I've beefed up some of my recent posts with appropriate (?) pictures of the places mentioned.
AS
Wednesday 27 August 2008
Saturday 23 August 2008
Tara
On my last half day of freedom before returning home, I had a choice of a dozen different destinations, none too far from the airport lest something go wrong! I mean far in the Australian sense, not Irish!
My choice was inspired ... as was the weather. The destination was Tara, a location possibly recessed somewhere in your minds ... as it was in mine. I associated Tara with legends of Irish culture and a seat of power. And so it proved. The Hill of Tara is in Meath, towards Cavan in the north. And hill it is by Irish standards, with vast vistas from the top. To the northeast lay the River Boyne, site of the famous battle where William of Orange cemented his hold of Ireland at the expense of James II and, I might add, the Catholic congregation of Ireland. To the west lay the flat and boggy lowlands of the centre, and distant in the south were the Wicklow Mountains, all bathed in sunlight.
If those views and associations were beautiful and inspiring, the events at Tara were much more so. First, I should explain, there is no village or township at the site. Indeed, it is 'barren' save a church apparently associated with St Patrick's role in Ireland. Perhaps I'll qualify 'barren'. The area is a field covered in sheep, but not just any old field. The site has been occupied for 5000 years, and that passage of time has left it covered with processional trenches, barrows, monuments, and a mass of sometimes intersecting defensive positions: mounds and ditches.
This was a, possibly THE, cradle of Irish and Celtic civilisation, where kings were crowned, territories administered, rituals devised and enacted, and the dead honoured. And, the nearby church served as an interpretative centre. There, I saw a short 20 minute film which impressively recreated the life and culture of Tara over all those years ... the first church I have been in that had electrically operated blinds on the windows and an automatically unfolding screen! By the way, the blind at the end covered an exquisite stained glass window.
So, my trip to Ireland lasting just 7 days came to a superb end. Dot doesn't know this yet, but I'm taking her back there before long to share in the magical scenery and sometimes quaint culture. Certainly I learned a few words of Gaelic like Baile (town) which explains Bally this and Bally the other! I also leaned the words for slow down, caution, give way and stop ... necessary in a part of the world where English is relegated not just to second place but abolished from signage altogether.
AS
Maynooth and Dublin
You may not have heard of Maynooth about 25 km out of Dublin, but now have in a big way. I arrived in this little town on Wednesday (two days ago) to give a seminar at the branch of the National University of Ireland there. To my surprise, my accommodation was in university accommodation housing what I presume is a Catholic Seminary ... at least in part. There was a huge chapel, about the size of some cathedrals and enclosed cloisters adorned with the pictures of various bishops, cardinals, and other senior clerics My room was apparently reserved for the Bishop of Cashel, who visits periodically, and therefore suitably grand. I was told, but this unconfirmed, that John Paul II stayed in that same room when he opened facilities at the university early in his Papacy!
I took the opportunity to have a day off and travelled into Dublin on a commuter train. 'Day off' might not be the right term, because I walked for almost 8 hours during the day and must have been doing some penance because it wasn't till I got to Connolly Street station for the return trip that I realised I hadn't drunk anything or eaten since breakfast. Perhaps that's because the journey of discovery was riveting.
I 'did' the regeneration of Dublin's docklands, the banks of the Liffey, the length of O'Connell St and perused its role in Irish history, the shopping district (Abbey, Henry, Mary, and other streets), Parnell Square, Jameson's Distillery, and a host of grand public buildings. Oh, I also spent some time in the Hugh Lane Gallery of Modern Art and viewed sundry statues including a marvellous one of James Joyce. Dublin is an evocative city and I learned much about Irish history in the process.
For once, the Irish weather was kind and I actually saw the sun!!
AS
Tuesday 19 August 2008
Connemara
This is a truly wonderful place and recommend a visit soon. It's a place where a large and variegated sky (with hues in many shades of blue, white and gray) meets the sea and vast expanses of rock dotted with cottages, sheep, jetties, and wildflowers. Interspersed lie great lumps of rock protruding into the sky. The roads are narrow ... often track, but in this place it adds to the fun.
AS
AS
Sunday 17 August 2008
Achill Island
I spent today somewhere new again. This time it was Achill Island on the west coast of Ireland, near Westport in Co Mayo whwere I'm staying a couple of days. Being Ireland, it poured with rain! But being Ireland, the coastal scenery along the edge of the Atlantic was absolutely magnificent ... in fact overwhelming. Mountains like Slieve Mor (672m) plunge straight into the ocean and have massive sea cliffs. I can recommend this destination to all!
AS
AS
Stately Homes
Much of this week was taken up with visiting a range of stately homes in the Plymouth area.
Sir Richard Edgcumbe of Cotehele built a new home in his deer park at Mount Edgcumbe in 1547-53, but it was heavily damaged by bombing in the Second World War because it is across the Tamar river from the Plymouth Naval Dockyard. It was restored by the 1960s!
Cotehele is a Tudor house, located on the banks of the Tamar, with superb collections of textiles, armour and furniture, set in extensive grounds. It was built between 1485 and 1539 and is older than the first site. Both houses are connected with the same family.
Finally, we visited 'Antony' at Torpoint in Cornwall. This hs been home to the Carew Pole family and the Pole Carew family (yes, the names got reversed over time!) for a mere 600 years and we caught a glimpse of THE Carew Pole wandering through the house. He was dressed almost as casually as me and not like a peer of the realm! The house, however, was a 'new' one constructed in the 18th century.
Perhaps I should mention a fourth residence. When we visited Padstow to see Joanna, Martin and the kids camping there at McDonald's farm, we took a side trip to Port Isaac, and came across a curiously familiar Cornish fishing village, although I'd never actually been there in my life. The familiarity comes from being a fan of Doc Martin, the BBC television series about a country doctor. The show is filmed at Port Isaac and we saw the house and thew sloping street where his surgery is located!! It was amusing to read that the locals are up in arms over the TV series - a fourth series is coming soon - because it has 'ruined' their charming lifestyle by encouraging lots of visitors ... including us and many others.
It's a pity I can't post pictures of these either! But I'll try to make amends whwen I get home.
AS
Sir Richard Edgcumbe of Cotehele built a new home in his deer park at Mount Edgcumbe in 1547-53, but it was heavily damaged by bombing in the Second World War because it is across the Tamar river from the Plymouth Naval Dockyard. It was restored by the 1960s!
Cotehele is a Tudor house, located on the banks of the Tamar, with superb collections of textiles, armour and furniture, set in extensive grounds. It was built between 1485 and 1539 and is older than the first site. Both houses are connected with the same family.
Finally, we visited 'Antony' at Torpoint in Cornwall. This hs been home to the Carew Pole family and the Pole Carew family (yes, the names got reversed over time!) for a mere 600 years and we caught a glimpse of THE Carew Pole wandering through the house. He was dressed almost as casually as me and not like a peer of the realm! The house, however, was a 'new' one constructed in the 18th century.
Perhaps I should mention a fourth residence. When we visited Padstow to see Joanna, Martin and the kids camping there at McDonald's farm, we took a side trip to Port Isaac, and came across a curiously familiar Cornish fishing village, although I'd never actually been there in my life. The familiarity comes from being a fan of Doc Martin, the BBC television series about a country doctor. The show is filmed at Port Isaac and we saw the house and thew sloping street where his surgery is located!! It was amusing to read that the locals are up in arms over the TV series - a fourth series is coming soon - because it has 'ruined' their charming lifestyle by encouraging lots of visitors ... including us and many others.
It's a pity I can't post pictures of these either! But I'll try to make amends whwen I get home.
AS
Joanna's 30th
I returned from Spain on an EasyJet flight from Barcelona to Bristol, and although the flight was delayed an hour, I still made it to Brian's house in Plymouth for the party last Sunday 10 August.
It was good to meet some of Martin's relatives who were there and Aunt Hazel, who is almost the last of her generation still alive. And, of course, Lucy and Hollie were noisily in the audience. In fact, I'd have posted a picture of the happy mum and her kids but for the fact the hotel wireless system wouldn't let me. So, that's another time!
We were still eating the remnants of the cake 5 days later as I prepared to leave for Westport in Co Mayo, Ireland, from where this posting is being made.
AS
It was good to meet some of Martin's relatives who were there and Aunt Hazel, who is almost the last of her generation still alive. And, of course, Lucy and Hollie were noisily in the audience. In fact, I'd have posted a picture of the happy mum and her kids but for the fact the hotel wireless system wouldn't let me. So, that's another time!
We were still eating the remnants of the cake 5 days later as I prepared to leave for Westport in Co Mayo, Ireland, from where this posting is being made.
AS
Tuesday 12 August 2008
And so to Barce
The last day in Spain paralleled the others in exhaustion and exhilaration! It started with a two hour drive back to Zaragoza, yet another three hours walking the city, and a quick trip to Barcelona by train. Some train! The 320 km via Tarragona took about 1 hour 40 minutes and you can probably work out the average speed including stops was up around 200 kmh. The top speed reached was a round 300 kph, but all one heard at that speed was a gentle swish. The train did not rock and just glided through space while the passengers lounged in comfortable seats. It sure beat flying.
Late afternoon I was out and about Barce's streets and underground. The latter was extensive, cheap and convenient. I really only had time for two destinations before buying food for a meal in my hotel overlooking the spectacular Catalonian museum and the former Olympic site. First, I joined thousands of others cramming the Sagrada Familia, the world's most famous incomplete church and possibly the world's best known piece of architecture. I concur with these assertions and I would also have to say that it's an architectural masterpiece of astounding proportions. Whatever your religious views, visit it while you're still alive and you will not be disappointed. I lingered in awe much longer than I anticipated.
After God came Mammon. It took the form of La Rambla, a 2 km sequence of streets leading from Spain's equivalent of Nelson's Column to the Catalonian Square inland. The figure atop the column - much higher than Nelson's - is the city's favourite son, Christopher Columbus, and he gazes out over the harbour towards the Mediterranean and across the modern World trade Centre. La Rambla was a mad-house last Saturday evening. Although not good at estimating crowd numbers, I'll have a go. Perhpas 200,000 partying people were strewn across the 2km of street, visitng bars and restaurants, theatres and an opera house, all kinds of shops including those with a sexual orientation, and soaking up street theatre. It was difficult to make progress through the tide of often scantily clad humanity. At least I had a sort of shirt on and my shorts were roughly around my waist, but many of the men didn't and the girls left little to the imagination!
And so my hectic visit to Spain drew to a close. What a time! And I'd definitely like to go back. Any takers?
AS
Late afternoon I was out and about Barce's streets and underground. The latter was extensive, cheap and convenient. I really only had time for two destinations before buying food for a meal in my hotel overlooking the spectacular Catalonian museum and the former Olympic site. First, I joined thousands of others cramming the Sagrada Familia, the world's most famous incomplete church and possibly the world's best known piece of architecture. I concur with these assertions and I would also have to say that it's an architectural masterpiece of astounding proportions. Whatever your religious views, visit it while you're still alive and you will not be disappointed. I lingered in awe much longer than I anticipated.
After God came Mammon. It took the form of La Rambla, a 2 km sequence of streets leading from Spain's equivalent of Nelson's Column to the Catalonian Square inland. The figure atop the column - much higher than Nelson's - is the city's favourite son, Christopher Columbus, and he gazes out over the harbour towards the Mediterranean and across the modern World trade Centre. La Rambla was a mad-house last Saturday evening. Although not good at estimating crowd numbers, I'll have a go. Perhpas 200,000 partying people were strewn across the 2km of street, visitng bars and restaurants, theatres and an opera house, all kinds of shops including those with a sexual orientation, and soaking up street theatre. It was difficult to make progress through the tide of often scantily clad humanity. At least I had a sort of shirt on and my shorts were roughly around my waist, but many of the men didn't and the girls left little to the imagination!
And so my hectic visit to Spain drew to a close. What a time! And I'd definitely like to go back. Any takers?
AS
And in the Other Direction
We went for another three days to Teruel, also in Aragon. This was a pleasant and sizeable country town of about 30,000 people - and almost 2.5 x the size of Jaca. It was also lower and warmer, and in the middle of a farming region. Once again, it was replete with historic buildings, pleasant squares, and scenic walks.
I will always remember one field trip to nearby regions, however. Towards Madrid the landscape became dry and deeply etched, with abandoned farms, fields and houses creating an air of depression. However, the region contained some exquisite gems and I'll note two of them. The Albarracin Cultural Park had some rock art dating back to c. 6,000 BC ... rather old ... in a craggy landscape. And the town of Albarracin was magical. It is a National Monument dating back to Moorish times over 100 years ago and containing a virtually intact and unspoilt medieval settlement. It also occupies a magnificent site high above a huge meander in the river which acted as an impregnable defence. Just to make sure, the town has two sets of almost intact walls to keep out invaders snaking across rugged hill-tops.
Within these walls lie scores of attractive houses and public buildings dating back hundreds of years, lots of little shops, squares with cafes, and cobbled streets. Everywhere the visitor turns there are gorgeous views, as scores of photos I took attest. If you get the chance, pay it a visit!
AS
I will always remember one field trip to nearby regions, however. Towards Madrid the landscape became dry and deeply etched, with abandoned farms, fields and houses creating an air of depression. However, the region contained some exquisite gems and I'll note two of them. The Albarracin Cultural Park had some rock art dating back to c. 6,000 BC ... rather old ... in a craggy landscape. And the town of Albarracin was magical. It is a National Monument dating back to Moorish times over 100 years ago and containing a virtually intact and unspoilt medieval settlement. It also occupies a magnificent site high above a huge meander in the river which acted as an impregnable defence. Just to make sure, the town has two sets of almost intact walls to keep out invaders snaking across rugged hill-tops.
Within these walls lie scores of attractive houses and public buildings dating back hundreds of years, lots of little shops, squares with cafes, and cobbled streets. Everywhere the visitor turns there are gorgeous views, as scores of photos I took attest. If you get the chance, pay it a visit!
AS
Jaca
The first three days of the IGU meeting were held in Jaca. I will not bore you with the papers and their discussion, except to say that mine was delivered without mishap on the first morning. Indeed, I gather that I had simultaneous translation into Spanish.
Jaca became a whirl of papers, long (2.5 hours) lunches, early morning walks around the town to take photographs, and late night banquets. The Siesta postpones evening meals until after 9.00 pm, and so I found myself going to bed at 12.00 and getting up at 6.00. This became wearing after a while, but the contrasting high of touring an historic city (known to exist in 1000) and spectacular landscapes was a substantial antidote.
Jaca is on the edge of the Pyrenees and near the Gallego river system draining the high (3,300 metre) moutain range. Despite the heat of the valley (30+ degrees) snow lingered on the peaks. We spent a day in the mountains admiring the scenery, and inspecting the resorts and facilities (apartments, chalets, chair-lifts and other paraphernalia. The cool air was welcome, and no doubt a relief to the cattle and sheep on the high pastures. If my knowledge of the EU's Common Agriculture Policy is correct, the farmers would earn all their income and more from subsidy!!
AS
Jaca became a whirl of papers, long (2.5 hours) lunches, early morning walks around the town to take photographs, and late night banquets. The Siesta postpones evening meals until after 9.00 pm, and so I found myself going to bed at 12.00 and getting up at 6.00. This became wearing after a while, but the contrasting high of touring an historic city (known to exist in 1000) and spectacular landscapes was a substantial antidote.
Jaca is on the edge of the Pyrenees and near the Gallego river system draining the high (3,300 metre) moutain range. Despite the heat of the valley (30+ degrees) snow lingered on the peaks. We spent a day in the mountains admiring the scenery, and inspecting the resorts and facilities (apartments, chalets, chair-lifts and other paraphernalia. The cool air was welcome, and no doubt a relief to the cattle and sheep on the high pastures. If my knowledge of the EU's Common Agriculture Policy is correct, the farmers would earn all their income and more from subsidy!!
AS
Arrival in Zaragoza
After an uneventful late afternoon flight from London (Stanstead) a week or so ago (2August), Ryanair deposted me in the northern Spanish city of Zaragoza. The city, whose name is a corruption of Ceasar Augusta, lies in Spain's Aragon region. It was nearly dark on arrival, so I caught a taxi to my hotel and flopped into bed. After all it was an exhausting day, what with loading furniture to take to Elly's new House in Surbiton, driving there from Poole, and then heading off clockwise around the congested M25 to find the airport in question.
I had most of Sunday in Zaragoza to myself prior to catching a bus to Jaca late in the afternooon where I was to attend a week-long meeting of the IGU Commission on the Sustainability of Rural Systems. So, I set out early to avoid the later afternoon heat typical of northern inland Spain. The city centre was suprisingly interesting and historic, but compact despite the city's population of about 700,00 -the fifth largest in Spain. With a Roman name, it was not difficult to find Roman remains, inlcuding part of the wall and what appeared to be an amphitheatre under excavation. The banks of the broad Ebro river were green and pleasant to amble along, or even take a rest. But the Catholic Church provided many of the focal points of interest. The cathedral called Nuestra Señora del Pilar ("Our Lady of the Pillar") was monumental in every sense: size, decorations, and frescos - one reputedly by Goya.
While walking around, I encountered several markets, with one next to the bull-ring looking like multiple garage sales and attracting thousands in search of a bargain. Nearby, a large castle or palace called the AljaferÃa is one of several Moorish remains in the city. 'Remains' is probably not the right word, because the castle houses Aragon's parliament! It was also the site of Verdi's Il Trovatore. Something strange happened at about 2.30 pm and I recalled a similar event experienced in Lisbon several years ago. Slowly the streets emptied and by 3.00 I was one of very few people resembling mad dogs and Englishmen!! In short, it was Siesta time ... something I couldn't get used to all week.
As the evening came on, I met with about 20 colleagues from all over the world at Zaragoza's Delicias Station. First to greet me was someone familiar, my colleague Neil Argent all the way from the University of New England!! We were followed by many other nationalities: Brazilian, Portuguese, Spanish, Belgian, French, Slovenian, Japanese, Korean, Indian, Turkish, Czech, Moroccan and so on. The wonderful thing about these conferences is the mixing of nationalities in a friendly way. By the way, Delicias was a wonderful piece of modern architecture housing some very modern trains capable of 300 kph en route to Barcelona. Two hours later, we arrived safely in Jaca.
AS
I had most of Sunday in Zaragoza to myself prior to catching a bus to Jaca late in the afternooon where I was to attend a week-long meeting of the IGU Commission on the Sustainability of Rural Systems. So, I set out early to avoid the later afternoon heat typical of northern inland Spain. The city centre was suprisingly interesting and historic, but compact despite the city's population of about 700,00 -the fifth largest in Spain. With a Roman name, it was not difficult to find Roman remains, inlcuding part of the wall and what appeared to be an amphitheatre under excavation. The banks of the broad Ebro river were green and pleasant to amble along, or even take a rest. But the Catholic Church provided many of the focal points of interest. The cathedral called Nuestra Señora del Pilar ("Our Lady of the Pillar") was monumental in every sense: size, decorations, and frescos - one reputedly by Goya.
While walking around, I encountered several markets, with one next to the bull-ring looking like multiple garage sales and attracting thousands in search of a bargain. Nearby, a large castle or palace called the AljaferÃa is one of several Moorish remains in the city. 'Remains' is probably not the right word, because the castle houses Aragon's parliament! It was also the site of Verdi's Il Trovatore. Something strange happened at about 2.30 pm and I recalled a similar event experienced in Lisbon several years ago. Slowly the streets emptied and by 3.00 I was one of very few people resembling mad dogs and Englishmen!! In short, it was Siesta time ... something I couldn't get used to all week.
As the evening came on, I met with about 20 colleagues from all over the world at Zaragoza's Delicias Station. First to greet me was someone familiar, my colleague Neil Argent all the way from the University of New England!! We were followed by many other nationalities: Brazilian, Portuguese, Spanish, Belgian, French, Slovenian, Japanese, Korean, Indian, Turkish, Czech, Moroccan and so on. The wonderful thing about these conferences is the mixing of nationalities in a friendly way. By the way, Delicias was a wonderful piece of modern architecture housing some very modern trains capable of 300 kph en route to Barcelona. Two hours later, we arrived safely in Jaca.
AS
Saturday 2 August 2008
A Whirlwind Week
I just can't slow down, however ill I've been, and this week is testimony to this. On Monday, I left home on a 31 hour odyssey to Poole and Plymouth in the UK prior to taking off tomorrow for Zaragoza in Spain. Despite the long trip and 9 hour time shift I was running around all day on the Tuesday and Wednesday was even faster paced.
I arose on Wednesday at 6.00 for a brisk (fast?) run-walk to Bournemouth Pier and back. That took an hour for the c. 8 km. Phillip and I then spent the morning walking on Brownsea Island in Poole harbour, which is the second largest natural harbour in the world after Sydney's. The island is famous having been where Baden Powell set up the scouting movement and it was still crawling with lots of young people camping out in not-so-good weather. The island is notable for its wildlife and we had the luck of seeing a red squirrel on one of its last refuges.
We had to run to catch the ferry back to the mainland and lunch with cousin Eric and his wife Sue. They have moved to Christchurch (near Poole, where Phillip lives) and it was good to catch up with them again. Believe it or not, our previous meeting was in Canberra, Australia last April! After lunch, I met briefly with a long-standing friend, Richard Snow, who also lives in Poole, before Phil and I departed to play a game of bridge that evening at the Christchurch bridge club, one of the strongest in the region. Well, Phil hadn't played for two years and we'd only played once before many years previously. Unsurprisingly I had to learn his system (ACOL) which I hadn't played for years. With this background, I hoped we would come in the top half of the field. Well, we won with a 63% score, roughly 3% ahead of second, north-south. That was some achievement!
After a sound sleep I went for another walk over the same course before driving with Phil to Plymouth, a 3 hour journey over crowded roads. The reason for the visit was to go to Opera in the Park ... an extravaganza at a local country house on the edge of Dartmoor. That was the theory! In practice it was bucketing with rain much of Thursday and the event was transferred to a tiny church in Cornwood ... also on the edge of Dartmoor ... just a few km from where my niece, Joanna, lives at Lutton. Moreover, it's the church where she was married five years ago! One defect with the church as a venue was the columns holding up the roof! The other was its inability to accommodate the 400 ticket-holders because the pews held <300!>
Now to the performance. It was Verdi's Rigoletto, performed by a local amateur group augmented by some talented professionals. I thought it was well done, though the set was strange. Instead of 19th century dress, the setting was Mussolini's fascist Italy and Il Duce himself put in an appearance. For the record, there were two Australians in lead roles! After a quick visit to Plymouth's aquarium this morning and a trip to the Hoe (where Drake played bowls before going out to beat the Spanish Armada), it was off to Poole. Luckily we had time with Joanna's two daughters, Lucie and Hollie. Come to think of it, perhaps I had better keep quiet about this part of the trip when I get to Spain! 
I arose on Wednesday at 6.00 for a brisk (fast?) run-walk to Bournemouth Pier and back. That took an hour for the c. 8 km. Phillip and I then spent the morning walking on Brownsea Island in Poole harbour, which is the second largest natural harbour in the world after Sydney's. The island is famous having been where Baden Powell set up the scouting movement and it was still crawling with lots of young people camping out in not-so-good weather. The island is notable for its wildlife and we had the luck of seeing a red squirrel on one of its last refuges.
We had to run to catch the ferry back to the mainland and lunch with cousin Eric and his wife Sue. They have moved to Christchurch (near Poole, where Phillip lives) and it was good to catch up with them again. Believe it or not, our previous meeting was in Canberra, Australia last April! After lunch, I met briefly with a long-standing friend, Richard Snow, who also lives in Poole, before Phil and I departed to play a game of bridge that evening at the Christchurch bridge club, one of the strongest in the region. Well, Phil hadn't played for two years and we'd only played once before many years previously. Unsurprisingly I had to learn his system (ACOL) which I hadn't played for years. With this background, I hoped we would come in the top half of the field. Well, we won with a 63% score, roughly 3% ahead of second, north-south. That was some achievement!
After a sound sleep I went for another walk over the same course before driving with Phil to Plymouth, a 3 hour journey over crowded roads. The reason for the visit was to go to Opera in the Park ... an extravaganza at a local country house on the edge of Dartmoor. That was the theory! In practice it was bucketing with rain much of Thursday and the event was transferred to a tiny church in Cornwood ... also on the edge of Dartmoor ... just a few km from where my niece, Joanna, lives at Lutton. Moreover, it's the church where she was married five years ago! One defect with the church as a venue was the columns holding up the roof! The other was its inability to accommodate the 400 ticket-holders because the pews held <300!>
Now to the performance. It was Verdi's Rigoletto, performed by a local amateur group augmented by some talented professionals. I thought it was well done, though the set was strange. Instead of 19th century dress, the setting was Mussolini's fascist Italy and Il Duce himself put in an appearance. For the record, there were two Australians in lead roles! After a quick visit to Plymouth's aquarium this morning and a trip to the Hoe (where Drake played bowls before going out to beat the Spanish Armada), it was off to Poole. Luckily we had time with Joanna's two daughters, Lucie and Hollie. Come to think of it, perhaps I had better keep quiet about this part of the trip when I get to Spain!
AS
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