This is the inside of our door.

I feel it deserves its own blog entry for two reasons.  The first relates to the round thing at the top of this not-so-carefully taken photograph.  That’s our doorbell.  Our landlord described it as a green doorbell, which basically means that we have to wind it up by hand.  If it loses its internal tension, it also loses its sound.

The second, is that flap halfway down.  That’s how our mail arrives.  I don’t think I’ve seen a letter box over here.  The mail comes through the flap in the door, and usually it’s bills or junk mail (as seen here).

While it’s quite nice to come home in the evening to a pile of letters on the doormat, the obvious disadvantage of this system is that the flap is too small for large book-shaped parcels from various internet retailers.  Sometimes these get left outside, sometimes they get left at the nearest post office, and sometimes – depending on the depot – they’re returned to the head office halfway across the city.

At Christmas we tie ribbon around our doorbell, but since it is November, it is not Christmas just yet.

Tash

It was back to Skills London at the ExCeL Centre this morning.  I’ve just looked at the Google map of the area, and it’s quite a way out of the city.  Past Whitechapel, past the Isle of Dogs, even past Greenwich.  There’s more space out that way, I guess.  Space enough to build a exhibition centre, with huge halls, cafes, bars, hotels, transport links and an off-site delivery coordination area.

I’ve travelled more on the DLR (Docklands Light Railway) this week, than I have in my entire time in London so far (which, as of today, has been two years).  Today, I made the disturbing discovery that they don’t have drivers.  I was sitting up the front on my way to Canning Town, looking out the front window at the roller-coaster like tracks ahead, and suddenly I realised that there was no driver in front of me.  Reading this BBC news article, I learnt that there’s supposed to be train attendants instead – but so far, I haven’t seen one of those.  Without a driver, who’s going to be the voice on the intercom telling us that there station ahead is closed/there’s a person under a train/we’re being held at a red signal/to please mind the gap.

For anyone who’s more interested in the actual event than the London public transport system, I’ve blogged about it for work here.

Tash

So, it’s 11.30pm.  I’ve just got home and, under the terms and conditions of NaBloPoMo, am going to post this entry before midnight, before I go to bed.

Today’s taken me from South West, to West End, to the City, out East, back to the City, back out East where we watched a Journey to the West and then came home again.  I’ve travelled by overland train, tube, Dockland light railway and removal van.  Today I’ve visited the ExCeL Centre and The O2 for the first time – and been impressed by the scale of both. 

On a more worrying note, with all the travelling, I didn’t manage to eat anything at all until about 7.30pm, and then I ate at Starbucks.  I’m sure that wouldn’t happen in New Zealand.

I may write more about these things when I am more awake.

Tash

We were supposed to go to Murano in August.  At the airport, I’d chosen my holiday reading – Marina Fiorato’s The Glassblower of Murano - specifically because of our own proposed trip to that very glassblowing island.  What I hadn’t counted on was the Italian heat at that time of year, and the fact that, in such a heat, glassblowing becomes a severely unpleasant activity.  Thus, in August, the glassblowers go on holiday and the workshops revert to being glass stores, trading on pieces blown in the months before.

So we picked up some rolls and cold meat and Italian biscuits, and travelled out to Burano instead.  It was still early, giving us plenty of time to get to the island which is located 14km and a 40 minute vaporetto ride from Venice.

While Murano is famous for its glass, it’s rhyming neighbour is known for its intricate lacework.  And there’s certainly plenty of stores along the main street of the island selling samples.  From bibs to bookmarks, table linen to tops – if it’s made in lace, it’s probably also made in Burano.

Aside from the lace, what stood out for me in Burano, was the lack of crowds.  Having just left the people filled alleys of Venice, it was lovely to walk down a side street in Burano, in between the multi-coloured houses, and be the only ones there.

Perhaps, next time I’m in Italy, I should look out for a book set in Burano.  Or perhaps, I should just move there and write one.

Tash

The Vatican City is an independent city-state located in the centre of Rome, with its own government (headed by the Pope), administration, postage stamps, guards and iron-on patches.  It’s also the home of St Peter’s Basillica, the Vatican Museum and the Sistine Chapel.

Matt and I originally visited the Vatican City (and purchased the iron-on patches) on our honeymoon in 2006.  In August this year, I returned with my family – and saw all the highlights at a much quicker pace.  I’d learnt my lesson from last time.  While, in other parts of the world, it pays to get to tourist attractions early, in the Vatican City, getting there early still means waiting in a three hour long queue.

This time, we arrived at the Vatican Museums about an hour before closing, and within fifteen minutes we were in.  Admittedly, this didn’t leave us much time to see the art – but I’d seen it before, and I just wanted to show my brother the Raphael Rooms and the Sistine Chapel.

We weren’t so lucky with the queue to visit the dome of St Peter’s.  We couldn’t find it at first, and when we did, it was long.  So we waited, and waited, as people were taken upwards elevator-load by elevator-load.  Finally it was our turn, and we squeezed into the lift, and followed the crowds, and suddenly we were inside the dome and it was amazing.  We could see the individual mosaic bits up there and the floor looked a long way down.

And then we noticed that the people in front of us were not moving.  And neither were the people in front of them.  And the floor was a long way down, and I started noticing that bits of mosaic were loose, and other bits had fallen away.  And I didn’t have my phone.  15 minutes passed.  We were still in the dome.  Suddenly from behind us, there was one of the St Peter’s officials, saying ‘Scusi! Scusi!’ and pushing his way through the crowds.  About five minutes later, the line started moving again.

It’s interesting, thinking back, I can only remember vaguely the art of St Peters, the Pieta, the statue with the rubbed away feet.  But I can remember intensely the fear that were were stuck in the Dome and the distance to the floor and wishing Matt was with me and wondering what would happen next.

Tash

After travelling around Europe, and seeing castles such as Neuschwanstein and Hohenschwangau, I have to admit we weren’t initally that impressed with Buckingham Palace.  Where were the turrets?  Where was the moat?  Buckingham Palace just seemed a grand house, fronted by guards, a gate and a constant stream of tourists.

Still, with the parents visiting, I decided to take advantage of a day’s leave and the Summer Opening of the State Rooms of the palace.  Of course, London attracts tourists all year around and every day of the week, so we were still greeted with long queues (which we couldn’t even join until the time printed on our tickets).

Once inside, we picked up audio guides, which led us through the nineteen State Rooms that were open to the public.  Buckingham Palace is far more palace-y on the inside, with all the expected impressive artworks and beautiful furniture.  Some of my highlights were seeing the pink ‘his and hers’ chairs in the throne room, the long hall of the picture gallery with its glass roof, and the state dining room, laid out as it would be for an official dinner.

I was also suprised by the vast gardens that exist behind the palace.  Having only seen the palace from the front, I had no idea that such an immense green space existed within the walls.  It was very difficult to be a good subject and stick to the path when faced with the beautiful lake and the wilds beyond which would’ve been lovely to explore.

Tash

Jess’ recent Italian entries have inspired me to return to blogging about our own summer adventure.  Today, in the darkness of a London afternoon, my thoughts turn to Rome and to our ‘hostel’ there, Campanella3.

Matt and I had stayed in a hostel in Rome before, during our honeymoon in 2006.  While that was a memorable experience, it was all for the wrong reasons.  Crowded dorms, people sleeping in the reception, only two bathrooms, snorers, no sleep, no security and so on.  So, when it came to picking a hostel for the return visit, I decided to spend a little more time on HostelWorld, researching our options.

But even it’s great online reviews couldn’t prepare me for the fabulousness that was Campanella3. It’s not near the main train station and wasn’t quite on the Central Rome map we’d photocopied.  So, once we got out of Ottaviano train station, we did end up wandering back and forth along Viale Giulio Cesare for what felt like half an hour before we found the turn off.

It was worth it though.  This was no hostel room, it was an apartment.  There was our bedroom with four beds, a television, plenty of cupboards; a double room next to us; a beautifully decorated bathroom; and best of all, a fully stocked kitchen.  Pots, pans, knives, forks, an espresso machine and directions to the supermarket – everything we needed to cook our own Italian meals.

Even better was the ‘breakfast’ that the owners provided for us.  Again, Campanella3 earns a set of inverted commas for exceeding our expectations.  Usually the second B in an Italian B&B is a croissant and a cappuccino.  Here, we were given baskets that were overflowing with croissants, muffins, pastries, juices, chocolate bars and much more.  And, when we decided to take some of the extras for lunch, we were embarrassed to find that they were restocked for breakfast the next day.

And, once we got used to the winding roads, we found that we were only 10 minutes from the Vatican, home of Renaissance artwork, guards in strange uniform, and a famous dome which we got to know a little too intimately.  But that’s a story for another day.  Maybe tomorrow.

Tash

So, I went to Manchester for the first time today.  It was a work trip, and I met people I’ve been working with online, and learnt a lot and got things done.  But, being a work trip, it was a long day, an early morning train trip, the shiny Manchester Piccadilly train station, a few back streets, an office block, a walk back to the train station through the dark and then two and a half hours back to London Euston.

I’ve added a pin for Manchester to my ‘Cities I’ve Visited’ map on facebook and I’ve talked to some people who live there.  Beyond that, I’ve seen some very pretty Christmas lights near the station and learnt that £3.10 buys a lot more lunch in Manchester than it does in London.  And I hope that I will be able to go back again.

Tash

Matt and I just watched the last three episodes of The Tudors, Season II: right up to the death of Anne Boleyn (and I hope that doesn’t spoil it for anyone).  It’s a story I’ve heard many times – while studying Tudor and Stuart history at high school, in the novels of Philippa Gregory and Alison Weir, Jean Plaidy and Suzannah Dunn, the Elizabeth and Other Boleyn Girl movies and now in this series.

Living in the UK has only increased my fascination.  It still seems surreal that I can visit places where this all happened: Hampton Court Palace and Hever Castle (we haven’t quite made it to the latter just yet, but it’s on the hit list).  I used to walk past the Tower of London every day on the way to work.  Inside, there’s a memorial to Queen Anne and the others who were executed at the site. A glass pillow.

Anne’s just lost her head again on my laptop tonight.  I’m not sure that I can wait till next year for another Tudor TV season.  Unfortunately there’s little point reading online spoilers because I’ve already got a good idea what will happen.

Tash

Newcastle impressed us from the start.  Not only did it have a Bookcrossing stand in the centre of the train station, with lots of free books for the taking, but also – once we’d picked up our hire car from Newcastle Airport, we came across this.  The Angel of the North.

The Angel of the North, designed by sculptor, Antony Gormley, has stood upon its hilltop, just out of Newcastle since 1998 (apparently it celebrated its 10th birthday on June 22, though the party was ultimately called off because of high winds).

The Angel of the North is clearly visible to those driving along the A1 – as we were – and there are tourist information signs letting you know where to turn off for a closer look.

Matt got out the camera, and I took my turn to pose in front of the statue with my arms outstretched – and then with my arms stretched around the feet of the Angel.

When I was a kid, we went of class trips to the Waitakere Ranges.  We’d stretch our arms out like this and hold hands, and see how many of us were needed to measure the circumference of a Kauri tree. It would’ve taken a fair few of us, I reckon, to measure the circumference of the Angel.

Tash