I have rather neglected this blog and have post only five times since the turn of the year, four times in February and just once in January. Furthermore, all four posts were about what a cretin Donald Trump is and the fifth on the related question of wondering why the far-right in Germany is making a comeback.
None of those posts will have been popular with supporters of he Desperate Don and Germany’s Afd (Alternative für Deutschland) party. Those who happen upon this ‘ere blog might also be wondering ‘can’t the old chap bang on about something else for a change?’
Well, of course, he can and so here and now I shall bang on about a tripette I’ve just made to Canterbury and from where I am returning home to North Cornwall as I sit on the 12.35pm from London Paddington to Exeter St Davids, then to driver the final 60 miles home. And if that topic, most certainly not about morons around the world, including Donald Trump and his assortment of cabinet deadbeats – Rubio, Hegseth, Bondi, Noem, Kennedy, Burgum, Duffy et al – doesn’t shake your tree, piss off and read someone else’s blog and consider yourselves banned from reading mine for a month.
The occasion of my trip was a reunion of sorts with a very good old college friend – ‘old’ as in ‘longstanding’, although neither of us will see 70 again – and two more recently acquired friends, the former drummer in the band they were both in in the 1970s and his wife.
The former drummer was born in Barnard Castle, on the County Durham / Yorkshire border, but has lived in the US for more than forty years and now has American citizenship. His wife is fully American, born in New Jersey.
We chose to meet in Canterbury because our mutual friend lives in Deal on the Kent coast and it was easy for him to drive to Canterbury for Sunday lunch at The Old Weavers in Canterbury old town, built in 1500
although dated on its sign as 1500, much of the structure of the building is earlier with the foundation having been laid in the 12th century. The fabric of the street frontage is 15th century with 16th to 20th century alterations and additions. The external river frontage has been much altered and extended from three to five gables, disguises the original 15th century fabric. In the interior of the building much of the original Tudor structure has survived with Jacobean, Georgian and later additions.
This was our second such reunion, and although I had been in touch with the Americans over then net, only the second time I had met them face-to-face. (For those interested, they – all three – had roast lamb but I stuck to chicken Kiev as I am not much of a meat eater these days).
The Americans and I stayed Canterbury’s Cathedral Gate Hotel, sitting in Butter Market and, as the more astute reader will gather, right next to the gate leading to Canterbury Cathedral. The cathedral was literally as stone’s throw away and either backed on to our hotel or our hotel backed on to the cathedral. That’s up to you.
The hotel was as old as the cathedral itself built for monks. Quirky does not even begin to describe it, and the quirks delight most foreign visitors, especially Germans and most Americans, though, the owner assured me, it does get some guests with a vanilla outlook who far prefer very bland, very straight lines and somewhere with as little character as possible. This, I suspect, are wholesome, God-fearing folk from the American Mid-west who can’t be doing with fiddle-faddle of any kind however ‘charming’.
There are no straight lines in the Cathedral Gate Hotel, none at all. Everything is at an angle, uneven and leaning over. I assume the health and safety bods have been over it with a tooth-comb to ensure it is safe to live in, but we can only go on the promise.
Stairs are steep and narrow and uneven. Corridors lead here, there and everywhere. I had a reasonably simple trip to my room on the fourth floor overlooking the Butter Market (which I could not see, however, as the – quite modern – window ‘curtain’ refused to be raised).
My American friends, however, had a more adventurous trip to their room from the reception area. This took them down one narrow corridor, into another off to the left, then up a few stairs to a door leading on a roof. This they had to cross along a short gangway which did have a rubberised floor to avoid slipping in the rain and a guardrail on the sides, but did not have a roof to keep guests on their way to their room dry on their brief crossing from one part of the hotel to another.
Inconvenient? No, not really, just a charming quirk that amused guests (except those from Kansas, Wyoming, Oklahoma and Nebraska).
The weather forecast for Canterbury when I looked at it on Saturday morning just before leaving home promised quite warm temperatures and sun, sun, sun and the more sun for the weekend. And that’s what we got throughout Saturday. We did not on Sunday or this morning. Sunday was distinctly chilly.
Because of that forecast I decided to set off with in just a T-shirt and shirt and dispense with a jacket. Come Sunday I wish I had taken a jacked of some kind, or a hoody. Just after nine when the streets were pretty much deserted and did not fill up with tourists as they did later in the day, I went for a walk around the cathedral and got
colder and colder. Finally, my hour of sightseeing over I decided to find a local Asda or Tesco to get some kind of cheap pullover or hoody. And here in medieval Canterbury old town, of course, there was nothing of the kind.
So I went into one of the – very many – touristy shops to ask where I might find an Asda or Tesco (think Walmart or similar – I was not looking for anything fashionable just something a tad warmer than a thin cotton T-shirt and a thin cotton shirt).
There an extremely helpful shopowner told me there was a Primark in ‘the high street (and the Asda and Tesco superstores) were some distance away for a walker). He checked and told me it would be opening in and hour at 11am. Then he did something quite touching: he insisted that I borrow his jacket (something like a North Face item) while I found my way to the Primark branch. I refused. But he kept insisting until I could no longer refuse, and I then set off
As it turned out a branch of Sports Direct was already open and I bought a hoody for a very reasonably £16 (after having to ask whether they had anything cheaper than the £59.99 hoodies more prominently on display). Then it was back to the shop to return the jacket, and this led to a long conversation.
The owner, a man from Uzbekistan, was a former sociology lecturer at the University of Kent. I discovered this when I asked where he was from as his kind of generosity, though not unknown in Britain, was unusual. We then talked bout this and that for the next hour and a half.
He explained that since Brexit – remember Brexit? Funding for universities, much of it dependent on European Union money, and the number for European students had fallen alarmingly, his department staff of 60 had reduced to 13 and fearing the worst he and his wife and decided to open their shop (though why that kind of shop was not clear and nor did I think of asking).
After that lunch at The Old Weavers followed by a trip to pub showing Sky sports and see Arsenal beat Newcastle, secure its participation in next season’s Champions League.
That’s it really. A little break in routine which has been welcome.
Pip, pip.
