Do not do unto others as you would that they should do unto you. Their tastes may not be the same.
- George Bernhard Shaw
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Rievaulx
As I was driving through the Yorkshire moors today, I passed an area called Rivaulx, owned by the National Trust. I believe I have mentioned earlier my lifetime membership therein. Anyways, I ventured in and spent a happy hour walking around the lawn and the wood. The place was intended as an informal garden and holds two "temples", modeled after classical architecture, but built in the late 1750s. The also had lots of sculptures by some artist I'd never heard of (which would include roughly 100% of all artists) spread out around the property. For once, the sculptures seemed to blend in well with their surroundings; these things tend to stick out like a sore, plague infested thumb.
All pics here.
The Ionic temple. It was intended to house guests and banquets and such.
The smaller Tuscan temple.
Some abbey ruins in the valley down below.
Oh Yorkshire, I heart thee.
Pixies dancing.
Now, a photo of dancing pixies needs motion, so I moved my camera while taking the pic. I thought it came out rather well, it even looks like one of them has glowing eyes.
A fairie's cabin.
A path through the woods.
Same path, with flash.
A giant chessboard was standing forlorn by the visitor center.
You just can't escape the grammar Nazis.
All pics here.
The Ionic temple. It was intended to house guests and banquets and such.
The smaller Tuscan temple.
Some abbey ruins in the valley down below.
Oh Yorkshire, I heart thee.
Pixies dancing.
Now, a photo of dancing pixies needs motion, so I moved my camera while taking the pic. I thought it came out rather well, it even looks like one of them has glowing eyes.
A fairie's cabin.
A path through the woods.
Same path, with flash.
A giant chessboard was standing forlorn by the visitor center.
You just can't escape the grammar Nazis.
Hackness
Saturday night was spent in the tiny hamlet of Hackness, in the Yorkshire area of England. I must have gotten a damn good deal, because the hotel was a lot more swanky than what I usually see for 30 pounds. Not much to report, as I didn't do much touristy on Saturday but I did get in quite a few good pics of the ducks that live in the pond. Some of them were making a ruckus last night as I got back from the pub around 9:30 and it sounded like a deranged Daffy Duck was holding court in the bushes. Add to that a full moon, and I was laughing like a loon at the idea of a wereduck hiding in the forest.
All pics here.
My hotel last night. Pretty decent shot with no flash.
The hotel this morning. 30 quid ain't too shabby, even without breakfast, eh?
Eh, eh, eh?
The interior was mucho nice, too.
The ducks came running as soon as they saw me walking along the pond. In pure hilarity, these animals can almost compete with penguins.
Later, when I went to take pics of the lawn, they followed.
The players inspecting the field.
Then back to the pond again.
Preening themselves. It's a hard life in the tourist business.
Bottoms up, guys!
All pics here.
My hotel last night. Pretty decent shot with no flash.
The hotel this morning. 30 quid ain't too shabby, even without breakfast, eh?
Eh, eh, eh?
The interior was mucho nice, too.
The ducks came running as soon as they saw me walking along the pond. In pure hilarity, these animals can almost compete with penguins.
Later, when I went to take pics of the lawn, they followed.
The players inspecting the field.
Then back to the pond again.
Preening themselves. It's a hard life in the tourist business.
Bottoms up, guys!
Saturday, September 29, 2012
Friday, September 28, 2012
Battle of Britain Memorial Flight
The Battle of Britain Memorial Flight is an RAF squadron of old planes used for PR purposes basically. They drag out the old planes iffin there's a jubilee or a state visit and possibly if prince Phillip feels like strafing some rebelious Scots up north. The unit has 12 planes in all and probably the most boring staff of all British military and civilian institutions in the past, present and future. Allow me to elaborate.
I went in at the visitor center, which was a nice enough place and had the added benefit of being free of charge. But in order to see any actual, honest-to-fuck aircraft, you needed to join a guided tour and pay six pounds. Not wishing to be cheap in the face of so much grand war history, I forked the money over.
Well, that's six pounds and 30 minutes of my life I'll never get back. First, we spent almost ten minutes outside the hangar while the guide (apparently a volunteer - I suspect mostly due to the fact that no one will PAY these geezers to listen to them drone on) went on and on ad nauseam about a cargo plane (a Dakota) standing on the tarmac. I suspected what was in store, but followed the group meekly inside the hangar.
Here, my poor ears were subjected to a long, rambling harrangue about every minute, drawn-out, skullsplittingly dull detail regarding a series of machine guns mounted on the wall. I had paid to see actual WW2 aircraft, maybe get a good anecdote or two about swashbuckling pilots and their womenses or a particluarly daring raid on Berlin. What I got was a twenty minute lecture on mechanics.
He was about five minutes into a loooooong monologue on some Rolls Royce engines when I felt my life force slipping away so fast that I simply turned around without a word, snapped a few pics on the way and marched right out of there. I kept on walking till I reached the car, seething with pure, sheer hatred at the thought of somebody making such a complete, fucking BORE out of WW2 history. If it wasn't for the fact that they had closing times, I bet he would still be down there, squeezing the lifeblood out of the rest of the poor group.
So my advice to you is to go see the visitor center. You may even wish to purchase some items from their less than well stocked shelves (the only fleece jacket sizes they had were for Japanese midgets). But by all that is Holy in this world, by all that is Good and Just and Right, stay the fuck away from the guided tour - unless you have either a death wish or some very good earplugs.
All pics here.
No worries there.
The planes are owned and operated by the RAF proper, and they have maintenance personell going over the planes and such; they're taking much better care of them than they did during the actual war. The big, dark bird towards the back is a Lancaster bomber.
Model of a Lancaster.
The engine that finally made me snap.
The area is an actual RAF training ground to this very day, and I saw and heard lots of planes in the air around me.
I went in at the visitor center, which was a nice enough place and had the added benefit of being free of charge. But in order to see any actual, honest-to-fuck aircraft, you needed to join a guided tour and pay six pounds. Not wishing to be cheap in the face of so much grand war history, I forked the money over.
Well, that's six pounds and 30 minutes of my life I'll never get back. First, we spent almost ten minutes outside the hangar while the guide (apparently a volunteer - I suspect mostly due to the fact that no one will PAY these geezers to listen to them drone on) went on and on ad nauseam about a cargo plane (a Dakota) standing on the tarmac. I suspected what was in store, but followed the group meekly inside the hangar.
Here, my poor ears were subjected to a long, rambling harrangue about every minute, drawn-out, skullsplittingly dull detail regarding a series of machine guns mounted on the wall. I had paid to see actual WW2 aircraft, maybe get a good anecdote or two about swashbuckling pilots and their womenses or a particluarly daring raid on Berlin. What I got was a twenty minute lecture on mechanics.
He was about five minutes into a loooooong monologue on some Rolls Royce engines when I felt my life force slipping away so fast that I simply turned around without a word, snapped a few pics on the way and marched right out of there. I kept on walking till I reached the car, seething with pure, sheer hatred at the thought of somebody making such a complete, fucking BORE out of WW2 history. If it wasn't for the fact that they had closing times, I bet he would still be down there, squeezing the lifeblood out of the rest of the poor group.
So my advice to you is to go see the visitor center. You may even wish to purchase some items from their less than well stocked shelves (the only fleece jacket sizes they had were for Japanese midgets). But by all that is Holy in this world, by all that is Good and Just and Right, stay the fuck away from the guided tour - unless you have either a death wish or some very good earplugs.
All pics here.
No worries there.
The planes are owned and operated by the RAF proper, and they have maintenance personell going over the planes and such; they're taking much better care of them than they did during the actual war. The big, dark bird towards the back is a Lancaster bomber.
Model of a Lancaster.
The engine that finally made me snap.
The area is an actual RAF training ground to this very day, and I saw and heard lots of planes in the air around me.
Bolingbroke Castle
Bolingbroke castle is a mere ruin these days, but it spawned one on the more controversial kings and subsequently one of the bloodiest conflicts in English history. It is, you see, the birthplace of one Henry Bolingbroke of the House of Lancaster, cousin to, then usurper and possibly even killer, of king Richard II.
Young Henry got into trouble with his cousin, and Richard, as vain and incompetent a fuck as was ever seen on the English throne, confiscated Henry's properties and banned him from the realm. Instead of forfeiting home and property like a good sport, Henry took up arms and managed to depose the king and take the title for himself. The accounts vary as to the fate of his predecessor; some believe he starved himself to death, others believe he was assassinated on the orders of his cousin.
Henry Bolingbroke became Henry IV, the first of the Lancastrian kings. His coronation in 1399 was the first occasion when an English king gave a speech in English - up until then, these people to a great extent still saw themselves as Normans. His son was the magnificent Henry V, who still lives on in history and in my heart for orchestrating a wholesale slaughter of the French at Agincourt. His son again was Henry VI, also a strong contender for the title of most incompetent fuck on the English throne, and the first English king to be executed openly; quite an achievement.
But the Wars of the Roses were still many, many years away when Henry was born at Bolingbroke and the castle soon fell into disrepair and neglect; it was going rapidly downhill even in Henry's time. It saw some action during the Civil War in the 1640s, but not much. The last structure tumbled down in 1815.
Today, only the skeleton of a once proud castle remains, and the ruins are used in summertime for, I would like to think, amateurish but cheerful performances of Shakespare's plays. But iffin you walk around there on a foggy, grey day at the end of September, you may still fancy you can hear sounds from the time when young Henry B. still roamed its grounds.
All pics here.
Ruins of the King's tower.
Ruins of one of the guard towers.
What was once the drawbridge. An up to 90 feet wide moat surrounded the castle. The sewers ran into it, so it must have been both a good deterrent and the source of an almighty stink.
Drawing showing what the castle might have looked like back in the day.
The various bumps in an otherwise quite even lawn, show the foundations of other buildings.
The crapper! Ah knows how ta find'em!
Nobody knows for sure what this rectangular structure outside the wall was. Everything from cattle grazing land to Saxon fort has been suggested.
Young Henry got into trouble with his cousin, and Richard, as vain and incompetent a fuck as was ever seen on the English throne, confiscated Henry's properties and banned him from the realm. Instead of forfeiting home and property like a good sport, Henry took up arms and managed to depose the king and take the title for himself. The accounts vary as to the fate of his predecessor; some believe he starved himself to death, others believe he was assassinated on the orders of his cousin.
Henry Bolingbroke became Henry IV, the first of the Lancastrian kings. His coronation in 1399 was the first occasion when an English king gave a speech in English - up until then, these people to a great extent still saw themselves as Normans. His son was the magnificent Henry V, who still lives on in history and in my heart for orchestrating a wholesale slaughter of the French at Agincourt. His son again was Henry VI, also a strong contender for the title of most incompetent fuck on the English throne, and the first English king to be executed openly; quite an achievement.
But the Wars of the Roses were still many, many years away when Henry was born at Bolingbroke and the castle soon fell into disrepair and neglect; it was going rapidly downhill even in Henry's time. It saw some action during the Civil War in the 1640s, but not much. The last structure tumbled down in 1815.
Today, only the skeleton of a once proud castle remains, and the ruins are used in summertime for, I would like to think, amateurish but cheerful performances of Shakespare's plays. But iffin you walk around there on a foggy, grey day at the end of September, you may still fancy you can hear sounds from the time when young Henry B. still roamed its grounds.
All pics here.
Ruins of the King's tower.
Ruins of one of the guard towers.
What was once the drawbridge. An up to 90 feet wide moat surrounded the castle. The sewers ran into it, so it must have been both a good deterrent and the source of an almighty stink.
Drawing showing what the castle might have looked like back in the day.
The various bumps in an otherwise quite even lawn, show the foundations of other buildings.
The crapper! Ah knows how ta find'em!
Nobody knows for sure what this rectangular structure outside the wall was. Everything from cattle grazing land to Saxon fort has been suggested.
Quote of the Day
The reasonable man adapts himself to the world, the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Therefore all progress depends on the unreasonable man.
- George Bernhard Shaw
- George Bernhard Shaw
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Quote of the Day
People are always blaming their circumstances for what they are. I don’t believe in circumstances. The people who get on in the world are the people who get up and look for the circumstances they want, and if they can’t find them, make them.
- George Bernard Shaw
- George Bernard Shaw
Castle Hill
After two hours walking around the castle and its grounds, I ventured down to the old town area, aka Castle Hill (also known as Cathedral Quarter). There are tons of old, old buildings, crooked streets and alleys and steep little roads going down to Lincoln proper. You can find everything from Tudor houses and cozy pubs to modern Thai restaurants in this part of town. I must say I have really taken a liking to Lincoln. Feast yer eyes, people!
All pics here.
This is a Tudor building. It's not fake, it was built in 1543. It currently houses the tourist information. My head is spinning at the thought.
The inner part of the old Roman gate, from the early 3rd century. This is the only Roman construction in England that still has traffic going through it. Back in the day it stood 8 metres tall, but the ground level has since risen.
The main entrance of the castle.
I guess the old name wasn't politically correct anymore.
View up the hill from down the road.
I bought some stuff here. The orange chocs weren't much, but the strawberry ones were yummy.
I gave this fella two pounds. He was playing Dylan somewhat competently (which is more than you can say about Dylan).
I had lunch at a cozy looking pub called Magna Carta. Looks nice, yeah?
Sadly, it all tasted pretty much the same - deep fry. I'll never understand English cuisine.
All pics here.
This is a Tudor building. It's not fake, it was built in 1543. It currently houses the tourist information. My head is spinning at the thought.
The inner part of the old Roman gate, from the early 3rd century. This is the only Roman construction in England that still has traffic going through it. Back in the day it stood 8 metres tall, but the ground level has since risen.
The main entrance of the castle.
I guess the old name wasn't politically correct anymore.
View up the hill from down the road.
I bought some stuff here. The orange chocs weren't much, but the strawberry ones were yummy.
I gave this fella two pounds. He was playing Dylan somewhat competently (which is more than you can say about Dylan).
I had lunch at a cozy looking pub called Magna Carta. Looks nice, yeah?
Sadly, it all tasted pretty much the same - deep fry. I'll never understand English cuisine.
Lincoln Castle
Lincoln Castle is a huge fortification on a hill, looking out over the city of Lincoln. There were Roman walls and fortresses and roads and whatnot here almost 2,000 years ago, and you can still see lots of ruins in various places around town. The castle overlooks the Cathedral (or vice versa) and was built by the Normans in the late 11th century. It is unusal in that it has TWO "mottes", aka round mounds whereon you build your keep - the only other one in England is Lewes Castle, which I visited last year.
All pics here.
Lincoln Cathedral and some of the old city, as seen from the castle walls.
What remains of Lincolns' Eleanor Cross, the first and northermost of the 12 crosses raised by king Edward I in memory of his wife Eleanor. She died close to Lincoln in 1290, and the king ordered a cross erected in every one of the twelve places they stayed until they reached London, where she was buried.
The Lincolnshire courthouse. The building is from the early 1820s and is STILL used for hearings and cases and such. You were not allowed in unless you had actual business there, but I hear it's magnificent on the inside. Sigh.
This is the old prison building. About half of it housed the governor and his family, and the rest was used to hold some of the meanest bastards in Lincolnshire. Nowadays it houses one of only four copies of the original Magna Carta. You can't take any pics of the document, or I would have...
The castle walls. Normally you can walk around the whole castle, but parts of it are closed off now, due to the work on the new visitor centre.
The roof of an old tower where they held prisoners. I believe it was once a guard tower. In the 1800s they erected a gallows on top, so they could hang people in full view from down below. I honestly wish they'd bring back public hanging. The TV rights alone would finance the whole UK criminal system.
The new visitor center they're building. It's supposed to be finished by 2015, in time for the 800-year jubilee of the Magna Carta. To the right is the covered up motte with the Lucy tower.
A bust of king George III, one of the most clinically insane bastards ever to hold the English throne. And that's sayin' sumfin'.
Apparently, you can make the most delicate carvings with a chainsaw.
This is a watertower. Yeah, the Victorians knew how to build 'em.
Union Jack. Sniffles.
All pics here.
Lincoln Cathedral and some of the old city, as seen from the castle walls.
What remains of Lincolns' Eleanor Cross, the first and northermost of the 12 crosses raised by king Edward I in memory of his wife Eleanor. She died close to Lincoln in 1290, and the king ordered a cross erected in every one of the twelve places they stayed until they reached London, where she was buried.
The Lincolnshire courthouse. The building is from the early 1820s and is STILL used for hearings and cases and such. You were not allowed in unless you had actual business there, but I hear it's magnificent on the inside. Sigh.
This is the old prison building. About half of it housed the governor and his family, and the rest was used to hold some of the meanest bastards in Lincolnshire. Nowadays it houses one of only four copies of the original Magna Carta. You can't take any pics of the document, or I would have...
The castle walls. Normally you can walk around the whole castle, but parts of it are closed off now, due to the work on the new visitor centre.
The roof of an old tower where they held prisoners. I believe it was once a guard tower. In the 1800s they erected a gallows on top, so they could hang people in full view from down below. I honestly wish they'd bring back public hanging. The TV rights alone would finance the whole UK criminal system.
The new visitor center they're building. It's supposed to be finished by 2015, in time for the 800-year jubilee of the Magna Carta. To the right is the covered up motte with the Lucy tower.
A bust of king George III, one of the most clinically insane bastards ever to hold the English throne. And that's sayin' sumfin'.
Apparently, you can make the most delicate carvings with a chainsaw.
This is a watertower. Yeah, the Victorians knew how to build 'em.
Union Jack. Sniffles.
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