Took the overland train then a bus to Andover, Hampshire. Or something starting with H. Who names these places, I know not. But a huge thank you to the lad (had to be a guy) who named the last Tube stop on the Piccadilly line. Cockfosters, yeah!
Hahaha hee hee hoooo.
Cousin Po works for the British Army. I knew I was getting close when the bus passed a 'Beware: Tanks Crossing' sign by the side of the road. I guess it's about a hundred kilometers to the west of London, a little village (or town, I'm not sure what they call 'em) full of army barracks, soldiers, their families, not much else really. Ooh, and Stonehenge.
The stones, shrouded in mystery, obscured by a hefty £7 viewing fee (should haf brought my binoculars [thanks Anthony!] and stood outside the fence like all the other smart people) were put there between ten and billions of years ago by some guys with huge beards, probably, who played hide and seek around them, probably not. No one actually knows why they're there, except historians, and anyone who read the brochure or listened to the audio guides. How very mysterious...
We left just before the heavens opened and it rained cats n' kittens. Finally, some proper English weather. A few days with cousin Po watching pay tv and eating bad food from lousy restaurants, I caught a bit of a cold, probably a combo of jetlag, too many cigs and too much alcohol (yes there really is such a thing, Will) but the downtime there was greatly needed. Time to hit London again, I'm sure she misses me.
