“In 1883, the London and South-Western Railway announced plans to run a line through the heart of the Stonehenge site. When people complained, a railway official countered that Stonehenge. was “entirely out of repair, and not the slightest use to anyone now.” Bill Bryson

One of the pleasures of staying at the theological college is that one can jump out of bed before, at or just after dawn and go explore the cathedral before it or the close opens. Last time I took a series of dark atmospheric pictures including one which framed my devil-like form within a hood in front of the outer vaulted ceiling next to the door to the magna carta. I repeated the experience and snapped a repeat shot with a little more grey in my beard. I wandered the cathedral this time amongst a handful of other hardy souls who had caught on to my plan. Last time I was alone except for a small high church group of clergy and faithful conducting a service in Latin. This time I noted the café had been moved into the cathedral. Bottle of Punk IPA and a cup of tea anyone?

I returned to my room and at 7.50 am collected mum. Genievieve or Bethany had warned us that they had a group in, W.I. or Ladies of the Parish, and to get to the dining room early for breakfast. So, we found ourselves queueing as the weary looking kitchen crew filled the last bain-maries with hash browns, bacon, beans, scrambled eggs and gently sunburnt tomatoes. Finally a woman who looked like she was probably Pilipino wandered up to the glass door and dragged it open. The fast was to be broken.

I switched to hotel breakfast mode and immediately secured seating by plonking cups of brewing tea on the table. Next toast was loaded into the conveyor toaster before the plate was loaded with the sacrificial offering of a herd of pigs. A gentleman of middling years chatted to me about the inadequacies of the conveyor toaster. He referred to it as “our toaster” leaving me wondering if he was the principal whose office door we passed every time we left our room and which was usually open giving a glimpse of a former age when important offices included packed oak bookcases, busts of patricians and decanters loaded with sherry and scotch. I later looked him up and he was a mere “Tutor in Mission”.
The ladies of the parish slowly filled in but there was no rush nor queue.   

We set out to do the cathedral the legitimate way with a guide and a tithe paid to polish the stones. Upon arrival across the lawn we found we were 15 minutes too early so trapsed all the way back to our room so mum could add layers against the ancient stone draughts. Upon returning we were paired up with a guide called Dudley. He was somewhere between 70 and 90 dressed as if he were to be meeting up with a group of fellow veterans of life. His initials were embroidered into his purple guide sash. He bore a strong resemblance to the late comedic actor Trevor Peacock. We were joined by a chap from Manchester who had a deep interest in the ancient mechanical clock the cathedral houses. The tour was thorough and very human with Dudley having intermittent moments where he couldn’t recall a fact or answer a question but would doggedly and diligently search out an answer. After an hour and a half we retired to the refractory for tea coffee and a bottle of water. I resisted the Punk IPA.

I booked a ticket to Stone Henge on my phone and we wandered down to the bus stop in town. After a wee wait we were flying through the Wiltshire countryside looking down on high hedges from the top of a double decker bus. When we arrived we discovered that the $80 NZD tickets “to Stone Henge” were actually to the Stone Henge Visitor Centre which is out of sight of the henge and if we wanted to see the henge we would need to cough up another $100 NZD. Obviously I did this but it would have been better if the full cost was obvious from the outset. Never let it be said that we aren’t doing our bit for the economy of the motherland.

Financial transparency aside the henge was amazing. Yes I know I should go to Avebury but without a car this was it and it was pretty special. The winter temps meant that while it was busy it wasn’t teaming with tourists and I was afforded the opportunity to snap a bunch of pictures without “Hans” and “Pedro” milling around in the foreground. We circumnavigated the henge watched by English Heritage staff and crows. As we returned towards the bus stop that would a take us back to the visitor centre a commotion broke out as a tourist jumped the barrier and made a run for the stones. Staff and crows screamed and screeched and johnny foreigner was beaten back into line.
The coaches back to Salisbury only left on the hour so there was a moment of “last flight out of Saigon” as we rushed to avoid an hour at the visitor centre. Barriers like “please exit through the gift shop” were thrust in our path but we prevailed. The henge may have come and gone in usefulness through the aeons but it seems to have some economic utility currently.

Back in Salisbury we repaired to a couple of high street pubs where at the first I struggled through a poorly kept pint of Bath Ales Gem before popping next door for an acceptable HSB and some fish and chips where the fish had seen better days. January can be tough for the trade over here I guess.

Then we set off to experience an English supermarket. I get the feeling that even the English don’t routinely experience their supermarkets anymore with delivery being the norm. After wandering around the Avon ,  cris crossing     it via foot bridges we slipped under an A road on a underpass and arrived at Sainsburys. We wandered the shop collecting a set of knifes, some Montgomery Cheddar and a pork pie. Then we navigated our way through some suburban streets back to the Wyndham Arms. As we wandered up the hill we passed the local police station , its carpark was full of signs warning “don’t leave valuables in your car, thieves have been active in this area”. We had a pint at the Wyndham before wandering back to the college and dining on pork pie and cheddar and spending another night slumbering in the shadow of the spire.