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Friday morning my friends showed up at the door and [livejournal.com profile] sallysimpleton said to my husband, "Here, if we give you this cider, can we take your wife?" He agreed to the terms. Now I know where I stand. I am worth two bottles of cider, and a bottle of cava. Sweet and sparkling: That's me. After dragging luggage out to the car and people taking photos of my road, (because it is pretty quaint) we headed off toward the Motorway. We stopped in Cheddar to see the Cheddar being made IN the namesake village. We arrived when they were at the stage of curds and whey were frothing about in a tank. No spiders. While wandering around the place we watched a video about the cheese-making process. A high-light of the 25 minute film (yes. I know.) was watching a cheese-maker sticking his middle finger into the firming cheesey milk product. One felt he ought to say, "you may feel some discomfort." Of course one check wasn't enough. No, the man kept inserting his middle finger into the stuff. If you are a mature person you won't be too thrown by this procedure. The rest of the human race will snigger. We also saw the enormous rounds of cheese aging. They have other cheeses that age in caves. Once we felt properly educated on the subject of cheddar-making, we went and tried a bunch of their cheeses. From mild to extreme-hardcore super vintage. They also have some other cheeses from around England (including Cornish Yarg. Try it if you ever get the chance.) and their own line of cheese bread sticks. (which aren't bad and are quite buttery) If that doesn't satisfy your shopping urges, they sell some pottery that is suited to your cheese needs and of course cheese knives. I bought a couple of wedges of cheese, which are now sitting happily in my fridge. We had lunch near by in one of the many little restaurants. As it was the low season it was fairly quiet. I can imagine that in the high season that the place must be over-run with coaches and clickety tourists enjoying the cheese. Lactose-weary need not apply for this place is not tolerant. Were you expecting the Dutch? Most of us had a vegetarian ploughman's for lunch. It came with a lot of cheese. One friend had a jacket potato that was also covered in a lot of cheese. We ate well and then headed out on the road. We drove passed a place called Tweentown. Not a lot of Beiber action there.
We ended up taking slightly longer to get to the car rental return place as the weather decided to have a nervous breakdown and weep all over us, thus causing car accidents. We passed one of particular note where three cars were mashed up. Thankfully everyone seemed all right. One woman was standing on the M4 in fierce high-heels that would make most people shudder, hair that was DONE, and a rather smart out-fit. She was on her cellphone. I have never seen such a put together woman in such a mess of a situation. (and that includes Martha Stewart in prison.)
We crawled on our hands and knees in your metaphorical way toward the car rental agency. For the dark it got darker and the cold got colder. We met up with the rest of our party, made sure everyone had oyster cards and their luggage, and tiny pieces of sanity, and we took the tube into London. (with only one change) Most were on their phones. (Everyone needed a bit of introverted screen time.) I found myself reading some magazine left on the tube. It was sort of like an English version of Smithsonian in terms of its varied subject matter. It made the time pass. We hauled luggage to our flats. Yes. Flats. We may have looked like refugees carrying all of our earthly belongings on our back in search of a better life, but we are refugees who aspire to live in quiet neighborhoods with comfy beds. You know... like Polish/Russian aristocrats who made their way to Paris after the revolution. Oh Sergei, I miss those beautiful winters at our dacha, and we would ride on horseback all over the fields and the peasants would look upon us in awe. Now what has come of us? We live in flats that only cover one floor. Let's listen to Chopin and drink hot tea.
We stayed in a fancy pre-war building that was once the headquarters of the Free French during WWII. Let's pretend the ghost of De Gaulle occasionally haunts the floors. My friend K. and I shared a room where the bathroom also had a proper bath. I felt just a trifle like the Provincial Lady in London. My Delafield fantasies have come true. Some felt too worn out by the day and put themselves right to bed. The rest of us went to dinner with one friend's husband. We ate at Kazan. If you like Turkish food, eat here. I suggest the Harem salad, and I also liked the mixed mezze platter. (the Borek in particular is worth eating. Crisp on the outside and delicate inside.) The only downside to the place is that the noise level makes it a bit difficult to hear people. At least the food and scenery are good distractions. Afterward we walked back to our flat, (taking in the architecture) had hot baths/showers, and put ourselves to bed with plans to take in the city the following day.

Date: 2013-03-13 07:40 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] neptunia67.livejournal.com
I checked out the menus at Kazan and would love to try that place sometime. Also the cheese town. Yeah.

Date: 2013-03-13 08:03 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] gfrancie.livejournal.com
There is also a more affordable version of Kazan across the street. (for take-out and the like)
Cheese town is great. Imagine wandering around and eating all of the cheese.

Date: 2013-03-13 08:41 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] neptunia67.livejournal.com
I would love to see some cheese-related pottery, too.

Date: 2013-03-13 10:45 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] gfrancie.livejournal.com
It was mostly keepers for the cheese.

Date: 2013-03-14 01:54 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] cutebutpsycho99.livejournal.com
That spunds like a fun time. And its nice to know what your exchange rate is with Mr. Jenner.

Date: 2013-03-14 11:04 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] gfrancie.livejournal.com
I was hoping it would at least be a couple of sheep and some goats.

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