Thursday 18th July.

It has been a strange couple of days, wrestling with disappointments, satnavs and nettles.

Missing the Evensong service at Kings College last Tuesday was a great disappointment and we rose early the next day with only a few spare hours to get into the chapel. We therefore broke our fast succinctly (at least as succinctly as the “full English” laid out in the Fellows dinning room at Christ College would permit.).

Breakfast in the Fellows dinning hall Christs College

We rushed over the town to Kings and the lady on duty remembered  us and let us in a few minutes before opening and Ilze and I found ourselves alone in the great hall.

Kings Chapel choir stalls. Aled Jones to the right, Royal party to the left.

Kings

Kings

A moment to forever treasure.

I even risked a quiet hum next to where the greatest boy soprano of our age, Aled Jones, had sung to us all those Xmases ago.

Window detail. Kings Chapel

Next stop, Coventry and our long awaited reservation at Coombe Abbey. Arriving at 2.05pm we were told our room would not be ready till 3.00pm. Sob storey and persistence found our room was suddenly ready. We dropped of our stuff, had a shower and a brief discussion with the maintenance man about the faulty shower exhaust fan making a terrible racket and took off into town to see the remnants of the  bombed out cathedral and compete in the Octavian Droobers Orienteering Clubs evening event in Rugby. A pleasant event in city park and street, “Trainers will be fine,” said Harriet, our ex coach in-residence’s sister. Great map, shame about the nettles.

Coventry Cathedral.

Octavian Droobers O. C.
Nathans sister Harriet.

Beware nettles

Pub

Back to Coombe Abbey, droning still persisting, a by now severely nettled Pete goes off to see the Manager. ” We are full” she said “cant change the room I have absolutely nothing else.” “Refund said Pete, were off”. Nothing like the sight of guests  rushing out the door with luggage to prompt them to remember that a “guest who had been in for two nights had had to go, but the room is not yet made up”.  “Show us” said Ilze and we were shown a room that had been magically made up in a few seconds but it was over the kitchen and the noise was worse. “You wont find anything better at this late hour” she said. “Want to bet” said Pete and 35 minutes later we were ensconced in a perfectly fine Great Western executive suit $35 cheaper than Coombe Abbey that Bookings.com says is nowhere near as good.

I make that four lies before midnight.

Coombe Abbey

Next day was better. Did our laundry, drove to Cheshire where we had lunch with two Orienteers we had met in Latvia and then on into Wales with Pete humming “Land of our Fathers” as we crossed he border. (Land of my mothers, actually, it was my Great Grand-mother who was Welsh.

Pant Teg. B&B. Tregarth Wales

Bangor. Wales

Seafront terrace. Bangor

Penrhyn Castle. Wales

A quick look about Bangor town, views of Penrhyn Castle to excite us about tomorrows visit to Caenarfon Castle, seat  the Prince of Wales and the launching point for the Romans across the strait of Menai to rid the Isle of Anglesea of its troublesome Druids..

Pete the Watcher. ( Boy-o)

Highlight of the day was a chat in the laundrette, near Solihul, with an 88 year old who had been Harry Ferguson’s draughtsman and he had drawn up the plans for the “little grey Fergie”, the best tractor ever built.