Storming the Castle - or not

Gillio girls after tea
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Nancy finally had a day off and it wasn't raining, so she wanted to treat us to something very British and touristy.  Warwick Castle is the obvious destination.  Perfect castle with all the side show attractions.  We set off at nap time and took the scenic route through the Muslim district of the city to give Chloe some extra sleeping time.  It was interesting to see how quickly the feel of streets changed and how the stores suddenly started doing business curbside, very familiar from our previous travels.  Then we took the rolling back roads filled with green fields, sheep, cows, and flowers.  Chloe woke up to a picnic in the park and a playground--no time to even complain about the car ride.

Teddy bears pray for peace and more pub winnings.
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After a good play, we strapped Chloe into the stroller and told her we were off to storm the castle and see lots of peacocks.  Our path took us under a stately arch and between some imposing looking natural castle walls that were about two stories high and right up to the entrance of the castle.  Things were going great until we saw the entrance fees.  They wanted 18 quid a head to get past the gates.  Highway robbery, especially on a US dollar that is now equal to a Canadian dollar.  With some quick calculations, we figured we were bored of castles.  We'd planned to use Jim and Phil's winnings from pub quiz night, but that could be better spent elsewhere.

We came across a 14 century timber-framed tea house that was perfect for indulging in clotted cream, scones, and bread pud.

Meg and Jim in front of timber-framed houses
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(Guest appearance by Jim to discuss pub quiz night)

And just how did Jim and Phil take home such a haul of loot that fine evening of July 10? On the whole, it could be chalked up to Phil's diligent maintenance of a warehouse of knowledge of British culture, with a modest assist from Jim on current events and trivia more suitable for the North American palette. But the prize couldn't have been carried home without a little help from our racist friends. (Please be warned that the following tale contains adult themes and language and is not suitable for small children who aren't regularly exposed to the less savory vagaries of English pub culture). First off, a bit about "Quiz Night" at the pub. Recently, I've been told, "Quiz Night" has been voted as one of the mainstays of British culture. It started about 20 years ago and has spread across the pubs of the land as a cheap and entertaining night out and a way to make use of the endless stores of junk-knowledge we accumulate via TV,the papers, gossip, and so forth. People throw in a pound each to play, you need two to have a team, and the team with the most points at the end takes home all the money. On this night turnout was pretty good--23 people spread over about 9 teams. Phil told me he'd never actually won because there are usually a few ringers in the crowd who know way too much about stuff like cricket and wars (yeah, it helps to have breadth in interests, but on the whole this is a pretty macho scene). So we started out holding our own with questions about the news, sports, lists, and so forth. Then we really tanked on a certain category...at least, that's what it looked like, until these two lads at the next table, who'd been friendly throughout but not quite as successful as us, decided to throw us the right answers to keep up our chances for a come-from-behind victory. Their assist kept us alive and we totally nailed the final category, putting us in a three-way tie for the lead. As we waited for the playoff to begin, we chatted about life in England and in the States. The one guy then noted, about as casually as you'd mention a change in weather, that England wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for all the niggers. Phil and I looked away into our pints and waited in agonizing silence for the playoff round to start. But not before they continued, on a thread related to god-knows-what, that the Iraq war was right, but that they should have "killed em all" and taken the oil, since "they's savages over dere anyhow, roight?" I decided not to use this as a time to plug my upcoming book about points of shared humanity between Middle Easterners and people of the West. Despite this conversational quagmire, we managed to stay focused on the prize and run the table in the bonus round. 23 pounds later, we're home free, but feeling slightly off about the taint on the victory. We even shook their hands afterwards and wished them well, something that seemed both appropriate and unnerving. On the walk home Phil told me their accent is from a working-class industrial area nearby, the Black Country, and their views are not terribly uncommon. Beyond this, I have to say that in England cosmopolitan areas the country feels integrated and harmonious, moreso than the US. But the racism under the surface does leave me with some unease about Europe's past and future... And back to Plan B in Warwick. We roamed the  streets of this very picturesque town and went in St. Mary's Cathedral.  An instant success in that it was free and there were teddy bears have prayer time in a remote corner of the church.  I especially enjoyed the crypt where I saw the foundations of the 11 century Norman church built into the foundation of the 15 century church.  There was also, for some reason, a dunking chair down there.  Naughty people, such as fighting married couples were tied to the chair and dunked in a nearby duck pond.  How lovely!  With that we felt it was time for tea. We came across a 14 century timber-framed tea house that was perfect for indulging in clotted cream, scones, and bread pud.  This was part of the Lord Leycester Hospital (not as in medical, but as in charitable) and it is well worth seeing.  It's been in use since 1571 as a retirement home for soldiers, and it had a weird mix of war history.  This was interesting because I've been reading some journals that Phil's nan wrote about having a young family during World War II.  It's had to fathom how she did it with 3 then 4 small children, rationing, and nightly air raids.  At any rate, we'd found a good use for Jim's ill-won pub money. Back home in Birmingham, our next night on the town was a curry dinner at Nancy and Phil's favorite Indian diner.  Then we treated ourselves to an anniversary present: opening night at the Harry Potter movie!  It was great, but I won't give away in details.