Down the rabbit hole we go...

Friday we ventured out to Stratford Upon Avon, only to discover something called a Mop Fair going on. It's basically a traveling carnival with rides and such, but I thought it funny that I asked no less than three locals in varied locations what "Mop" has to do with it and none could tell me. I assume it's not a sloppy wet thing on a stick that one uses to swab the deck or clean the floor. In any case, from the train station we walked to Anne Hathaway's cottage, which was some distance from the centre of town, but it was a nice walk through garden paths and flowers and tiny residential districts of Tudor period homes and expensive cars. It must cost a jillion to live here. Along the paths, though, are signs that read "No Fouling" and have a picture of a dog leaving a steaming pile with an "x" through it. Hee-larious. Really. Check out my Facebook page to see the photo (and all of the photos - they're there and I didn't feel like posting them twice).

The cottage was neat and worth the tourist dollars to walk through. Stratford really is charming and lovely and I'm glad I got to come back here. Last time I spent all of an hour after the Shakespeare's house tour and I missed out. Every street is cute, every person smiling and polite, and I simply love the little smart jokes everywhere, like Marlowe's pub "recently refurbished, 1595." Of course there's the requisite Starbucks, but what's nice is that there is always an array of choices for one's coffee needs, and the sweet shops are divine. I got some clotted cream fudge and was immediately sorry for it - I couldn't rest until it was all gone, of course. Dee-licious. I spent the rest of the time trolling the gift shops and finding lunch for us to take on the train - I settled on sausage rolls (as recommended by a local fellow) and some sodas and crisps. We reconvened at the train station to head to Oxford next and ate our lunches on the way there. However, there was a change at Leamington Spa (or something like that) and since they're working on the trains, there was one less running that day. We took the entire rest of the trip - nearly an hour - standing on the packed train and trying to keep busy with iPods.

Oxford is also far more charming than I can stand, and its only down side as I see it is that it feels way too much like an American college town, and I can get that at home. But it's scenic and like everything else in the UK, is home to some great pubs and what seems like the entirety of British history is housed in its very stones. We were greeted off the train by brilliant red leaves on the changing trees and the old castle. Next was to find the oldest pub in town, The Bear Inn, dating back to 1242. It too was under "refurbishment" but still open for business and I feel certain after sitting in it that Lewis Carroll had to have spent some considerable time here. The pub boasts not a single right angle in the whole place, and this is immediately apparent. The poor bartender has to be at a constant stoop because the ceiling is so low and the floor visibly slants to one side in each room. The Ladies' room up the stairs is probably the weirdest one I've ever been in. The steps are crooked and narrow, and get more so toward the top until you reach the door to the Ladies' which is so short even I had to crouch considerably and I'm not tall. Inside is a cramped but cute loo and pedestal sink. It's not for the claustrophobic to be sure. It's very Alice-in-Wonderland. We drank a cider there called Scrumpy Jack, which was delightful and strong.

We then walked round the town, took photos at Christchurch and Exeter - both of which are lovely - and we managed to arrive at the Bodleian just in time for it to be "closed to visitors." Grrr. I really wanted to see the inside of it. From there it was back to the train station, only to discover that there was once more a backup in the system and the fast train to London was standing room only. I was very glad when the train pulled in and emptied so we could sit for the remainder because I was beat. Everyone on the train was grumpy or annoying, so I tuned out and dozed off.

We planned earlier that day to try and find the curry place in Soho that Rick Steves had mentioned in his book, so we got out in London and went to Piccadilly, only to find that it was still rush hour and Friday night (which is pretty much the same travel hell in any country, apparently). We stumbled through Soho hungry and without curry and every place we went to eat had at least an hour wait. I was stressed and grouchy, but I could sense that Sarah was too and since she's far more stable in this regard than myself, took it as a bad sign. Ultimately, we settled on the pasta place next door to our flat (in a nice, business district that's all closed up by 5) and then wandered back home to sleep.