Outside Shakespeare's birthplace. We walked past just as the sun was setting, making the windows glitter and gleam.
We sat by the river Avon and drank strawberry cider (well, I tried some of Jen's and made a face something like this. I am not a cider fan).
Not Stratford-upon-Avon
There is a very small clump of woodland roundabout where I live, so we wondered there one lazy, sleep-deprived Sunday (after staying up the night before watching Neverwhere until silly hours).
Victorian explorers; it felt especially appropriate as our walk took us to the old house of W. S. Gilbert.
I was held up for half an hour when my train was cancelled (lack of a driver). Fast trains often rush through this station, not-stopping, on their way to the north, creating waves of turbulent air and a slight ringing as the wheels speed on the metal of the tracks. I was so scared of them as a child, and I still automatically stick my fingers in my ears and tense up when one passes.
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