BLOG 1: England: Tunnels, Pints and Pasties and the perils of falling asleep as a car passenger.

Dover, Southampton & Bath, England. 

The song, 'There'll be blue birds over the white cliffs of Dover' sums up the magic of the cliffs quite well.

"That's unlikely to happen with blue birds being native to America," my cousin once told me. Although, she'd heard the fact on the British TV show QI. I would have just claimed the fact as my own wittiness.

My cousin is Caitlin. A pale, bright ginger-haired and seemingly intelligent 24-year-old from my mum's side, who has the same odd sense of humour as me (poor thing), with the same penchant for singing the entire Sound of Music or Lion King score on long car trips, regardless of our passengers' tastes.


Living in Dover, Caitlin decided it was rather convenient to come to France and support our cousin, Kerry and I (we had been singing with Voices of Birralee in the Western Front Anzac Day Commemorations - awesome trip, you can read about it via this blog).

It was lovely to be able to share the experience and after the trip, Caitlin drove Kerry and I, with fellow chorister, Lucy, back to Dover which would mark the beginning of the second part of this trip, kicked off with a few days at Caitlin and Uncle Pat's house.

I had already been to Dover and seen its surrounds, so chose to use this time to catch up on a bit of work. It's what I've learnt about travelling and working at the same time; every opportunity to hook up to a WiFi connection (even if you have to type upside down, or hanging out of a window to get the connection), cannot be wasted.

So I sat in the dining room of my uncle and cousin's house writing a few media releases, and upon breaks, or wandering outside to see what the charismatic border collie, Daisy was barking at, I'd enjoy the stunning view of St Margaret's Bay which stretches over stunningly lush green fields, with the English channel as the perfect backdrop.

One day Daisy started barking and I walked out saying, 'Daisy - there is nothing there!'...only to discover there was something there...a few things actually; some sizeable bulls, with fluffy black hair on their heads - kind of like frullets (the opposite to a mullet).

I helped Daisy round up the bulls into a paddock that I thought was their home. I took solace in the fact that, as long as the bulls weren't eating the contents of Caitlin and Pat's birdbaths or flowerbeds - fine!

But it wasn't fine...I ... I mean Daisy, had driven the bulls into the neighbouring farm, where there were delicious crops. A ranger sorted out the problem later, while I tried to make light of the situation, with pun-induced comments such as, "This feels like a 'steak' out", as I watched unhelpfully from the bay-side windows.

Another less criminal experience was checking out the tunnels under the house which were built during the Cold War, as protection in case Russia used nuclear warfare to take down Britain.

As I type, I feel I've dropped the word, 'tunnels' a little too casually. There are frikkin' tunnels under the house! And they are amazing. (Caitlin said I could mention them in this blog but she said, 'It'll cost ya!"...oh no, I should have thought this through...). 

Caitlin took us down, with the first part being cement walling in immaculate condition, and then you walk through various hallways to check out massive rooms which are a little deteriorated, and some dicey areas where you have to watch your step or you'll end up in sludge.

With a bit of sprucing up though...the tunnels could be the makings of a cool cabaret joint. Thinking of this purpose, we decided to test out the acoustics, with a bit of Phantom of the Opera and a tune by the Dixie Chicks. We really just wanted to show off our vast repertoire, despite the lack of audience.

There wasn't as much resonance as what we had experienced singing with the choir in some of the glorious cathedrals in France, but I felt we could have made it work!

On a side note, these tunnels were mentioned in one of Ian Fleming's books, when he sends the protagonist down them. You may have heard of the series, James Bond.  No?

After a lovely few days of catch ups, I headed up to London to meet with my housemate, Jess, who was arriving from Brisbane.

Wombats Hostel was a pretty schmick place for accommodation for one night, as far as hostels go, and Jess stumbled in about three years after schedule, having fought London traffic in the hire car all afternoon. With no time to spare, we caught the tube to near Buckingham Palace, to catch up with my mate who works there.

When we located the palace - hard to miss...but we still missed it - I texted my mate to say, 'we're here!' and she waved from her window - top floor - nice. She texted me back ordering me to do star-jumps outside the gates while the guards looked at me suspiciously. I'm never one to not oblige! She took photos from her regal window which surely overlooks all of London.

I selected the classy establishment of Pizza Express for dinner, reminiscing to when I was at college five years' ago just east of London. You'd just pal-up with someone with an Orange (telco company) sim card, to score two-for-one pizzas AND dough balls, plus two-for-one movies. It was as delicious as I recalled.

Jess' jetlag was catching up on her a bit, so we decided we weren't going to have a big night. After dinner, we decided to get a drink at the oldest pub in London, The Albert, and Jess, me and my friend had a good chat to some of the locals.

The first two lads we spoke with seemed all right...but the third who joined our group was a bit odd.

"I have some guys here keen to have a good time...are you girls keen for a good time?" he said in a kind of Jamaican/east London accent, with a tad of 'sleaze'.

"That's a rather awkward proposition," I said, realising in the future I should think first and then speak.

"Okay...time to go," we all said, then pretty much fled well before the odd third guy had been able to offer us a drink.

The next morning was spent getting freaked out by the entertainment of the London Bridge tours. Basically you are enlightened on the history (and legends) of London Bridge, told how many times it was rebuilt, while being scared by ghoulish creatures. Not a bad Friday morning really.

We then jumped in the hire car to endure a slow drive through London, en route to Southampton to catch up with mates Sally and Steve and to collect them to join our road tripping tirade.

After a fun dinner in Southampton - delicious pies at The Dancing Man, we headed off the next morning, however, not before Steve and Sally cooked us an exquisite vegetarian feast (reminding me what veggies tasted like after too many plain baguettes in France). Sally used to be our housemate and would make us the most amazing Vegan dishes. I probably hadn't eaten veggies since she left us about a year ago.

Our destination was Bath, a mere two hours north of Southampton. I hadn't been getting a lot of sleep since being away, so took it as a chance to have a bit of a car-snooze (same rule as hacking into WiFi to get work done - sleep at every opportunity - not that I had any choice, my eyelids just were too heavy for me to fight it).

Car-sleeping isn't the most ergonomic practice. I kept waking when my head would fall forward. I have a dodgy neck at the best of times, which has often made me question whether I should buy shares in a physio company. Searching for a solution, I said to Sally, Steve and Jess, "I'm going to invent something that holds your head back while you're having a nap in the car.

"I could just tie your head back with a scarf?" Sally offered helpfully from the back seat, to which I agreed we'd give it a go.

I must have slept pretty well, as about an hour later when I woke up, I was informed I'd miss the conversation about our driving route. We weren't heading to Bath after all...well not yet.
While I'd been asleep, Jess had taken a survey from Sally and Steve and the consensus was a random visit to a manor house... which featured a bizarre safari.

So when I woke up to jokingly say, "so...what'd I miss?'. It turned out I'd missed an awful lot, which would mean a good three hours of exploring Longleat Manor, which included a random mirror maze, a normal maze, and eating a gazillion meringues from Lady Emma's kitchen.

Thanks guys - no complaints.


After finally arriving in Bath, we checked into the 'bell tower' at the YMCA Hostel. The 'bell tower' room was apparently the best in the hostel. And with winding narrow stair cases and a gazillion other normal staircases, which we dragged our broad

suitcases up via, and a stunning view over Bath, we agreed it was a great room. My opinion changed brashly, however, when I ran up the stairs excitedly at one point and smashed my head on the archway - I didn't think it was a good room at all when I was doubled over in pain, bracing an instant headache - and brain cell decline.

Last night we enjoyed some comedy at the Krater Club, which was like, as Jess described, a 'Mary Poppins-style room'...the theatre seemed too large to be stashed in a seemingly smaller limestone building.


We're now heading to Scotland, on a six hour drive. I'm starting to realise why towards the border is referred to as 'the grim north'. The rain doesn't seem to be falling, but more so, engulfing the car.

I begin to drift off to sleep...again, and as I do, I remember back to this morning when we were about to leave Bath.

I thought it would be hilarious, if not ironic to not bath in Bath.

But then again, I haven't really been sure about what's ironic and what's not, since Alanis Morissette rose to fame.

Sleep takes over my last thought as I wonder if I'll even wake up in Scotland after all, or instead, at some random place with a safari.

More soon...