A Weekend in Lincoln

Apparently kids from Lincoln are quite nonplussed when they go to Paris and see Notre Dame, according to Emily and Chloe. After growing up next to this magnificent monstrosity, it’s not hard to see why.

Even at midnight on a foggy night in spring, the lights of Lincoln Cathedral serve as a beacon for miles. Probably because unlike St Paul’s or York Minster (the only larger cathedrals in Britain) it’s perched high on a hill. We’ve been driving for about four hours since I left my suitcase on the train in Basingstoke, so the spires are a very welcome sight!

The magnificent Lincoln Cathedral, shortly before midnight

The street that leads from town to the cathedral is aptly named “Steep Street”. The next morning, after buying a few essentials to make up for the loss of my suitcase, we head up it. It’s hard not to enjoy walking up Steep Street... there’s a jolly mood that makes me wonder if it was JK Rowling’s inspiration for Hogsmeade. No wonder Steep Street has been named “Britain’s Great Street” winner 2012.

Steep Street

Emily convinces me to try an ostrich burger (which is delicious and tastes a lot like lamb), then we head towards Lincoln Castle to try and snatch a glimpse of the film crew working on the new series of Downton Abbey.

With Emily in front of Lincoln Castle.
My hair product was on the train in Portsmouth.

Inside the cathedral

We’re out of luck, and return back towards the cathedral, which we explore briefly before a military service begins. It’s easy to spot the resemblance to Notre Dame. I’m intrigued to learn that Lincoln Cathedral also doubled for Westminster Abbey in the Da Vinci Code.

Near the Angel Choir, Emily draws my attention to a little imp that has been mischievously sculpted above a pillar. According to 14th Century legend, this imp was turned to stone by an angel, after being caught trying to destroy the cathedral. I love stories like that.

In the afternoon, we head down to a Young Farmers Rally. Though New Zealand kids have a reputation for being rough farm kids, this is a new experience for me.

It's meant to be spring, but the wind is chilling us all to our bones. Luckily, I’m wearing about eight layers, thanks to resourceful Emily, who has nicked me warm things from just about every male relative!

Despite the arctic conditions, watching the tug-of-war is great fun.

I've never quite figured out why they call it tug-of-war?

After an Indian dinner, and some freshening up, we reattach our eight layers and head back to the rally – where we quickly assemble our tent before dark.

That’s right, you heard me. This fearless city slicker is going camping on a freezing weekend in the north. But first, it’s time to dance the night away.

The dancing is momentarily interrupted while I learn a valuable lesson: if a girl flicks something on to the ground from her hair and asks you what it is, and it’s a cockroach; lie!!

Unfortunately I cotton on too late and tell the truth, which predictably sparks half an hour of hysterical tears. I'll chalk that one up to experience.

After the cockroach episode, I test my testosterone on the classic Young Farmers bucking bronco.

Emily, Chloe and I retire to our tent at around 1am. Wary of frostbite, I keep all eight layers of clothing on, adding a liberal amount of warm blankets too. We’d have slept snugly all night, were it not for the tent of marauding young farmers next door.

The next morning, after a shower and a quick nap at Emily’s mum’s house, I’m treated to Sunday roast in the 350 year old farmhouse she grew up in. This was the highlight of the weekend: like many antipodeans, I can scarcely wrap my head around the idea of so many generations existing within a single building.

Emily's 350 year old farmhouse

Shortly after lunch, we return to the car for the long drive back to London.

It passes quickly - a sign of good company, I guess.

Life Lesson #46 - Left Luggage

I'm proud of my suitcase.

The only mementos of my travels are plastered all over it. When you travel as often as I do, collecting 2D souvenirs starts to seem as desirable as it is practical.

And, when I'm bored in a queue at an airport, I do love being able to stir pleasant memories just by looking at my luggage.

But the best thing about my heavily stickered case is that it's clearly mine. They don't come more unique than this. This is the Lady Gaga of carry-on wheelie cases.

I find it comforting to know that nobody is ever going to pick up my case by accident, and that if I ever lose it, it will be easier to spot in a line-up than a one-legged pirate in drag.

When Emily and I step off a train in Basingstoke, I get my first chance to test this theory. About thirty seconds after exiting the carriage, I suddenly realise how remarkably free my arms feel. Because they aren't pulling anything along behind me.

I've left my suitcase on the train!

We're going camping up north, and without my case I have no sleeping bag, no clothes but the ones I'm wearing (more stylish than thermal), and no toothbrush. Also none of the delicious snacks I bought for the journey.

We sprint back, but the train has already left. We find a station manager and tell him what's happened. He rolls his eyes.

Emily's friend Chloe is driving us up to Lincoln and offers to swing past Winchester on the way - the train's next stop. We beg the station manager to rouse some initiative and radio Winchester with details of the carriage and case, in the hope that someone will be able to run on and rescue it. They promise to.

Then, we hightail it to Winchester. Knowing the train will already have passed through, I try to google a phone number, so we don't have to bother going to Winchester if they weren't able to get it off.

National Rail's website delivers me two dead numbers for Winchester station direct, so eventually I just call the main call centre. I'm on hold for 10 minutes listening to eight bars of Clair de Lune repeating endlessly. When finally someone answers, I ask him to put me through to Winchester station. He asks me to spell it. After repeating it a few times at decreasing speed, he finally understands precisely which station I want to speak to.

"Sorry sir, we have a policy of not transferring anyone to speak with stations directly".

Clearly sensing my exasperation, he says he'll speak to them for me. Back on hold. Halfway through Clair de Lune, I'm cut off.

We're nearly at Winchester now, so I don't bother calling again.

The station manager at Winchester looks at me with the expression I reserve for strangers who blow smoke into my face at bus stops.

"Yeah, sorry. It was really busy. There was no way I could get through all the people to grab your case".

He's clearly forgotten that we were just on that train... we know exactly how many people were on it: about half a dozen. He just couldn't be bothered trying. Which would have been vaguely ok if he hadn't said he would, when we radioed from Basingstoke before driving all the way here.

Part of me simply wishes he was a better liar, and had said he ran on but couldn't spot it and wasn't willing to hold up the train.

So, I give up and we continue north to Lincoln. An hour or so later I'm able to confirm that my case has arrived at the end of the line - Portsmouth. I arrange to pick it up from the left luggage factility at Waterloo later in the week.

It's a great feeling when I'm finally reunited with it, as we're off to Rome a few days later and I'd had visions of carrying my life in plastic bags.

Though when I open it up, I'm bemused to find that all the edible goodies have been removed from inside. Clearly my case was delivered by Santa!

6 Strange Things to Do in York

One of the best things about living in King’s Cross is the easy access to trains heading north towards Scotland. We wanted to show our visiting relatives a side of England that you can’t get in London, and decided to take them up to York for the day to experience Ye Olde England.

East Coast trains offer cheap off-peak tickets, provided you book about three months ahead when tickets are released. And the hi-speed service only takes two hours from King’s Cross to York, making it a perfectly accessible day trip from London.

Sunset over the river as we were leaving York

And there’s a lot to do in York once you get there. I did plenty of research to ensure we could make the most of our time, and here’s what ended up on the itinerary:

Sing “The Grand Old Duke of York” at Clifford’s Tower

Clifford's Tower

While there is no real link between York Castle and the nursery rhyme “the Grand Old Duke of York”, the shape of the hill on which it sits is so absurd that I personally found idea of 10,000 men marching up and back down again irresistible. Actually Clifford’s Tower is the most prominent remaining section of York Castle, built by William the Conqueror in 1068 – so it’s a legitimate York attraction and well worth a visit even if you’re too mature to sing about it.

Smell a Viking
Thirty years ago, archaeologists in York excavated the thousand-year old Viking city of Jorvik. Now the site has been developed into a visitor experience that even extends the sensory experience to smells – from the cooking to the latrine. If you’ve been to a Viking centre in Scandinavia then this probably won’t compete, but if it’s your first Viking encounter then it’s a bit of fun – especially with kids.

Have an unusual pub meal
Ever tried rabbit? Or pigeon? The best pub in York is called Black Swan, and it serves both. My pie was roughly the size of my head. I suggest one meal between two.

Paul's rabbit stew

The Black Swan pub

Echo in the chapter house at York Minster

The Chapter House roof

The English really know how to make a glorious cathedral, and this gothic one is a must for anyone visiting York. Entry is expensive, but don’t let that put you off: it’s worth it. The climb to the top is not for the faint hearted, but the view is spectacular. However the highlight for me is the amazing acoustics in the 800 year-old round Chapter House. When you’re alone, stand in the centre and sing. The echo is the best I’ve ever encountered! We were in the second verse of Barbara Ann before we got snapped by a confused looking attendant.

View from the top of York Minster

Wander the York Shambles
The old town of York still feels like it’s haunted by the ghost of Guy Fawkes, probably because some of the buildings in the Shambles date as far back as the fourteenth century. The creaky Tudor buildings make the leaning tower of Pisa look positively ordinary - and it wouldn't be hard to believe that this street is where we get the word 'shambles' from (though it isn't).

Relax in a Ruined Abbey
St Mary’s Abbey oozes history. I lay on the grass for over half an hour, staring up at the ruined arch windows and imagining the 800 years of history. The surrounding gardens are lovely too, and we were delighted to see scurrying squirrels everywhere.

The ruins of St Mary's Abbey

We left feeling as though we had experienced about as much of York as you possibly could in one day. And we were home before 9pm! 

It was a surprisingly easy day-trip, and one I would highly recommend for visitors to London who are short on time but still keen to see more of England.