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Best laid plans -- you know how that goes.

Don was scheduled to arrive a couple of hours before me, so he planned to meet me at my terminal when I arrived.  Turned out, his flight from National to connect in Philadelphia was cancelled and he had to take a cab to Dulles just to get to Heathrow Friday morning.  So I waited for him here at customs.


But even though he made it through customs after me at Heathrow, we did manage to meet up basically right on time.


Then we rented a car.


Nice, huh?  A Vauxhall.  Sure hope we make it back with no dents or dings.


The road to Peterborough took us through several construction zones, so we encountered one traffic jam after another.  What should have been a quick trip took 3-4 hours and I hadn't slept on the plane and I really didn't need to be driving but...what're you gonna do?  We're due in the English countryside.

A few days later we were driving on a superhighway with electronic display signs and I heard Don ask, "What's 'no hards holder'?" So I looked up and sure enough, with the words run together that's what it looked like the electronic sign said.  "No hardshoulder." Ha ha.  Maybe you had to be there.


Stay on the LEFT, Bill.


Well here we are...home for the next week.  Nice place.  In the middle of NOWHERE.


But it's pretty.


And there's nice scenery.


And it looks warm and comfy inside. Hey, Don!


It's like a farm.  That's an old barn on the left.


There are even horses.


And I have a comfy bed.


And a nice kitchen.


Fully equipped.  But why is the clothes washer by the sink and the dishwasher out on the enclosed porch?  We guessed the dishwasher didn't fit in the hole, but we never learned for sure.


And a sitting room. But there's no time for this.  We're hungry. Let's hit the wrong side of the road.

Want to drive around the neighborhood with us?  Click here:

Google Map Street View


The Black Horse Inn, Nassington, came highly recommended.  It was dark when we got there, so I grabbed this daylight pic off the internet.


It's a very nice small-town pub.


These stupid American tourists had no idea what that thing on the bar was.  Turned out it was where they set drippy glasses of beer so the overflow could drain into the holes.  No, Don, it's not for displaying boiled eggs.


C'mon, Don, tell me you didn't ask the guy if it was for boiled eggs.


Who cares?  Nice dinner, a fire so perfect we thought it had to be gas.


The sign on the outside of our cottage does make a good point.  It's been a long day.  G'night.


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