tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75156998975425022982024-02-20T01:23:04.067+00:00Life in Faversham EnglandDeborah Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05167064581130917341noreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7515699897542502298.post-13351647258700102092013-01-09T17:43:00.000+00:002013-01-09T17:43:17.894+00:00We’ve Moved!After much debate, we decided to move the blog to a separate server where we can back it up properly.
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I’m leaving this original Blogger site up, as there are links out there still pointing to it. (And because I LOVE the theme on this blog. Isn’t the background image gorgeous?)
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All new posts, however, will be from the new blog at:
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<b><a href="http://www.deborahjdean.com">deborahjdean.com</a></b>
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Come on over and check it out. Still the same blogs about life in England, just a new look, and a new home.
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Hugs
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xx
Deborah Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05167064581130917341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7515699897542502298.post-58257617321734191452012-01-03T17:24:00.001+00:002013-01-09T21:14:56.128+00:00Hot Dwarves (Who knew?)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I was 14 years old the first time I read THE HOBBIT. In my mind, dwarves were short, stocky, hairy, full of grumbles, sometimes funny, and indisputably unattractive.<br />
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The idea of a dwarf being "hot" wasn't ludicrous, it simply could not exist in my tiny little brain.<br />
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Had someone tried to put the idea there, my head would have probably popped off.
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When Peter Jackson put THE LORD OF THE RINGS on film, there, on the screen, were the dwarves of my childhood. They were short, stocky, hairy, funny and still pretty unattractive. Though, not in a bad way, they were dwarves, they couldn't help it.
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Now it is 2012, and THE HOBBIT is coming to a theatre near you next Christmas. As you may already know, THE HOBBIT is filled to the brim with dwarves.<br />
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Most of the travelling party is made up of what I consider common, ordinary, deep-in-the-earth dwarves.<br />
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They come in various shapes and sizes, but they are all stocky and hairy.
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However, this time, they are also distinct. Not cookie-cutter dwarves, but individuals with personalities.
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Their faces, if not exactly attractive, are interesting and pleasing.
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Good thing, too, since THE HOBBIT will be shown in two parts--two full length (probably over 2 hours each) movies.
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That's a lot of screen time void of eye candy.<br />
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Not to worry.<br />
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Luckily there are three dwarves, royalty as it were, who do not fit the preconceived dwarven mold.
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If you've stayed with me this far, you are in for a real treat.<br />
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Warning: Hot dwarves ahead.
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Thorin Oakenshield is a dwarf king in exile. </div>
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With him, travel his two nephews, Kili and Fili.
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Suddenly the term "hot dwarves" makes complete sense.
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Okay, so maybe the fact that I'm not 14 anymore means I think beards are sexy.
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(At 14 I thought beards were gross.)
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Yes, there will be wood elves and high elves and humans and hobbits in the film.
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All with faces prettier than an average dwarf.
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But I'm sticking by my assessment.
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<br />It's a new age, and some of the dwarves are definitely HOT.
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Who knew?
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IMPORTANT NOTE: All images in this post are from The Hobbit trailer available at: <a href="http://trailers.apple.com/trailers/wb/thehobbit/">http://trailers.apple.com/trailers/wb/thehobbit/</a>
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If you want to learn more about The Hobbit movie, the best places for information can be found at: <a href="http://www.thehobbit.com/index.html">http://www.thehobbit.com/index.html</a> and <a href="http://www.thehobbitblog.com/">http://www.thehobbitblog.com/</a> and <a href="https://www.facebook.com/PeterJacksonNZ">https://www.facebook.com/PeterJacksonNZ</a> and <a href="https://www.facebook.com/TheHobbitMovie">https://www.facebook.com/TheHobbitMovie</a>
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Cheers!
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xx
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<br />THIS BLOG HAS MOVED TO: <b><a href="http://www.deborahjdean.com">deborahjdean.com</a></b>
<br><br><br>Deborah Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05167064581130917341noreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7515699897542502298.post-56317844988880004892011-09-30T10:35:00.000+01:002011-09-30T10:35:35.512+01:00Henry II & his good friend Thomas. Dover Castle:Pt 2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It is a rare treat, indeed, to be greeted by the king himself when visiting Dover Castle. This summer, Henry II was in residence and on the day we arrived at court he seemed in a jovial mood. He sat on his throne and received guests and gifts.
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It wasn't until we adjourned to the shrine of Thomas Becket, the king's private chapel located to the east of his personal chambers, that Henry became thoughtful, sad, angry, and in the end, resigned.
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You see, Thomas and Henry were friends once. Henry II made Thomas his Lord Chancellor, with the duty of enforcing the king's sources of revenue, from both landowners and the church. Henry's son, Henry the Younger even lived in Becket's household as a youth, as it was common for noble children to be fostered outside their home.
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The problem came when the Archbishop of Canterbury died. The church and the king were often at odds. In an attempt to solve this problem, Henry II appointed Thomas as the Archbishop. Since Thomas had always served him faithfully, Henry thought the problem settled.
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What Henry did not expect, was Becket's sudden devotion to the church. Whether Thomas had a true revelation, or simply let the position go to his head, the king wasn't happy - and the conversation as we conversed in the chapel turned quite colourful!
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Thomas excommunicated several of the king's knights, and chaos erupted. At one point, Henry II complained to four of his closest knights. Saying either:
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"Will no one rid me of this turbulent priest?" or "What miserable drones and traitors have I nourished and brought up in my household, who let their lord be treated with such shameful contempt by a low-born cleric?"
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Henry couldn't remember exactly what he said, but either way, his knights interpreted his frustration as a royal command.
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The knights went straightway to Canterbury Cathedral. There they found Thomas on his way to vespers. At the entrance to the crypt they killed him.
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King Henry II bemoaned the fallout from that single act. It would become the defining moment in his entire reign.
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We felt it best to leave the king to his ramblings and went to find a meal.
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Cheers!
x
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<br />Deborah Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05167064581130917341noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7515699897542502298.post-66343932915766230062011-09-12T13:46:00.002+01:002011-09-12T13:48:36.962+01:00A castle made to last: Dover Castle: Part 1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Dover is my all time favourite castle. I'm partial to the big, heavy ones built not for show but for defence (or defense, if you're American).
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Once part of a Saxon fortified settlement, the grounds were first converted by William the Conqueror. Later, Henry II built the great medieval fortress that stands today.
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Standing tall above the White Cliffs of Dover, the castle has guarded British shores for centuries and has been successfully updated for every European war that threatened Great Britain.
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We visit the castle at least once a year. Dover Castle is maintained by English Heritage. Since we're members, entrance is free. We love our English Heritage membership. Definitely good value for money.
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During the summer, the castle hosted a Knight's Joust, and weekends found Henry II, his servants and court in attendance. Jolly fun to hear the cook and his wife arguing in the kitchens!
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I'll be sharing more photos later in the month, so be sure to check back.
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Cheers!<br />
x
Deborah Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05167064581130917341noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7515699897542502298.post-26800915766814196672011-09-05T11:20:00.001+01:002011-09-12T22:29:08.756+01:00What the heck is a Hop Festival?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2YR6CAvqq4kTt5aVgwiImV8dSCFiLLKdtgaFyx8cJPp3UDDTd79B8FTiVpmNvAoF3D-X9JT6nVeoqch1-GZK6ivFOxXqNHyQb4jGaKqfcQBo79cj2tL5IVDWcWV0n9eHq7rnNvLKvJf8/s1600/800_grandstand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="186" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2YR6CAvqq4kTt5aVgwiImV8dSCFiLLKdtgaFyx8cJPp3UDDTd79B8FTiVpmNvAoF3D-X9JT6nVeoqch1-GZK6ivFOxXqNHyQb4jGaKqfcQBo79cj2tL5IVDWcWV0n9eHq7rnNvLKvJf8/s400/800_grandstand.jpg" /></a></div>The Faversham Hop Festival is an annual event celebrating the long-gone days when families would come down from London (and other places, too) to harvest the hop in the fields and make money before the hard winter months. In the evenings, they would play music, dance and tell stories outside their makeshift camps. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5vFrfSCQf7LMVlP2bESIuxLbozurbyWzquuWa2Zr9Jzqn-DzQzI1_ih89G4Ulbq0y_1XRmp76y9BKGnqLb9pSCgq7W0p0pgF88pHNf6xmWU53KYz04_Kka3hdicUGivocHHx7lTOGr88/s1600/600_Dancers2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="292" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5vFrfSCQf7LMVlP2bESIuxLbozurbyWzquuWa2Zr9Jzqn-DzQzI1_ih89G4Ulbq0y_1XRmp76y9BKGnqLb9pSCgq7W0p0pgF88pHNf6xmWU53KYz04_Kka3hdicUGivocHHx7lTOGr88/s320/600_Dancers2.jpg" /></a></div>The modern festival (1990) is a fun way to remember those early hop-pickers through song and dance. The music, dancing, and parade are free entertainment. <br />
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There are also live performances in most of the pubs in town. My hubby (sadly no pix of him) had fun singing 6 of his new songs at the singaround at the Bull on Tanner Street. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieds-qQdQ627ttWbxOcfq4LrSqFf6LNyaXL7lGZTsv_af_oNjCNbWFgHQVbJys4Z1y4incu5LiLPr74p1eAYxbzO1KhVtG2owFcjGTPgZow0mibv5RGASaztAIBK8fnKMNHZv6CBTqi5c/s1600/600_towncentre.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieds-qQdQ627ttWbxOcfq4LrSqFf6LNyaXL7lGZTsv_af_oNjCNbWFgHQVbJys4Z1y4incu5LiLPr74p1eAYxbzO1KhVtG2owFcjGTPgZow0mibv5RGASaztAIBK8fnKMNHZv6CBTqi5c/s320/600_towncentre.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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Music, dancing, craft booths, food vendors, and beer. Yes, the hops are used to make beer. <br />
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Even though we don't drink alcohol, hubby and I are happy to support the festival as it is really more about families and having a fun day out. <br />
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It's also good for the local Faversham small businesses.
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC4sFyWSV4jgz0FS-IVdGCLixh4evTHc4940b4vnhRX3GXeWCMoKRcOQzeiRaAoyRxC0R57ChLPRiGI4NIOkcFjdDBk5Q5E3lkWJ8GNYR0ZWEh91-MlIAfUUjfVQ86Ndd3JR9tUtwR4Z4/s1600/600_obidosh_windowdisplay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC4sFyWSV4jgz0FS-IVdGCLixh4evTHc4940b4vnhRX3GXeWCMoKRcOQzeiRaAoyRxC0R57ChLPRiGI4NIOkcFjdDBk5Q5E3lkWJ8GNYR0ZWEh91-MlIAfUUjfVQ86Ndd3JR9tUtwR4Z4/s320/600_obidosh_windowdisplay.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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The local shops make up fantastic displays during the Hop Festival commemorating those original families. <br />
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The best display I saw was the one at Obidosh on Preston Street. It was awesome. Why it didn't get an award makes no sense. :P
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt27aUYqnYhKB_NzPOA_Dwwz1gvMPN-7ztxOlUv-txWIedeRnrlrvQxgRQVQIJOcF2yN8VrSU3fCmwAF3m2wzTwp15l8sv7bLHc8fayX2vusU76gAYhOEth63F46OYqYZ6tr45y7yafG8/s1600/500_molly3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="317" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt27aUYqnYhKB_NzPOA_Dwwz1gvMPN-7ztxOlUv-txWIedeRnrlrvQxgRQVQIJOcF2yN8VrSU3fCmwAF3m2wzTwp15l8sv7bLHc8fayX2vusU76gAYhOEth63F46OYqYZ6tr45y7yafG8/s320/500_molly3.jpg" /></a></div><br />
There were lots of Molly dancers on Saturday. Blackened faces (originally with soot, today with face paint) dressed in black garments adorned with scarves, ribbons or sashes. <br />
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Originally all males, with one dressed up as a woman, Molly or Bessy. Today both men and women dance. And not all paint their entire faces. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW6qDK9xQFI8qTKO-5Z8GvzmLLIG4jNHJ1fHI_MkF3gEzpScp9gd6SA_seG6JLJxZm6j7Zr-0mL3KqpNsTc3gaUF1_u8iefhrFU5iH-7CDcP10N21Pgdk_rpC-6vE8L-tdFcyUfLZY8Hs/s1600/Molly2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="320" width="99" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW6qDK9xQFI8qTKO-5Z8GvzmLLIG4jNHJ1fHI_MkF3gEzpScp9gd6SA_seG6JLJxZm6j7Zr-0mL3KqpNsTc3gaUF1_u8iefhrFU5iH-7CDcP10N21Pgdk_rpC-6vE8L-tdFcyUfLZY8Hs/s320/Molly2.jpg" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglPZ74ZYm5-UfQP9o5F7I3IMyiXHlHMEAIyUXi-lCwNlpfxt3MVC7EyUQQJswc6FhPDk97iV2Gynpt1BZSm8gF7T03cN2GEsQKAhdpYq5OMwcVOC3AjVSBB0nN8qZsN9KQDaBn-FwHuN8/s1600/molly4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style=""><img border="0" height="320" width="159" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglPZ74ZYm5-UfQP9o5F7I3IMyiXHlHMEAIyUXi-lCwNlpfxt3MVC7EyUQQJswc6FhPDk97iV2Gynpt1BZSm8gF7T03cN2GEsQKAhdpYq5OMwcVOC3AjVSBB0nN8qZsN9KQDaBn-FwHuN8/s320/molly4.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGA5O-tbdOGK1-bfBBb8WbKGVOMu0Myh0M_it_QBmyNveZwCxVzjP3anqY_BGxJQWUd1C5ThYImwKA0ei8ggGcbaYUFnbGFI5pUQgm-anSKL8h1RY6KF_YgNFmlJT8jTQHLdZnEPFXrmA/s1600/500_me_pencils.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="277" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGA5O-tbdOGK1-bfBBb8WbKGVOMu0Myh0M_it_QBmyNveZwCxVzjP3anqY_BGxJQWUd1C5ThYImwKA0ei8ggGcbaYUFnbGFI5pUQgm-anSKL8h1RY6KF_YgNFmlJT8jTQHLdZnEPFXrmA/s320/500_me_pencils.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Me giving away free pencils to the kids at the Hop Festival info booth. We sold t-shirts, tea towels, canvas bags and teddy bears to promote the Festival. <br />
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In all it was loads of fun. If you are ever in southeastern England the first of September, be sure to come to Faversham. You'll have a blast. <br />
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Cheers!<br />
xDeborah Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05167064581130917341noreply@blogger.com8England, United Kingdom52.0190289 -0.770427446.9945164 -10.877849399999999 57.0435414 9.3369946tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7515699897542502298.post-55043381447521340452011-07-25T17:17:00.031+01:002011-09-12T22:29:34.216+01:00Bee swarm in the bedroom.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinXWfe6oCOgLeK8RBIKFV3kTsNiyGvUvaSp4QxxzLj_9N696QuhcwoxD81g-FBPDzF8O30_AM3bQMcqHN02eYUvM_vR9CMeTX20dQqgdO6epMGbAxSOOM9VS30FI5fyNyyqctvS2BwnsM/s1600/Bee-swarm_LW.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinXWfe6oCOgLeK8RBIKFV3kTsNiyGvUvaSp4QxxzLj_9N696QuhcwoxD81g-FBPDzF8O30_AM3bQMcqHN02eYUvM_vR9CMeTX20dQqgdO6epMGbAxSOOM9VS30FI5fyNyyqctvS2BwnsM/s320/Bee-swarm_LW.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Last Wednesday I woke up to the buzz of a honeybee. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was obviously agitated. I understood; I was agitated, too. I'm highly allergic to the fuzzy little things, and not happy to have it in bed with me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My first instinct, which I followed, was to run screaming from the bedroom. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Standing on the other side of the slammed door, I realized Lawrence wouldn't be home from work for hours. I needed to deal with this myself.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, I gathered up my courage (which I'd thrown willy-nilly in my mad dash from the bedroom), slowly opened the door and snuck* back in. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The bee buzzed against the window glass. It terrified me, but I was determined to let it live. After all, bees are not wasps or hornets. They serve a purpose, are on the decline, and sole makers of wonderful sweet gooey goodness. So, I bravely reached past it, opened the window, and coaxed it out. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Man did I feel good about myself. I'd saved the life of a cute little brown bee. I'd conquered my fear. Go me! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In spite of my joy, I closed the window again, just in case it decided to return.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Adrenaline still tickling my heart, I went into the office to call my husband. He was proud of me. I rocked. <beam>I no sooner hung up—when I heard a sound I didn't like. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Buzzzz. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Another bee in the house. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now I freaked. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">All the windows in the house were closed. One stray bee I could understand, but two? That couldn't be good. I tore downstairs, tossed stuff out from under the sink, and scrounged for wasp spray. Yes, I know bees are good, but if I get stung I have to go to the hospital. My sympathy meter had dropped from happy, ecologically-friendly green to Danger-Danger-Will-Robinson orange. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I took the spray into the office, pointed at the bee, told it I was sorry, and sprayed. It fell, made a few small sounds, and then went silent. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I felt bad.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Until I heard the buzzzzzzzz.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I followed the sound to the bedroom. Ack!! There were two more bees flying around. But, all the windows were CLOSED. Where were they coming from??</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I panicked. I sprayed. I felt bad.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Some little voice inside of me said: <em>If there are more bees, and you get stung and have to call the paramedics, you better be dressed.</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Right. I should take a shower, get dressed . . . and probably walk around the outside of the house to make sure there weren't any swarms nearby. Apparently bees swarm in the early summer, and we'd had some "strange weather" lately. ("Strange weather," according to the locals, is the cause of many weird and wonderful events.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I got in the shower, turned on the water then thought: What if bees come in through the exhaust fan and drop on my head? I got out of the shower, turned on the fan to blow them away, got back in the shower and scrubbed as fast as I could. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Minutes later, I rushed back into the bedroom to get dressed-–and stopped dead in my tracks. There were LOTS of bees: flying around the window, crawling on my pillow, crawling on the dresser, walking all over each other on the carpet. I screamed, slammed the door and stood there in my towel, dripping wet. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Panic: pure, no-freaking-idea-what-to-do panic. My sympathy meter was now flaming, blinking, OMG, neon red. I grabbed the bug spray, opened the door, sprayed blindly into the room, and slammed the door again.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My clothes and handbag (complete with keys) were in the bedroom--with the bees, and enough bug spray to kill an elephant. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The buzzing grew louder. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I dialed 999. (The equivalent of 911 in the USA.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The nice police lady told me there was nothing they could do. She suggested I go to the neighbors and call an exterminator.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I felt bad for calling.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I hung up. Still dripping. Wondering if Dave and Sue next door would mind me dripping on their carpet while I searched the Yellow Pages for an exterminator?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Underwear. At least put on some underwear. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I grabbed my underwear, doused them with hot water and shampoo in the bathroom sink, and squeezed them out in a towel. There, clean underwear. Except they smelled like sweet tangerine. Would that attract a honeybee? Would I smell like a fruit blossom dinner? Would they cover me like the "bee guy" at the circus?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Common sense knocked inside my skull:<em> Hello? Yesterday's clothes are in the hamper. Why don't you get dressed in something dry? The scent of yesterday's sweat should be a deterrent to any hungry bees.</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Right. I dug yesterday's clothes from the laundry hamper, got dressed, and put on some sturdy shoes. A sigh of relief. Now, who to call?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I tip-toed into the office and Googled: <em>bees Faversham swarm help.</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Wow. Apparently pests are big business. I had my choice. I called the first one with pictures of bees on their website. (Lots of them had pictures of rats and cockroaches--gross.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I talked to a guy who said he was too busy to come over, but I could call the local Faversham beekeeper. He gave me Bill's mobile (cell) number. I called. Bill said sit tight, he'd be there in 30 minutes.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Right. 30 minutes. 30 minutes to walk around the house and listen for bees. I carried my trusty spray can everywhere as I looked for bees on walls, on the floor, behind doors. I unplugged everything so I could hear better. (Did you know the hum of the toothbrush charger sounds like a bee?)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Bill finally came. He had equipment. Professional beekeeping equipment. Cool. First thing, he went into the bedroom. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Lots of dead bees.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I felt bad.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He picked some up, looked at them with his beekeeper eye. Said: "Yes, worker honeybees. There should be a queen somewhere."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He poked around the room. Checked the window—it was still closed. (The bees hadn't managed to get it open.) Then he looked in the loft (attic) with his special bee light. Then he looked outside with his super-duper bee-spotter binoculars. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">No bees anywhere. No swarm. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Hmm.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He came back to the bedroom. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">MORE LIVE BEES buzzing around the room, darting frantically over the dead bees. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Where were the flippin' things coming from???</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Bill saw me freaking. He killed the bees.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I blinked. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Aren't bees endangered or something?" I asked, nonchalantly hiding the bug spray behind my back. "I thought it was bad to kill them." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"You said you were allergic. Be sensible. Sometimes you have to kill a couple when they swarm. You don't want to end up in hospital."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I felt better. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Bill went to his truck and brought back a fancy little camera on the end of a long nozzle thingy with a tiny light on it. High tech. I was impressed. He pushed it up through the ceiling of the bedroom where the heating pipes come down to the radiator. He watched for a while. No bees.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Hmm.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He went back outside, watched through his binoculars some more. Came back to the bedroom--found </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">another live bee buzzing around. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He killed it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Hmm.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Bill put his camera away. Took his binoculars back to the truck. He shrugged his shoulders. "Strange isn't it?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At this point it looked like he was getting ready to leave. Leave me alone with a bedroom full of dead bees and no promise there wouldn't be more the next time I opened the door.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Did you have the window open during the night?" he asked.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"No. We closed all the windows when it started to rain yesterday."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Hmm.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Well, it's cold now, and the clouds are making it dark. It'll probably rain for the rest of the day. You can't track bees when it's like this. I'll come back tomorrow if it warms up and the sun is out."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Tomorrow???</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I started to cry.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Bill felt bad.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"I'll check one more time." Bill went into the bedroom. All the bees were dead, and for the first time that day, there were no new ones. "Strange, isn't it?" he said again.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I followed him to the front door.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"I'll be back tomorrow."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"What do I do in the meantime?" I was trying not to cry again, but I still sounded pretty pathetic.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Have your husband tape around those pipes in the ceiling. Don't sleep in the bedroom tonight. I'll be back tomorrow."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"But you said there weren't any bees in the attic or coming through the space around the pipes."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Strange, isn't it?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Bill left.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I cried.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When Lawrence came home I made him go into the bedroom. He cleaned up all the dead bees and filled in the spaces around the pipes with expanding foam, then left the room and shut the door.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He was not a happy bunny. I couldn't blame him. It was his birthday. We'd planned a special dinner with cake, and then a trip to see Harry Potter: Deathly Hallows Pt2. Needless to say, no dinner, no cake, and I was in no mood to go to the movies. We ordered pizza, filled up the air mattress and camped out in the living room.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I dreamt about bees.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In my dream they followed me around like pets. They even flew in this really cool formation. In my dream I wasn't afraid of them. Weird.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Bill came the next morning and we cracked open the bedroom door, to find a peaceful, albeit pesticide-smelling room. No bees anywhere.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Hmm.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Strange, isn't it?" Bill asked for the tenth time since I'd met him.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Where did they come from?" I was mad now. (Irrational, yes, but I'd left rational on my pillow yesterday morning when I woke with a bee in my bed.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Bill stepped outside and he pointed to a place on the roof. He'd seen a stray bee repeatedly land in the same spot, take off, then come back again. (Probably the original bee I'd saved and shooed out of the house.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"I think what happened," Bill said, "is this: A swarm flew by. The queen and her followers stopped on the roof--right there where the bees still smell her pheromone. Your window was open. A group of them flew in scouting for a place to live. It started raining; they huddled in the nice warm bedroom. You came in and shut the window. The queen and the swarm moved on. Next morning, the sun shines, it's warm, and the scouts wake up."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"So, you think we had a whole bunch of them, snuggled behind the dresser--all night long??? While we were sleeping??? Sleeping in a room full of bees????"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Strange, isn't it?"</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We spent three days doing laundry: All the pesticide covered bedding and some clothes on top of the dresser that got blitzed with the bug spray. We camped out in the living room until it was all scrubbed down. Seriously, there was pesticide residue everywhere. (I kinda went nutso with the bug spray that second time.) (Oh, and we need to wash the curtains, too. The first bee did a little dance before I let it outside. Apparently he left a message for any other roaming bees: <i>Great place to stop for the night.</i> So, if we want to keep new bees out, we need to obliterate the blinking arrows pointing to our window.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Bytheway, we did finally get to see Harry Potter . . . and have cake! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Cheers!</span><br />
x
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">* Snuck is my Americanism showing through. Hubby says it should be sneaked–his British stuffedshirtism. OMG did I just use a footnote? Robin** you bad girl—get out of my head. LOL!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">**Robin McKinley: the queen of out-of-control footnotes. Oh, and speaking of weird infestations due to British weather, check out Robin's blog for her experience with bats! <shudder><a href="http://robinmckinleysblog.com/2011/05/20/yet-more-about-bats/">http://robinmckinleysblog.com/2011/05/20/yet-more-about-bats/</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Bee picture is from the Royal Horticultural Society. See their article on Swarming bees in the UK. <a href="http://www.rhs.org.uk/Gardens/News/Bee-swarm-advice-from-British-Beekeepers-Associati/">http://www.rhs.org.uk/Gardens/News/Bee-swarm-advice-from-British-Beekeepers-Associati/</a></span><br />
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</span>Deborah Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05167064581130917341noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7515699897542502298.post-1168186493790468942011-06-21T13:38:00.002+01:002011-09-12T22:45:34.725+01:00Stonehenge and Summer Solstice<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLAJhh0Q1Ugslmi1_T5uUE1Fvq5lLjdlJSDSqqRKs9td_auQc_jnyiw9O3cdDH0daTfEuxqT2urX4u3PHQG434XzLo3UHpQH4rjHaj2wFOrqHEmGeA3sFtTWPF4736wGp5QzwSQdKk_KA/s1600/252586_10150215246930748_173240995747_7318133_939907_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="268" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLAJhh0Q1Ugslmi1_T5uUE1Fvq5lLjdlJSDSqqRKs9td_auQc_jnyiw9O3cdDH0daTfEuxqT2urX4u3PHQG434XzLo3UHpQH4rjHaj2wFOrqHEmGeA3sFtTWPF4736wGp5QzwSQdKk_KA/s400/252586_10150215246930748_173240995747_7318133_939907_n.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<b>Summer Solstice</b><br />
Summer Solstice (June in the Northern Hemisphere – occurs in December in the Southern Hemisphere) is traditionally, the longest day of the year – or the day with the longest period of daylight, since technically it still has the same amount of hours and minutes and isn't really any longer than any other day. (FYI: Solstice is a Latin word meaning the "sun stands still.")<br />
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<b>Southern England</b><br />
For us here in Southern England, it also means the time when the pagans and druids come en masse to watch the sunrise at Stonehenge. So many people attend that English Heritage, the organization that watches over and maintains Stonehenge, has to close normal tourist admission to the site. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPiNFhjBK_1OaVnKI_D9l_ZmZjqxH9_RfcwC-fHYYfcAOV6y-svBOYKGxAJBc_pOJ8A-iPPw1eq1xD19CDAJdbBMrzILE9FwZGKS20QBAsaIJ93vrBG8hzBg3siPL0SyV6oOWRu8pd29I/s1600/stonehenge_EHnotice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="68" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPiNFhjBK_1OaVnKI_D9l_ZmZjqxH9_RfcwC-fHYYfcAOV6y-svBOYKGxAJBc_pOJ8A-iPPw1eq1xD19CDAJdbBMrzILE9FwZGKS20QBAsaIJ93vrBG8hzBg3siPL0SyV6oOWRu8pd29I/s400/stonehenge_EHnotice.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<b>This Morning</b><br />
This morning, June 21, 2011 there were 18,000 people attending. Here are some links to the Facebook page of English Heritage with a picture of this morning's ritual:<br />
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<a href="http://on.fb.me/jv7h6C">Crowds at Stonehenge</a><br />
<a href="http://on.fb.me/jpbStj">Druids at Sunrise Ceremony</a><br />
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<b>History of Stonehenge</b><br />
Stonehenge, originally built around 3,000 BC, was first a circular ditch and bank with probably a ring of 56 wooden posts. About 500 years later, bluestones, brought from Wales (150 miles away), were set up in an arc on the banks <br />
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Not long after that, the bluestones were taken down and replaced by the sarsen, or sandstone, blocks seen today. (As a side note: Sarsen stones were found to be terrible for building houses as they draw damp in the winter and rot everything inside. They last forever though and are great for sidewalks and fences.) <br />
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The bluestones were later re-erected between the main outer ring and the inner ring. The inner ring is made up of five sets of stones (each set shaped like the symbol for pi) forming a horseshoe, with the open end looking towards the midsummer sunrise.<br />
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<b>Map</b><br />
Stonehenge isn't an isolated Neolithic monument. There are tons (literally) of barrows, burial mounds, tombs, monuments in the area. <a href="http://bit.ly/lHSyzU">CLICK HERE for an interactive map.</a> <br />
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<b>Learn More</b><br />
The pictures used in this blog entry are from English Heritage. If you want to learn more, check out the English Heritage page here: <a href="http://www.english-heritage.org.uk/daysout/properties/stonehenge/">http://www.english-heritage.org.uk/daysout/properties/stonehenge/</a><br />
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We are members of English Heritage and totally support the work they do to maintain and champion the historic places here in the UK.<br />
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Cheers!<br />
x<br /><br />Deborah Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05167064581130917341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7515699897542502298.post-63047021446995744762011-06-13T13:49:00.004+01:002011-09-12T22:45:14.007+01:00Why the British L.O.V.E. their kettles.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhuzUequh17xdbJepZAzd7krRVKZmgmYjCBIyskxNxaSTKxBUUnAIUHooMWGvwRjWgisp3u6RZyVKAQXidoZqn7fWYpzp3rL1YDodbmam4dGRzwJ6vWNA2aCE9TBdf1jI9WcYZ3E6UxcY/s1600/marykbaird_kettle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhuzUequh17xdbJepZAzd7krRVKZmgmYjCBIyskxNxaSTKxBUUnAIUHooMWGvwRjWgisp3u6RZyVKAQXidoZqn7fWYpzp3rL1YDodbmam4dGRzwJ6vWNA2aCE9TBdf1jI9WcYZ3E6UxcY/s320/marykbaird_kettle.jpg" /></a></div>Even though we don't drink coffee or tea, we still own a kettle. <br />
<br />
When I first moved to England, I didn't understand this philosophy. Why would we need a kettle? The most we do is make cup-a-soup. In America, if I wanted hot soup I would put water and soup mix in a big mug, and put it in the microwave. Job done. <br />
<br />
<br />
But my husband insisted we would need a good quality kettle.<br />
<br />
So, we got a kettle, an electric one. We use it for making soup. I even started boiling the water for pasta before putting it in the pot on the stove to hurry up the cooking time. <br />
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It wasn't until this week, though, that I finally understood the true importance of owning a kettle.<br />
<br />
We had some builders in to add two new radiators to our heating system. Many people in England have a boiler for heat. The hot water circulates throughout the house in copper pipes into radiators. In our house, it is a noisy system, but it warms the place on a cold day.<br />
<br />
The boiler also heats the water for the shower, and kitchen and bathroom sinks. So if you have a problem with your boiler, life can become . . . difficult.<br />
<br />
Our troubles began when the TIMER stopped working on the boiler. <br />
<br />
Day 1: <br />
<blockquote>Builder (A) tries to replace TIMER on boiler. Wire (a) is cut. Circuit board (a) is fried. No hot water.</blockquote>Day 2:<br />
<blockquote>Builder (B) replaces circuit board (a). Replaces TIMER. Cuts wire (b). Doesn't have the right part to replace wire (a). No hot water.</blockquote>Day 3:<br />
<blockquote>Builder (A) replaces wire (b). Still no wire (a). No hot water.</blockquote>Day: 4:<br />
<blockquote>Builder (C) replaces wire (a). Cuts wire (c) Circuit board (b) is fried. Replaces circuit board (b). Replaces wire (c). Hot water restored! <br />
<br />
TIMER stops working.</blockquote><br />
No joke. After four days of heating water for the bath and dishes IN A KETTLE, the TIMER is still not working. I'm afraid to call them back!! <br />
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The moral to the story: <i>If you own a boiler, you'll need a kettle.<br />
</i>
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Cheers!<br />
x<br /><br />Deborah Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05167064581130917341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7515699897542502298.post-59862776200903553052011-05-19T15:17:00.005+01:002011-09-12T22:44:46.066+01:00Humped Zebras and other Fowl British ideasOkay, first an apology for the terrible pun. It seems to rub off on you after you've been here a while. Pun-making is a national pastime, and seriously, Newscasters are the worst. You can't get through an edition of the nightly news without some kind of groaner. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ROU-7luM-31rYYKuDAGkZZsKS9_8cRUQY2IMxhi4ysx2Hfnrbgj0Ss6a6xvDnLOWn4fK2pCqlCewjTxeQYKqLJoPFAyW8u1rtgOYqWkDyt9h2ZM1UuUyZ6dhRKshfKWx2u3hlQE9_0o/s1600/FavershamHumpedZebra.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ROU-7luM-31rYYKuDAGkZZsKS9_8cRUQY2IMxhi4ysx2Hfnrbgj0Ss6a6xvDnLOWn4fK2pCqlCewjTxeQYKqLJoPFAyW8u1rtgOYqWkDyt9h2ZM1UuUyZ6dhRKshfKWx2u3hlQE9_0o/s320/FavershamHumpedZebra.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<b>Humped Zebra Crossing.<br />
</b><br />
I took this picture while waiting at the bus stop outside of Tesco (major grocery store chain) in Faversham. The first time I saw it I gasped. It just seemed so… wrong. Then I giggled, because, well, because it was there, in big letters, permanent, and nobody seemed to mind.<br />
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Kind of like the first time I asked for a restroom in a fancy department store and the clerk pointed to the HUGE sign overhead: "TOILET." Effective, but crude.<br />
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So what is a Humped Zebra Crossing? It is a pedestrian crossing with a traffic-calming hump/bump/elevation.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCH8xSLA-8Gg-q4AdSdkTonqOmGQylr6sEcYXSLdEp2Maw-XX5TEFgMCRfv823fRbcCAdkyuHkjQ6JOAVGZ8uisQJ12LeExmUWTM693vy860n8FEawRWgNsdWtsakYj8E5IImLaM3aw4A/s1600/ZEBRA.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCH8xSLA-8Gg-q4AdSdkTonqOmGQylr6sEcYXSLdEp2Maw-XX5TEFgMCRfv823fRbcCAdkyuHkjQ6JOAVGZ8uisQJ12LeExmUWTM693vy860n8FEawRWgNsdWtsakYj8E5IImLaM3aw4A/s320/ZEBRA.jpg" /></a></div><b>Zebra Crossings </b>have flashing beacons (yellow blinking balls) on the top of black and white striped poles on either side of the road. Cars must stop if there are any pedestrians near a zebra crossing. (Motorists don’t always do this, especially foreigners.) <br />
<i>Photo: Benjamin D. Esham / Wikimedia Commons<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDIYk_ca2wRm4ruTPTvoobWgl89KlbGGfct11zCKj7bXpNAEINvql3qORfbsFm8CQ3tv2zpcSc9RldtYV8lWUkQjtAB_8vd8U2kAlxtX1fD6D_ZuPPAP3iYxNw26LxMojFGxwas67UuEI/s1600/TOUCAN.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDIYk_ca2wRm4ruTPTvoobWgl89KlbGGfct11zCKj7bXpNAEINvql3qORfbsFm8CQ3tv2zpcSc9RldtYV8lWUkQjtAB_8vd8U2kAlxtX1fD6D_ZuPPAP3iYxNw26LxMojFGxwas67UuEI/s320/TOUCAN.jpg" /></a></div><b>Toucan Crossings </b>have a traffic light, which tells you when to cross, and when traffic has to stop. Toucan crossings are for both pedestrians and bicycles.<br />
<i>Photo: secretlondon / Wikimedia Commons<br />
</i><br />
<b>Pelican Crossings </b>are signal-controlled crossings operated by the pedestrian. You press the button and in a short period of time the traffic light turns red and traffic stops, the green walking man lights up and you can cross. (We have these in America, without the bird reference.) <i>Photo: Patrick Neylan / Wikimedia Commons<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmpCiOQ5a2nPUhgRMOFWs-AKyt63MMghDbhLG1lUoPk27EsSEMgMNW0LAFtoT5cAXNP2FI8fgkgHMNNfatrN8jaae7MAwpzexuWT1o4104Gfvsj7ffw0w3D823iGqJBLsI8G5NeVMQGRo/s1600/PELICAN.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="223" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmpCiOQ5a2nPUhgRMOFWs-AKyt63MMghDbhLG1lUoPk27EsSEMgMNW0LAFtoT5cAXNP2FI8fgkgHMNNfatrN8jaae7MAwpzexuWT1o4104Gfvsj7ffw0w3D823iGqJBLsI8G5NeVMQGRo/s320/PELICAN.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<i>"The name derives from a cute pseudo-acronym for '<b>Pe</b>destrian <b>Li</b>ght <b>Con</b>trolled', with the 'o' changed to an 'a' in deference to the bird. The use of improbable animal symbols began in 1951 with the introduction of 'zebra' crossings, which were made internationally famous by the Beatles and their Abbey Road album." </i>(BBC)<br />
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<b>Puffin Crossings </b>are similar to Pelican crossings, however, there is no flashing green man to tell you to hurry up, as the sensors tell the lights that you are still walking across, so they don't change. (Iffy to me, because if it's broken you become bug splat!) The sensors are car friendly, because if you press the button, and then decide not to cross and walk away, or you jaywalk before the lights change, then the sensors cancel the crossing so traffic is not halted unnecessarily.<br />
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<i>"'Puffin' stands for '<b>P</b>edestrian <b>U</b>ser-<b>F</b>riendly <b>In</b>terface'. It is so named because of the microwave detector which alters the 'green man' period in accordance with the pedestrian crossing speed... This is considered to be a much better idea than separate Tortoise and Hare crossings."</i> You can read the full <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/A568587">BBC article HERE<br />
</a><br />
And, YES, this is all on the Driver's Test. You have to keep your birds straight to pass the test.<br />
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Cheers!<br />
x<br /><br />Deborah Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05167064581130917341noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7515699897542502298.post-3717412231657631042011-04-28T10:22:00.001+01:002011-09-12T22:51:26.407+01:00Royal Wedding<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9O5l6H7z2IRnPrgkM3mwkxhyphenhyphen9R20057hHr9pYsWWoMgIYM4k_iro9YUSJarw9fHAJ7Wot4F93kAv2TZY-AhP75JMCeh2E3Yk5vzChyphenhyphenaFDXF53awlAIWKOM7oHWcrwUONljKhln-3_r_0/s1600/1blueyellowlady-graphicsfairy005e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9O5l6H7z2IRnPrgkM3mwkxhyphenhyphen9R20057hHr9pYsWWoMgIYM4k_iro9YUSJarw9fHAJ7Wot4F93kAv2TZY-AhP75JMCeh2E3Yk5vzChyphenhyphenaFDXF53awlAIWKOM7oHWcrwUONljKhln-3_r_0/s320/1blueyellowlady-graphicsfairy005e.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Everyone is talking about the Royal Wedding tomorrow, when a "commoner" will become royal, as Prince William of Wales marries his longtime girlfriend Catherine "Kate" Elizabeth Middleton. <br />
<div> </div>For anyone who hasn't been reading the papers, Friday April 29th is a <b>bank holiday</b> here in the UK in honor of the royal marriage. Which means: the second four-day weekend in two weeks. Woot! Woot! (Gotta love a country that gives you 11 days off for 3 days vacation leave.) <br />
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<b>Cool Facts for us normal folk:</b> <br />
<ul><li>Among the guests will be shopkeepers from Kate's home village of Bucklebury</li>
<li>The happy couple will live in a remote farmhouse in Anglesey, North Wales for the first couple of years</li>
</ul><div> </div><b>What does it mean to be a commoner?</b> Well, you and I know, don't we? But for formality here is the definition: <em>A commoner is someone who does not come from an aristocratic background; someone without a proper title. </em><br />
<div> </div>When Kate marries William, <b>she will get a title</b>. Which one? Who knows, since apparently it depends on whatever new title William gets when he marries. At the very least she will be "<i>Her Royal Highness, Princess William of Wales</i>." If the queen decides, she could give Kate the title "Her Royal Highness Princess Catherine." However, Kate will probably become "Her Royal Highness, Duchess of [whatever new title William gets]." <br />
<div> </div>None of that really matters, does it? In the long run, she will be <b>Queen</b> Catherine.<br />
<div> </div><b>If you want to watch</b> the procession, the BBC will be covering all the details starting at 8 AM Greenwich Mean Time (GMT). If you just want to watch the arrival of the royals – check in at 11 AM (GMT). Of course, there are supposed to be over 8,000 journalists there, so if you do not live in the UK, your local television station will probably be showing it, too. There will even be one lone reporter inside Westminster Abbey – his commentary will broadcast on BBC Radio.<br />
<div> </div><div> </div>
Cheers!<br />
x<br /><br />Deborah Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05167064581130917341noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7515699897542502298.post-37186817197238071842011-04-14T14:01:00.007+01:002011-09-12T22:43:14.605+01:00High Street Pt.2 – How many streets in a "High Street"?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCIui6M5ae1Sx9jdR4W4SoS9DjTS6DUTmlq5UmvLO44V3QP-h1aPJOYlr91arm71kP7tdLaNbbtFh6fXYEn7FeIl5PaZUJLU45Nw2wSU38ObiqA3-yz11hpdwZ9AmNp3CzjV0TGCcBq5s/s1600/faversham_street.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCIui6M5ae1Sx9jdR4W4SoS9DjTS6DUTmlq5UmvLO44V3QP-h1aPJOYlr91arm71kP7tdLaNbbtFh6fXYEn7FeIl5PaZUJLU45Nw2wSU38ObiqA3-yz11hpdwZ9AmNp3CzjV0TGCcBq5s/s320/faversham_street.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Ready for more High Street talk? I love the High Street. It is my favorite place to shop, socialize and take a nice leisurely stroll about town.<br />
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Did you know that even though the area is called the High Street (singular), it can in fact contain several streets (plural)? <br />
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Faversham, for example, has five streets that constitute the High Street:<br />
Market Square (the central area), Court, West, East, and Preston. <u><b> <a href="http://lifeinfaversham.blogspot.com/2011/04/british-high-street.html">(And not one of them called "High"!)</a></b></u><br />
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Today we'll take a look at Preston Street.<br />
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Preston Street is probably the longest of Faversham's High Streets. It has lots of shops and businesses. Some of them include:<br />
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The Chimney Boy: a pub where the Faversham Folk Club meets on Wednesday nights. (You can find my husband there singing!)<br />
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10-11 Preston Street is the <u><b><a href="http://lifeinfaversham.blogspot.com/2011/04/nina-bell-fleur-de-lis-heritage-centre.html">Fleur de Lis Heritage Centre and Museum</a></b></u>, which was built during the reign of Queen Elizabeth I, in about 1600. (America was known as the "new world" back then.) <br />
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Ossie's Fish Bar is hands-down the best chippy in Kent. There is an old fashioned candy shop called The Sweet Scene. And a nice restaurant with an outdoor eating area in the back called Moonlight Café. They serve a great English breakfast any time of day.<br />
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There are lots of artsy shops in Faversham, including Birds Birds Birds on upper Preston Street. With my first paycheque (paycheck) working in the UK, I celebrated by buying a small figurine in this shop. It is adorable, I call it my "Cheeky Bird" because the tiny bird is hanging upside down and showing you its butt! LOL! They also sell chunks of creamy fudge in the shop. <br />
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Here is a link to a panorama filmed by the BBC, which shows the front of the Alexander Centre: <b><u><a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/kent/content/panoramas/faversham_preston_steet_360.shtml" target="_blank">BBC Faversham Panorama - Preston Street</a></u></b><br />
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At the end of Preston Street is the Rail Station. If you are in London, it is an hour and 20 minutes down the rail line to Faversham. Along the way, you will see lots of gorgeous British countryside, and even Rochester Castle. <br />
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So, what are you waiting for? :D<br />
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Cheers!<br />
x<br /><br />Deborah Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05167064581130917341noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7515699897542502298.post-27007062903196659292011-04-10T16:34:00.000+01:002011-09-12T22:42:49.764+01:00A British High StreetMany adverts (commercials) in the UK talk about the "High Street". An advertisement might say something like: "Cheaper than those you will find on the High Street" or "As good as the High Street." <br />
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So, what is the High Street?<br />
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First off, High Street doesn't mean the name of the street is "High" (although some towns do have a High Street called "High" Street). <br />
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When I asked my husband for a definition, he said: <i>"Somewhere in the town center where most of the main shopping is done."</i> Then to make sure I had exactly what I needed he pulled out his trusty Oxford Concise English Dictionary and gave me the "official" word: <br />
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<b>Oxford English Dictionary:</b> <i>noun.</i> Main road, especially principal street of town with shops. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzADmfUtdZ5_FJ-dsdixrW1e848xCabxyUGFURh34DnI5K4piCGBMXa40I0w2un9lMCzunwpb3d6F5nhC0xpz0woYhUTOHTJ-LV_oQ7TiBN8r5bpn9kw1ehkvmqiAG8VV-wLdeCGROKtM/s1600/obidosh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzADmfUtdZ5_FJ-dsdixrW1e848xCabxyUGFURh34DnI5K4piCGBMXa40I0w2un9lMCzunwpb3d6F5nhC0xpz0woYhUTOHTJ-LV_oQ7TiBN8r5bpn9kw1ehkvmqiAG8VV-wLdeCGROKtM/s320/obidosh.jpg" /></a></div><br />
One of my favorite High Street stores: Obidosh! They sell adorable decorating goodies to clutter your home. Heh. I know this from personal experience! :D I'm a cupcake lover, and they always have cute cupcake stuff. <br />
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(BTW: The yellow lettering reflected on the windows comes from the bookmaker (aka turf accountant), across the street. Not to be confused with anyone who actually makes books. Betting is legal in England so there are lots of betting shops. Never been in one, so I couldn't tell you any more about them.)<br />
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Many High Streets have no traffic access. Which means you can walk down the middle of the street and not get run over, at least not by a car—there are some cycling nutters who are dangerous anywhere! <br />
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Some High Streets have special hours when traffic is not allowed. For example, during business hours or when there is an outdoor market 2-3 times a week. Those streets become normal streets after 5PM or on non-market days, so, don't get too lax. <br />
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Some of the streets aren't really big enough for a car to fit through, although that doesn't always stop British lorry (truck) drivers from trying. <br />
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Later in the week I'll talk more about Faversham's High Street. <br />
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Cheers!<br />
x<br /><br />Deborah Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05167064581130917341noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7515699897542502298.post-33851286633455409112011-04-02T02:55:00.002+01:002011-09-12T22:40:59.403+01:00Nina Bell & The Fleur de Lis Heritage CentreThursday I had the privilege of meeting author Alexandra Iron, aka Nina Bell. Alexandra writes big family dramas including <i>The Inheritance</i> and <i>Sisters in Law</i>. <br />
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We both belong to the Faversham Society, a local organization dedicated to the preservation of English history. The Society runs a Museum and Gallery in the town center. They help with family history research, and have frequent educational evenings spotlighting local buildings, nature walks and archaeology. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyY05CQLcg9oO2xP5K4S2BNENHM-fYJoBk3HNgwgiYd5Bs2G-8Vg_oFPrNHpcpCSLUlpK4gAIuQwr0ZvSvxATHf4rIOpT0tE6dIr5VZnWuSnyA7BQaX6Xlhdmth_Ew8Ji9O76wZmKKs6Q/s1600/HeritageCenter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyY05CQLcg9oO2xP5K4S2BNENHM-fYJoBk3HNgwgiYd5Bs2G-8Vg_oFPrNHpcpCSLUlpK4gAIuQwr0ZvSvxATHf4rIOpT0tE6dIr5VZnWuSnyA7BQaX6Xlhdmth_Ew8Ji9O76wZmKKs6Q/s320/HeritageCenter.jpg" /></a></div>Last month the Society held a silent auction to raise money for new activities. Alexandra donated a crash course in UK publishing. Since I'm a shameless wannabe novelist (an evolutionary step up from freelance), and an avid supporter of the Faversham Society, I decided to put in a bid. I didn't win, however, Alexandra was kind enough to offer a second block of time, so I got my chance.<br />
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It was lovely. Alexandra is sweet and knowledgeable. She'd prepared a worksheet full of things I need to know. Which was great, because I got to chatting and forgot to take notes. We discussed the differences between publishing in America and England. I was relieved to find out the process is similar on both sides of the Atlantic, although, Alexandra was quick to point out some British quirks.<br />
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We talked about writer's groups and writing classes, and some of the festivals available in England. (Note: In America we call them Writer's Conventions or Conferences – in the UK they call them Festivals.) The time flew, and I was surprised when I checked my watch to discover two hours had passed! <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCQb-xtB9acw_32aD6zo4Ad34MqTpUh1La6II3JbttlseQJ_ulF8YtCuH9zTSUvHYMo87v-xYngjK3vtUViju8FtCTvWDQi6zO_VEVXZD3wF3O1LLrgPN7Jzhb5vbLNwsKTucKezZcqB0/s1600/museumandgallery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCQb-xtB9acw_32aD6zo4Ad34MqTpUh1La6II3JbttlseQJ_ulF8YtCuH9zTSUvHYMo87v-xYngjK3vtUViju8FtCTvWDQi6zO_VEVXZD3wF3O1LLrgPN7Jzhb5vbLNwsKTucKezZcqB0/s320/museumandgallery.jpg" /></a></div><br />
If you want to know more about Alexandra and her books, you can visit her website at: <a href="http://www.ninabell.co.uk">http://www.ninabell.co.uk</a> or follow her on Twitter: @NinaBellBooks <br />
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I don't mean to sound like an advertisement, but she was that nice! <br />
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By the way, I'm a steward at the Museum and Gallery. So, if you are ever in Faversham, stop by the Fleur de Lis Heritage Centre and say 'hello!'<br />
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Cheers!<br />
x<br /><br />Deborah Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05167064581130917341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7515699897542502298.post-27959003684847245582011-03-28T11:29:00.000+01:002011-09-12T22:40:42.254+01:00Stained Glass and Grade1-Listed Dog House<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimz9XoJDRluZeiKjUEWAt61cWQSgGhyphenhyphenLg59VgHhcDqttnV5QyougHiSXO9qdTrx8Dm7VNN13fv-I1yb3zDSGcCKuDcAI06t-yUSxPtFEv-nZJQYyH1Xh1uHhAzyltmsiGtcTTRKxUN74o/s1600/600igtham-mote-010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimz9XoJDRluZeiKjUEWAt61cWQSgGhyphenhyphenLg59VgHhcDqttnV5QyougHiSXO9qdTrx8Dm7VNN13fv-I1yb3zDSGcCKuDcAI06t-yUSxPtFEv-nZJQYyH1Xh1uHhAzyltmsiGtcTTRKxUN74o/s320/600igtham-mote-010.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Ightham Mote is the most complete medieval manor house in England, and it at has the only Grade I Listed Dog house.<br /><br />As promised, here is the stained glass window.<br /></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguCNbGbpoFu2SfdLAn0bmH401tf0QUji2ylNkEamTsqf_EQbvbHVP9ukwmQUMkJ7ZPgFZ440symxc-C_ZhhBNqK_zgxnVNZwrjWoXaWfGbVZ27HKe4li4wxhyphenhyphenQQqvahgE17lP5uTlMMVk/s1600/600_doghouse_igtham-mote-02.jpg" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguCNbGbpoFu2SfdLAn0bmH401tf0QUji2ylNkEamTsqf_EQbvbHVP9ukwmQUMkJ7ZPgFZ440symxc-C_ZhhBNqK_zgxnVNZwrjWoXaWfGbVZ27HKe4li4wxhyphenhyphenQQqvahgE17lP5uTlMMVk/s320/600_doghouse_igtham-mote-02.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLH_OTMeyNVKyxTepGhEQjX5UKJlbvDfQwrhJKsXCOxNxkwdWSnRq5kY_1Lp9hH-YFo5gL-KsobCDvzbHRwq5pdivOWrsdq-w1YHtqmgv5bjljHzx8vCxP1TZwVvj29-s8aerlKPuYFLA/s1600/600stainedglass_igtham-mote.jpg"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLH_OTMeyNVKyxTepGhEQjX5UKJlbvDfQwrhJKsXCOxNxkwdWSnRq5kY_1Lp9hH-YFo5gL-KsobCDvzbHRwq5pdivOWrsdq-w1YHtqmgv5bjljHzx8vCxP1TZwVvj29-s8aerlKPuYFLA/s320/600stainedglass_igtham-mote.jpg" width="240" /></a><br /> <br /><br />
Because of the fragility and age of Ightham Mote, it is the biggest conservation project ever undertaken by The National Trust. Well worth the effort. If you ever get the chance to see it in person, you won't be disappointed. <br /><br />
Cheers!<br />
x<br /><br />Deborah Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05167064581130917341noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7515699897542502298.post-50507603366008498452011-03-21T15:23:00.001+00:002011-09-12T22:40:14.387+01:00Ightham Mote<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWUXsB4suU5vIOWYozo_m1p91bzGKqVEf_3vJ8XK7381zfYFpvR4oFQ1ML0tUgm1TgP0qo7YgM6_8Sq_zi2ci_V8LRx2ZWvDJenGnkAxIHdGApTjPEG_-jDWBDp6GOhkU2GPJVIVWJC8w/s1600/500igtham-mote-002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWUXsB4suU5vIOWYozo_m1p91bzGKqVEf_3vJ8XK7381zfYFpvR4oFQ1ML0tUgm1TgP0qo7YgM6_8Sq_zi2ci_V8LRx2ZWvDJenGnkAxIHdGApTjPEG_-jDWBDp6GOhkU2GPJVIVWJC8w/s320/500igtham-mote-002.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Ightham Mote (pronounced: "item moat"), is an original moated manor house, built sometime in the early 14th-century, making it almost 700 years old.<br />
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For family and friends in America: The house is 500 years older than our country. Boggles the mind, doesn't it?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6qpFky5ESzQrRNR6-AcBzaJrgz6HuLD-3RUQw_korVzEbZPNcwwKgfBs8E9JbWwoB-rw6qvcWokS8gSJlXhf6JOmZqAZk9J2bLSyAYtJuCKyculvXOVCC-N-XgbOzMB0Q6LR3VtrvuN8/s1600/500igtham-mote-007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6qpFky5ESzQrRNR6-AcBzaJrgz6HuLD-3RUQw_korVzEbZPNcwwKgfBs8E9JbWwoB-rw6qvcWokS8gSJlXhf6JOmZqAZk9J2bLSyAYtJuCKyculvXOVCC-N-XgbOzMB0Q6LR3VtrvuN8/s320/500igtham-mote-007.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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The builder of the house is unknown, but owner records are available from c1360 onwards. The house and gardens are located in Sevenoaks, Kent. <br />
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I'll upload a few more pictures later in the week, since it is an amazing building. And yes, there are stained glass windows, which I promise to post!<br />
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Cheers!<br />
x<br /><br />Deborah Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05167064581130917341noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7515699897542502298.post-70777542713990288242011-03-17T15:48:00.001+00:002011-09-12T22:39:23.841+01:00Gorgeous Gothic Doors<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrpFaaydpFXJ7WQ2A2oSgKo_dUyyRWQKgFxx1xjp73T5pUM1Kpls23tO-td7gGkG3JWmlo6kzHoicMONs1PziJqrrWLfka9RYqJ_umq19MHs-6Jwpz5sqH0lVPphGF0NDQ9Yf4oCV6GOA/s1600/blueboltondoor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrpFaaydpFXJ7WQ2A2oSgKo_dUyyRWQKgFxx1xjp73T5pUM1Kpls23tO-td7gGkG3JWmlo6kzHoicMONs1PziJqrrWLfka9RYqJ_umq19MHs-6Jwpz5sqH0lVPphGF0NDQ9Yf4oCV6GOA/s320/blueboltondoor.jpg" width="237" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I love doors, especially old, intricately carved, mysterious doors. Don't you just want to open them and see what magical world waits on the other side? </span></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This blue door is at the front entrance of St. Paul's Church in Astley Bridge, Bolton. It is a lovely Anglican church. I've actually been through this door. Inside it is one big room. Cold. Dark. Stone. <span lang="EN-US">Vaulted ceiling. Stained glass. </span>Beautiful.</span> <br />
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<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ2CK0qL39qAStu9obVbeSqYqoQTf8KHgUQ_7RXfVT_T-PcYGC9jiMJW7J57rsIUpxXoVoSLnYXy-8Y_-T22ZcnVbYllJIzXChB7r2yK4QiKVkcrhXBfOOhrDkOxB1b1CJy2XKtYqAei8/s1600/brownrochesterdoor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ2CK0qL39qAStu9obVbeSqYqoQTf8KHgUQ_7RXfVT_T-PcYGC9jiMJW7J57rsIUpxXoVoSLnYXy-8Y_-T22ZcnVbYllJIzXChB7r2yK4QiKVkcrhXBfOOhrDkOxB1b1CJy2XKtYqAei8/s320/brownrochesterdoor.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This door is in Rochester. We found it on our way from the castle to the High Street where we were going to meet some friends for lunch. No idea what is on the other side. Can't even tell you the name of the building. We were cutting through side streets and--there it was! Only had time to snap a photo and then be on our way.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What do you think? Do you like doors?</span>
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Cheers!<br />
x<br /><br />Deborah Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05167064581130917341noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7515699897542502298.post-75851647953352706112011-03-14T12:39:00.003+00:002011-09-12T22:37:47.759+01:00Toe dipping in the North Sea<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">Back in October, Naomi and I went to the beach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being an 'inland' type of person, I was surprised at just how far the tide retreats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We went because I had this crazy idea that I wanted to dip my toe into the North Sea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A romantic notion, I guess, since there was no common sense involved, i.e. it was October, overcast, cold and wiiiiiiindy. Brrrr...no wonder those invading Vikings were so cranky.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwNWCk6wbOL8VWxJzwP8cXaZC_YnXdet7cuO6Tqbb8zPCZ405pMmFjakBcVO3HjEIrKVATEPRWRWiW_TJlKXVeUXANuJEWPyxkVSSZLySwHlY4Dcg4ki_lMq7pQwkfBxmmb_oxIPiGijY/s1600/beach_toedip.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
<img border="0" height="240" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwNWCk6wbOL8VWxJzwP8cXaZC_YnXdet7cuO6Tqbb8zPCZ405pMmFjakBcVO3HjEIrKVATEPRWRWiW_TJlKXVeUXANuJEWPyxkVSSZLySwHlY4Dcg4ki_lMq7pQwkfBxmmb_oxIPiGijY/s320/beach_toedip.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><br />Look at all that mud... and those are clean, new, white-inside shoes... hmmm... you gotta know, this didn't end well. LOL!</span></span></span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US"><br />I'm generally afraid of natural water: ocean, lakes, big rivers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can't see the bottom. There are 'things' living under the surface. Oh, and you can't breathe under there either.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US"><br /><br />Luckily, toe dipping isn't scary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is going close enough to feel the water lapping, without the shiver of things swimming around your legs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXmn3pLLKcsy6o8lldspuPmg_Xb3wuGunH172yeDjKoGvaQFVoohLuDNg-YDYNnm_lcyqsyGet4t8a_1YlyVzdOym-15i8ucdPoT2bt-6myPglbj6MsvA_j0Ga4PrP6QZRgx0mI_Cquk8/s1600/beach_lookingback.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br />
<img border="0" height="240" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXmn3pLLKcsy6o8lldspuPmg_Xb3wuGunH172yeDjKoGvaQFVoohLuDNg-YDYNnm_lcyqsyGet4t8a_1YlyVzdOym-15i8ucdPoT2bt-6myPglbj6MsvA_j0Ga4PrP6QZRgx0mI_Cquk8/s320/beach_lookingback.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />When we got to the beach, the tide was out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This meant walking quite a ways to get to the edge of the water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As you can see, the sand closest to the pier is dry, followed by a rocky bed, and then wet, squishy, mud that never gets completely dry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span lang="EN-US">The watermark on the poles showed that we were walking in an area where the water is usually 15-20 feet above our heads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>*eeek*</span></span></span></span><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />In all, it was fun, and we found lots of seashells and scrambling crabs. </span></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I brought some of the more interesting shells home to paint. On the advice of a friend from Japan, they made great tea light holders for Christmas candles and presents. </span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: Verdana;"><br /><br />
Cheers!<br />
x<br /><br /></span></span></div>Deborah Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05167064581130917341noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7515699897542502298.post-78911809402180574782011-02-26T04:28:00.005+00:002011-09-12T22:33:05.087+01:00Twitter and Facebook and YouTube, Oh My!I've been busy exploring the wonders of Twitter, Facebook and YouTube the last two months. <br />
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It's been exciting. First, I connected with friends and family on Facebook. It's great to be able to exchange photos and bits of news with everyone back home.<br />
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Then I uploaded videos of my amazing husband, <strong>LAWRENCE DEAN</strong>, onto YouTube. Law is a singer/songwriter. The videos are from a filk concert at Confluence in Pittsburgh, Pa. Confluence is a Science Fiction / Fantasy Writers' Convention. It's also the venue where we originally met! Law sings regularly at the Faversham Folk Club, which meets weekly at the Chimney Boy pub. The songs from the concert are a mix of Filk, Folk, Country and Pop. <br />
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Having survived my foray into social media - - today I decided to tackle Twitter. Talk about a sensory overload! That is going to take some getting used to. But I'm determined to watch and learn.<br />
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If you want to follow me I'm <a href="http://twitter.com/#!/ideabasket">@ideabasket</a><br />
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Not that I'm saying all that much at the moment. But I'm sure to settle into the swing of things in my own sweet time.<br />
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Oh, and our Channel on YouTube is: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/MrLawDean">MrLawDean</a><br />
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HUGS!
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x<br /><br />Deborah Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05167064581130917341noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7515699897542502298.post-19947548790064826102010-11-01T09:30:00.004+00:002011-09-12T22:34:21.362+01:00The Florentine BoarFor the last three years, every time we went to Whitstable to visit the Potters, we went past The Boar out in front of Warehams antique store.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoUaD0ftbIXYmOjd0-mOYYWaX6UGst0JLzLHvGmeVs6UkhCVn99C_Nayk91pyeheRoouHSuwvb3QriUcYc2d8CqG9uI_3Nw5v6iIWQQ5ChDDXv-NlTD8clJq6j9ZyxhyphenhyphenFlj3QrzIuJhwA/s1600/P1000860.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="309" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoUaD0ftbIXYmOjd0-mOYYWaX6UGst0JLzLHvGmeVs6UkhCVn99C_Nayk91pyeheRoouHSuwvb3QriUcYc2d8CqG9uI_3Nw5v6iIWQQ5ChDDXv-NlTD8clJq6j9ZyxhyphenhyphenFlj3QrzIuJhwA/s320/P1000860.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Every time, I said: "I want to look into his eyes. I want to sit on his back and have my picture taken."<br />
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So, finally I get my big chance . . . only to find out they SOLD HIM!! He was gone!!!<br />
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Obviously, I was heartbroken. Luckily, Naomi had this picture she'd taken ages ago, so I can share him with you. <br />
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FYI: Apparently, there are similar boar statues to be found. Howard Castle has a Boar statue. A marble copy of the Florentine Boar is at the Louvre. The original was an ancient Greek marble statue, which was probably part of a larger group of statues creating a hunting scene. On doing a Google search, there are many of them around, most a bit different from the fellow at Warehams.
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Cheers!<br />
x<br /><br />Deborah Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05167064581130917341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7515699897542502298.post-45474195613901584672010-10-26T15:53:00.006+01:002011-09-12T22:34:09.153+01:00Royal Albert HallWednesday we went to the Royal Albert Hall in London for a science lecture (Stephen Hawking). The hall is amazing. We were lucky enough to get tickets in the Loggia (the fancy boxes on the first level).<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>To quote the official website: "The Royal Albert Hall was built to fulfil the vision of Prince Albert (Queen Victoria's consort) of a 'Central Hall' that would be used to promote understanding and appreciation of the Arts and Sciences...."<br />
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We were early and took a picture before the crowds came.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjjZIU9GBiD1YiEvC9-xlpEXG0hyHlZlsrQi9VMcybof-RccGSU8iaGs5Xo3IJvGIEElltAhQdYWpcdsHdTdBBuTxoNWHnJr7A_N7MrE3vyaQi0in6vlq-6xcL9s4HL1xG8swjUYlm5eI/s1600/emptyhallbeforethelecture.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjjZIU9GBiD1YiEvC9-xlpEXG0hyHlZlsrQi9VMcybof-RccGSU8iaGs5Xo3IJvGIEElltAhQdYWpcdsHdTdBBuTxoNWHnJr7A_N7MrE3vyaQi0in6vlq-6xcL9s4HL1xG8swjUYlm5eI/s320/emptyhallbeforethelecture.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
The Loggia boxes were originally sold on 999-year leases when the Royal Albert Hall opened in 1871, to help finance its construction costs. About 1,200 of the venue's 5,500 seats are owned privately. <br />
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The seats were perfect. I'd love to see a play or musical from that spot!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDcSgITWRdxrg-01WgmCmFeh7L5ip13C5ga6bXoazdb0wUL2-_MthEbh75hyphenhyphenbtlE5HT2kOo2ixUbZElbX3UDx9ubEOi7XOFVKBkc97banhQK4ZXL6JtKyrbJQpusPxeNeNtaNyZmoBb3k/s1600/RoyalAlbertHall_lookingboutfromourbox.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDcSgITWRdxrg-01WgmCmFeh7L5ip13C5ga6bXoazdb0wUL2-_MthEbh75hyphenhyphenbtlE5HT2kOo2ixUbZElbX3UDx9ubEOi7XOFVKBkc97banhQK4ZXL6JtKyrbJQpusPxeNeNtaNyZmoBb3k/s320/RoyalAlbertHall_lookingboutfromourbox.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">There are actually a couple Loggia and Grand Tier boxes for sale right now. It's mental that you can spend 1.2 million on an area big enough for 8 people and a bar, but no toilet. </div><br />
<strong>American Friends/Family:</strong> Toilet is the preferred word. Restroom/Bathroom is not used because you don't "rest" or take a bath in the toilet. So, I'm not being rude when I use the term "toilet." Well, not really, really rude. LOL!
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Cheers!<br />
x<br /><br />Deborah Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05167064581130917341noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7515699897542502298.post-30581227173505107892010-10-11T17:12:00.002+01:002011-09-12T22:33:56.637+01:00WhitstableToday Naomi and I went to Whitstable. Whitstable is a lovely little beach town, northeast of Faversham. <br />
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The sun was shining; the temperature was a perfect 68 degrees. Since it was a non-holiday Monday, the High Street had just the right amount of shoppers. It was brilliant!<br />
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We went into loads of shops. Whitstable has a lot of self-representing artists, so there are all these cute one-room galleries along the street. The town also has a lot of Charity Shops. These are little stores dedicated to raising money for charity. All the goods are donated, and the people working in the shops are volunteers. I love going into Charity Shops -- it's like flea market heaven. You never know what you are going to find. I've bagged some fantastic goodies: A huge, gorgeous, spotless white quilt for £10. Glassware. Books. DVDs. <br />
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I've poked around Salvation Army and Deseret Industries stores back in the States. They aren't bad, but I've never found anything I wanted to buy. In contrast, the quality of a British Charity Shop simply cannot be beat. Think upscale, street-wide yard sale in the rich section of town! ;)<br />
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Oh, and I bought a pair of Wellies. Wellies (aka Wellingtons), are rubbery boots, perfect for the rainy weather, for the Marshes, and for combing the beach when the tide is out. Can't wait to try them out!
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Cheers!<br />
x<br /><br />Deborah Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05167064581130917341noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7515699897542502298.post-69582582258414087762010-09-30T22:29:00.005+01:002011-05-20T10:57:20.471+01:00How to pronounce: FavershamI've lived in Faversham for three+ years. In that time, I've walked around the High Street, crossed over the bridge, and gone to the doctors...and that's about it. I guess it's time to really get to know the town I live in. <br />
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Since living in England is kinda cool, I thought I'd start a blog to share my adventures with family, friends, and anyone who wants to experience an English village - virtually!<br />
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SPECIAL NOTE: To all my American friends and family - a quick quide to pronouncing Faversham.<br />
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It looks like: Faver (he owes me a favor) + sham (it's all a sham)<br />
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Yeah, well, it isn't. :P<br />
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Fav (rhymes with HAVE)<br />
er (sounds like AH, the 'r' is silent)<br />
sham (sounds like SHUM)<br />
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Put it all together: Fav a shum<br />
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Hugs,<br />
DebDeborah Deanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05167064581130917341noreply@blogger.com0