Old Blighty

Fourteen hour flight went pretty smoothly. Path took us northward parallel with Beijing. Turned left and essentially followed the Trans Siberian Rail route. I recognised all the place names from Joanna Lumley's recent TV documentary. Flew over the Baltic sea the the southern tip of Sweden and northern Denmark. Crossed the English coast line at Kingston upon Hull and landed very shortly after.

Immigration was enlightening. There weren't a lot of Europeans on the flight and it seems that all of them except the two of us had English or Euro Passports and were able to move quickly through dedicated gates. J & I had to follow all the other passengers who

seemed to be Chinese students on student visas. There was one Official in a Border Force uniform who was shouting at all these poor kids for the first 15 or 20 minutes. Basically treating them like criminals. We too were experiencing the phobia heaped upon people wanting to make the most of their education. Can't imagine what it must be like to seek asylum.

Anyway, eventually found our way to the rental car place. They didn't have what we requested so we have ended up with more of a People Mover. It's a bit of a strange vehicle which turns itself off when you come to a stop. I thought the bloody thing was stalling. But it starts itself automatically when you take your foot off the brake.

Followed the directions we were given for Lancaster but regardless, we managed to get completely lost. Headed off in the wrong direction entirely and eventually found ourselves in a pretty little town called

Rochedale. Several helpful folk (and some pretty colourful language) later we were finally on the road to our destination.

The Sun Hotel and bar is our home in Lancaster. It looks as if it was once several separate buildings and could only be described as a rabbit warren on the inside. In one of the dining rooms there is a large circle of glass in the floor and you can look down into a very old well. There is no documentary proof, but they think that the well could date back to Roman times. Our bed here is more comfortable but sadly, only a double. Anything larger though wouldn't have left any space to move about in the room. As it is, we are very squeezy.

Walked to Christ Church where Mary Raby married Edmund Robinson, my great-grandparents, last evening. Feels strange to be walking in the footsteps of family known only in photos. Also found the house where Mary lived with her family just before her marriage to Edmund. More of that this afternoon when we pay a visit to Morecambe Bay.

Found the War memorial on the waterfront at Morecambe Bay. Great-Uncle Edmund Robinson's name is inscribed on the WW1 face. There is a post card from the Great-Aunts of the Memorial's unveiling after the War, so it was easily recognisable.

Found the family's retirement home at Park St, Morecambe and visited the grave of the Great Aunt's Beatrice and Mabel Robinson. Sad to think that probably no one has ever visited their grave.

Called in to say thank you to the good folk at the Lancaster Council Offices at Morecambe who look after cemeteries. They had been so helpful via email and were even more helpful today. I took one of my little zippered pouches for Julie and Beth was so nice that I asked her to choose one for herself too. She was really thrilled.

Returned to Lancaster and took Johnny to a pub on the Lancaster Canal that I had spotted yesterday. Wandering along the canal tow-path we met a mother swan with her babies sailing along behind. They seemed to be as tame as ducks and looked for a handout. They looked so regal as they floated along the canal.

As the weather was warm and sunny and the pub was sheltered, we sat outside and had a pint each, (mine was a half and half shandy). The girl behind the bar said we must have brought the lovely weather with us. So it seems was are striking it lucky with the weather.

Johnny got a new phone today and we both got UK SIM cards. He won't escape me now! He has started taking "selfies". We must have looked utterly silly waiting for our dinner and giggling at the camera.

At the end of the street we are staying in we found a plaque that calls this city "The Hanging City". Apparently the magistrates here were pretty keen on the Rope. Despite that grizzly thought, Lancaster is quite a lovely city and John is already talking about coming back. A lot of young people around town because of the university. As opposed to Morecambe which still seems to be retirement central. Not that there is anything wrong with that of course.