“I’m not normally a gambling man, but I’m willing to put money on the fact that you’ve got shingles” the Doctor said as he examined Catherine’s persistent ‘stinging nettle rash’ Hmmm. That would go some way to explaining the why it has failed to disappear in almost a week... the exhaustion... and why every time she breathed in it felt like someone was crushing her ribs. Time for some tasty antiviral drugs and enforced bed rest at the Low’s, Mum’s older brother and his family, in Malton, Yorkshire.
Malton is where Mum grew up and her parents lived ever since. Sadly, they both passed away since I last visited eight years ago and it was a bit strange being here without them.
We headed out over the Moors to Whitby one day. En-route we stopped in at the quintessential Moor farming town of Goathland, where long-tailed shaggy sheep graze freely down the main street and the pace of life doesn’t exceed the rate that the lichen grows on the numerous surrounding dry stone walls. The old port of Whitby has remained frozen in time since its most famous son, Capt. James Cook, set sail for Aotearoa. As well as whipping the sea into a frenzy, the piercingly brisk breeze made standing, let alone walking, difficult so we sought refuge and a plate of scampi and chips indoors. While the scampi and chips was pretty average, the Thai restaurant in the pub by Castle Howard that we went to one night was brilliant. Better than much of the stuff that we had in Thailand even!
From Yorkshire we headed down to Leicester to catch up with Sean and Adro who had just arrived in the UK after WWOOFing it in Estonia for the past month. Having been to many of the same places as them in S.E. Asia, it was great to hear about their experiences as well as sampling some Red Leicester cheese and seeing a little of their new home town.
With the weekend and our flight to France fast approaching, we headed on down the country to finish our 1300 mile road trip in London. We met up with Catherine’s cousin Dean and Dave Kandziora to watch the All Blacks smash another easy bet in the Rugby World Cup before heading out to Chartwell, Winston Churchill’s old estate, just south of London. Here our NZHPT family membership really had its finest hour, getting all four of us in for free, a saving of 48 quid! Afterwards, we picked up Anita, who had had the misfortune to be working in the weekend, and headed out for our last supper on English soil... a bunch of Kiwis, in London, eating Thai.
