Next week I will be in London, then Wales, for two weeks. We will be staying, appropriately, in the Morgan House near Victoria Station, near a church nearby where my grandfather was the minister. There is no way to see London in a lifetime, so I will be very selective. One night my relatives will be gathering for dinner in a pub overlooking the Thames River. They speak “real English,” or course, but I have gotten fairly good at fooling the natives there with my British accent.
We then proceed to Wales. I said I’d like my ashes put in the River Wye in Wales near the Tintern Abbey, but I think all things considered, I’d rather wait awhile longer. I will be able to see the abbey ruins from the window of the cottage where we will be staying and I plan on climbing the walkway above the abbey where the poet Wordsworth and his sister often walked to escape London. They call the the top of that the “devil’s pulpit,” and I have always wanted to give a jolly good devilish speech.
From Tintern we proceed north to a rather remote 18th Century farmhouse in the mountains but near the ocean. The owners told me we should not worry about the sheep in the yard because there’s a shepherd nearby. They also warned me to bring a flashlight if we arrive at night because there are no lights except the moon and stars.
We are keeping a joint blog of our adventure. I will share excerpts from time to time. Depending on when you read this entry, bora da (good day in Welsh) or nos da (good night). And, of course, cherrio.