11AM. Ken tries to place a wake-up call but finds the phone is totally dead and goes down to check it. I insist that I'll be up at whatever time he wants to be wakened, since at 9:07, right now, I can go to bed at 10PM and will be up SURELY before 7AM. Now at 9:10 he tells me that I can wake him as early as 7AM and he MAY consent to a walk before breakfast---all depending on the weather, of course, although he goes so far as to say if we return from the trip at 9AM and have to tell John that we'll be leaving AFTER 9:30, that's OK, too! I prepare to look through Landscape Wales that John practically insisted we take to the room to look at tonight. Finish at 9:33, and since Ken is still reading, I take up Avalon again. He goes to bed about 9:45, and I stay up reading until 10, when I pee, take my night pills, brush my teeth, and go to bed. Five minutes later I'm sure I'll be cold under just the linen bedspread, so I get up and put the duvet over the bottom three-quarters of the bed and get to sleep.