The Only Time...

...it's appropriate to tell someone their Grandma has nice buns.



I haven't spoken a lot about my "In Search of Mr. Darcy" trip. To sum it up, I saw a lot of great places I would've missed on my own, but I would never travel with this organization again.


We were rushed everywhere. The van drivers often got lost and then would be adamant about us being prompt. They didn't allow us enough time to really experience the sites they took us to, which was sad because they had really planned a great itinerary.

If I were to do a critique (and you know I'll never pass up an opportunity to critique someone), I would suggest that they remember that even though they (the guides) have been there before and have seen it all, this is our first time and if there is going to be a place that closes early it should be left to see the following morning-- not cut everything else short to get there and rush through that place as well.

But I'm not doing a critique.

Before leaving for the trip, I received an email from a bloggy friend telling me I had to have a Sally Lunn bun while in Bath. So I researched it. I told the guides about it. I was very up front that I would skip what I had to to get to Sally Lunn's. I left a walking tour early to stand in the queue to get my buns.
By this time, about 9 other people wanted buns too.
The volunteer guide that I had grown to hate was his most annoying here. He kept pointing at his watch reminding us of the time.
I told him off. He had it coming.
I did sulk back to the van with my buns in tow.

They rushed us out of Bath to Steventon, Jane Austen's birthplace, to see the parish church where Jane's father was a minister.

The irony here was that an hour away from Steventon someone pointed out the name of the church. They had taken us to the wrong one!

Nevermind. I got some lovely photos of yet another beautiful church building in England, and some great jumping off points for a future trip with the whole family.

Now for that giveaway I spoke of...

I can't send you a Bun, sorry.
I can send you some little trinkets picked up just for my lucky reader while in the Jane Austen Center in Bath.

All you have to do is comment.

Tell me how much you love Jane Austen, or Mr. Darcy, or your favourite character/actor/book. Anything Jane Austen and you're entered.

Last comment considered will be 11.59 pm Sunday, April 11th (your time). Now go do something productive like read Emma again.

Colin Firth, Where Are You?

I'm packing for my "In Search of Mr. Darcy" trip.
Yes, it's only a two-day trip, but I must be prepared for any weather and any off-chance that I may run into Colin Firth. Yes, it's not for another couple of weeks, but I need to be prepared.

We'll be touring Jane's home-- and this time I will not have to plead my way in as they are closing, so I will have time to savor the tour.

Part of my itinerary says this:

"A visit to the Jane Austen experience in Bath" "Guide walk around Jane Austen's Bath. A setting for many of her novels".

I have the information stuck to the front of the fridge -- which means Colin Firth is watching me every time I sneak into the Reese's Peanut Butter Cup ice cream. He has that look like he's judging me for doing it, but it doesn't stop me. I can still picture him very clearly emerging from his dip in the lake and this judgemental look means nothing...
It also means my family is reminded every day that I am going somewhere all by myself soon.

Tonight at dinner after Miss Ky made a big production about wanting milk to drink as well as not liking the food on her plate and the three boys were scolded for the umpteenth time (for what I can't remember), I was at the limit of my witching hour (Dad's working nights again).

It was at THAT moment, the moment they all could end up duct taped to the front door until their dad came home that the silly 11 year-old mentioned my upcoming trip.

"Where you'll be able to walk around Jane Austen's amazing bath", he flourished with pomposity and flair.

For a few short seconds I stared at him in disbelief.
I couldn't help it. I tried.
I covered my face with my hands, but the laughter rolled out over my fingertips and was soon followed by the tears when I couldn't stop laughing. I realized that my kid has seriously been thinking I was going to get a grand tour of some dead person's bathroom.

It really makes me appreciate the fact that he asked if he could go with me when the trip was first booked. He must really like me to want to go tour people's toilets for a weekend.