Heritage
So I'm in the fair city of St. Albans. After planning this visit for a while we call Annie Hell to persuade her to postpone her trip to Dorset by a day. She does so. She also informs us that this weekend is St. Albans Heritage Weekend. So after getting Friday off work, we prepare for our visit.
Andy has managed to damage my other two housemates who were about, and Daniel wraps himself in a blanket, is pale, and shivers through various films. Tom rolls his eyes, grits his teeth, and goes to work. All indie club and no wholesomeness makes Tom and Daniel twitching and weak.
So after making sandwiches me and Anna go to the train station and set off on the Thameslink to St. Albans. A two hour train journey later and we're back in town. Much of this train journey is taken up plotting an itinery of what sights of St. Albans we can see. Now Anna has spent the last couple of months surrounded by the ex-pat Albanian community in Brighton, and therefore the sight of H&H and The Horn the moment we step off the train (something I had forgotten) is an incredible one.
Back to Parkinson Manor, where we hang out with my family (big stacks of frozen food fly everywhere), eat food, stumble about, and then head out to The Beehive (a St. Albans landmark, certainly). We're late. Paul Pepper and Annie Hell are propping up a small table. We go sit in the garden. Catriona and Zoe Gannon are there, and Annie tells us a story of how Simon's boss boked up all over the floor and wall and ledge of O'Neills the other day. Apparently people kept slipping over on the boke, grabbing the ledge to steady themselves, and the rest was history.
Simon and Becky and Simon's Boss were in fact there, but we didn't really get to talk to them. Dirty Liz turned up and told us an amazing story about how she had an entire skeleton painted on her in UV and danced in front of a flourescent light. This guy called Rob turned up. Apparently Annie is an underachiever. Bottlefed! Simon tried to get some ham, on wholemeal bread. Sadly it was not to be.
Afterwards, me, Anna, Nicky P and Paul Pepper went back to Annie's house to drink honey ale. That was cool. And then back to Parkinson Manor to sleep.
Saturday Morning and it's Heritage Day. A Continental Breakfast later, we set off to call for Annie Hell and go for a slightly disappointing glass of Perry in the Lower Red Lion. Then we eat sandwiches at Annie's, chase a rabbit in the Forbidden Area with a net on a stick, and go up the Clock Tower. Despite dire warnings, the 50p fine is waived due to Heritage Weekend. Up the 93 steps, observing the two bells, and then on the top of the Clock Tower. It's cool. We can see the whole of St. Albans, which truly is a sight to behold. We stand, breathtaken by the view of the Finest Cathedral City there ever was. The sweeping vales of Cottonmill. The Tudor Splendor of French Row, with the market spreading around it like so much blue and yellow torrents of rapid flowing water. St Michael's Village elegantly curling itself around the Abbey like a resting weasel. Fleetville, coyly raising one eyebrow over the ridge of the hill. This is something everyone should see before they die.
So then we go to the Abbey. There's a service going on, so we have to be quiet, but we see the Shrine to St. Albans, the First Christian Martyr, the Rose Window, and the picture of St. Alban having his head cut off and his executioner's eyes falling out. Outside the Abbey, we wander through Verulamium Park to see the Russian Ducks and the Big Concrete Square, before visiting the Oldest Pub in England, The Fighting Cocks. There we see children encasing each other in wooden blocks and drink turtles with sake. Swiftly we then head back to Parkinson Manor, but stop to visit Gokan, who tells me about my forthcoming assasination, and the shame I have brought onto my school and family. We eventually get home to eat vegetarian lasagne before heading down to Sopwell Lane to visit such local establishments as The Goat, The White Lion, The Garibaldi and The Beehive. Annie Hell is wearing a very soft maroon jumper that turns out to actually belong to Anna, but was stolen at White Noise. We drink a variety of ciders. Paul and Robbie may go to Japan next month with Tommy Withie.
We bid farewell to Robbie, Paul and Annie Hell outside the Beehive, and we lose Nick as he sets off in search of a Chicken Roll. When we get home me and Anna share a can of Boddingtons and I rant at her through rose tinted spectacles about the past.
Sunday is much more relaxed than the dramatic pursuit of Heritage that took place yesterday, and after breakfasts and Birth Certificates, we fail to muster a walk in the countryside, but do stroll around the Wick, the local conservation area, full of squirrels and big old trees and teenagers and dogs. We place some miscellaneous objects in the attic, and stroll to the station via Hatfield Road. Anna goes and looks inside the Rats Castle, whilst I cower outside, and we buy some Fudgy Wudgy's from Londis. Our plans to drink a half in The Horn before the train comes are dashed due to it not being open until seven, and so we pop into the Robin Hood for a pint of ale and some live jazz and sharing the last cigarette. We then go to the station where Anna sets off to Brighton. I go home and eat a Linda Mc Cartney Small Vegetarian Pie with roast potatoes and gravy, as my family wrap the chicken. Some kind of cheesecake for pudding. Most classy, I'm sure you will agree.
The Legion of Filth, St. Albans Supergroup, perform at the Horn Redbourn that evening. Despite their name, they're a prog-folk affair, but do feature the Shakin' Stevensons, with their shaky eggs and maracas, Richard Groves, Simon Who Plays The Drums With a Lighter, and some guy playing the bass. Becky has lost her voice, and Simon is planning to buy the lease on Tolmers. Chikinboy goes off to mainline, but we're used to that now. At the last minute, Chris Ennis turns up with Temujin in the back of his car, so I do actually manage to see Tem during my time in St. Albans. We go to H&H and eat chips. It actually turns out that Temmy "1000 Miles" D reads this bloggue fiasco. So hello Tem!. They get whisked away again, and I go home to amble around the Manor.
It's now Monday, and this evening is The Armoured Core night at the Horn Redbourn, which means much of the pounding electronicka variety from Sleeve Hancock and his cru. Most exciting. I am preparing a smiley face t-shirt to go with my white gloves and glowstick in anticipation.
And then down to Brighton again tomorrow. What a most excellent weekend.
St. Albans! Weekend away!
Andy has managed to damage my other two housemates who were about, and Daniel wraps himself in a blanket, is pale, and shivers through various films. Tom rolls his eyes, grits his teeth, and goes to work. All indie club and no wholesomeness makes Tom and Daniel twitching and weak.
So after making sandwiches me and Anna go to the train station and set off on the Thameslink to St. Albans. A two hour train journey later and we're back in town. Much of this train journey is taken up plotting an itinery of what sights of St. Albans we can see. Now Anna has spent the last couple of months surrounded by the ex-pat Albanian community in Brighton, and therefore the sight of H&H and The Horn the moment we step off the train (something I had forgotten) is an incredible one.
Back to Parkinson Manor, where we hang out with my family (big stacks of frozen food fly everywhere), eat food, stumble about, and then head out to The Beehive (a St. Albans landmark, certainly). We're late. Paul Pepper and Annie Hell are propping up a small table. We go sit in the garden. Catriona and Zoe Gannon are there, and Annie tells us a story of how Simon's boss boked up all over the floor and wall and ledge of O'Neills the other day. Apparently people kept slipping over on the boke, grabbing the ledge to steady themselves, and the rest was history.
Simon and Becky and Simon's Boss were in fact there, but we didn't really get to talk to them. Dirty Liz turned up and told us an amazing story about how she had an entire skeleton painted on her in UV and danced in front of a flourescent light. This guy called Rob turned up. Apparently Annie is an underachiever. Bottlefed! Simon tried to get some ham, on wholemeal bread. Sadly it was not to be.
Afterwards, me, Anna, Nicky P and Paul Pepper went back to Annie's house to drink honey ale. That was cool. And then back to Parkinson Manor to sleep.
Saturday Morning and it's Heritage Day. A Continental Breakfast later, we set off to call for Annie Hell and go for a slightly disappointing glass of Perry in the Lower Red Lion. Then we eat sandwiches at Annie's, chase a rabbit in the Forbidden Area with a net on a stick, and go up the Clock Tower. Despite dire warnings, the 50p fine is waived due to Heritage Weekend. Up the 93 steps, observing the two bells, and then on the top of the Clock Tower. It's cool. We can see the whole of St. Albans, which truly is a sight to behold. We stand, breathtaken by the view of the Finest Cathedral City there ever was. The sweeping vales of Cottonmill. The Tudor Splendor of French Row, with the market spreading around it like so much blue and yellow torrents of rapid flowing water. St Michael's Village elegantly curling itself around the Abbey like a resting weasel. Fleetville, coyly raising one eyebrow over the ridge of the hill. This is something everyone should see before they die.
So then we go to the Abbey. There's a service going on, so we have to be quiet, but we see the Shrine to St. Albans, the First Christian Martyr, the Rose Window, and the picture of St. Alban having his head cut off and his executioner's eyes falling out. Outside the Abbey, we wander through Verulamium Park to see the Russian Ducks and the Big Concrete Square, before visiting the Oldest Pub in England, The Fighting Cocks. There we see children encasing each other in wooden blocks and drink turtles with sake. Swiftly we then head back to Parkinson Manor, but stop to visit Gokan, who tells me about my forthcoming assasination, and the shame I have brought onto my school and family. We eventually get home to eat vegetarian lasagne before heading down to Sopwell Lane to visit such local establishments as The Goat, The White Lion, The Garibaldi and The Beehive. Annie Hell is wearing a very soft maroon jumper that turns out to actually belong to Anna, but was stolen at White Noise. We drink a variety of ciders. Paul and Robbie may go to Japan next month with Tommy Withie.
We bid farewell to Robbie, Paul and Annie Hell outside the Beehive, and we lose Nick as he sets off in search of a Chicken Roll. When we get home me and Anna share a can of Boddingtons and I rant at her through rose tinted spectacles about the past.
Sunday is much more relaxed than the dramatic pursuit of Heritage that took place yesterday, and after breakfasts and Birth Certificates, we fail to muster a walk in the countryside, but do stroll around the Wick, the local conservation area, full of squirrels and big old trees and teenagers and dogs. We place some miscellaneous objects in the attic, and stroll to the station via Hatfield Road. Anna goes and looks inside the Rats Castle, whilst I cower outside, and we buy some Fudgy Wudgy's from Londis. Our plans to drink a half in The Horn before the train comes are dashed due to it not being open until seven, and so we pop into the Robin Hood for a pint of ale and some live jazz and sharing the last cigarette. We then go to the station where Anna sets off to Brighton. I go home and eat a Linda Mc Cartney Small Vegetarian Pie with roast potatoes and gravy, as my family wrap the chicken. Some kind of cheesecake for pudding. Most classy, I'm sure you will agree.
The Legion of Filth, St. Albans Supergroup, perform at the Horn Redbourn that evening. Despite their name, they're a prog-folk affair, but do feature the Shakin' Stevensons, with their shaky eggs and maracas, Richard Groves, Simon Who Plays The Drums With a Lighter, and some guy playing the bass. Becky has lost her voice, and Simon is planning to buy the lease on Tolmers. Chikinboy goes off to mainline, but we're used to that now. At the last minute, Chris Ennis turns up with Temujin in the back of his car, so I do actually manage to see Tem during my time in St. Albans. We go to H&H and eat chips. It actually turns out that Temmy "1000 Miles" D reads this bloggue fiasco. So hello Tem!. They get whisked away again, and I go home to amble around the Manor.
It's now Monday, and this evening is The Armoured Core night at the Horn Redbourn, which means much of the pounding electronicka variety from Sleeve Hancock and his cru. Most exciting. I am preparing a smiley face t-shirt to go with my white gloves and glowstick in anticipation.
And then down to Brighton again tomorrow. What a most excellent weekend.
St. Albans! Weekend away!
posted by Rufus Moonshine at 6:23 AM
1 Comments:
Frankfurt Motor Show?
Dude.. Check the White Noise e-mail accounts. There's a message for you from some girl who knows Jacob.
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