running and rehearsals and gentlemen's clubs

Went for a run this morning. It's easy to do when you're jet lagged and your clock is screwed up. I got up earlier than I normally would and stepped out in the grey cold morning. Supposedly it is summer here; our hosts are talking about heat waves; but it's rather cold for us. It was in the high 80's at home.

Our hosts live in a little development on the edge of Nantwich and there is a large park on one end with a running track on the edge. This was helpful because I was fearful still of the traffic patterns. So, running on the path I could simply concentrate on running and not having to worry of the direction a car would come at me. Still, when the path neared the street it was still disconcerting because I've got cars coming at me the opposite way. Hopefully I'll get used to this soon, probably never enough to drive though.


After a loop and a half of the park, I followed the alley ways and paths we took to get into Nantwich proper just yesterday and loped along the leafy quiet Monk's Lane, past St. Mary's and the Crown and headed along the still quiet market street. I turned at the River Weaver and headed back towards home, past the outdoor pool and back to the park again, completing the loop in the opposite direction.

Later that afternoon Adam, Janet's present and future son-in-law, had to go to the Crown for some wedding particulars, and so the VFH crew went for another walkabout of Nantwich. Adam's father dragged us to the Nantwich museum, which is in an aging building across Pillory Street from our favorite fish and chips joint in Nantwich. It was free..... So we traipsed through the displays of pottery shards dating back to Roman times and a salt ship uncovered at an archeological dig. Our host then walked us through St. Mary's Church and the musty smelling artiface was haunting and beautiful and we were solemn in our ogling, up until he told us how as a boy he and friends had searched for an urban myth underground tunnel that supposedly allowed the Monks unseen access to St. Mary's. They were never successful in finding the tunnel, but did find the sacramental wine.

We then went to another pub. The Red Cow also serves Robinson's bitter, like the Rifleman. Robinson is Janet's maiden name and when her family members joined us they cooed happily at the brew. In the back of the bar there was a garden with a well maincured lawn, brilliant flowers, several cockatiels and african parrots in a large cage and two white chickens sashsaying around and getting underfoot. We caught up with Janet's brother and sister and their spouses and it was light and lovely. Janet then left for home with our host so she could change clothes for the rehearsal for the wedding while I tagged along with everyone to a local pub. I didn't order food, but sat and sipped a beer while the Robinson clan chatted away. I left then for the wedding rehearsal at the Crown. It was thanfully quick and then we retired to the restaurant downstairs for a pre wedding dinner and then later drinks in the hotel bar....

I would have been content to go home but it was Adam's "stag party", which means we drank a lot more. We parted ways with most of the wedding party and guests from America and our host dragged a few of us to the Men's Conservative Club, a gentleman's club. Julie, our host laughed derisively when her husband announced we were going to the club. She claimed it was like a brightly lighted fifties era front porch. But Colin said the drinks were cheap and his son, Greg, also was coming. Some of the American guests at the hotel thought we were going to a strip joint. That would have been a better destination, for the average age of the people at the club was dead (I'm stealing an old Freddie Roman joke...). It was bright and weathered and we were quite the different sort of clientel than the rest. Men played dominoes and cards and sagged in their bar stools, but it was nice and we met the piano player for the wedding, Bob. He was soft spoken and polite and it was said more than once he was very good, having played at one time for Rod Stewart. It was good to be here, for what better way to travel than to experience the society, the lifestyle, to talk with the people. Sure it's good to see the church, but what about how it was a playground for the local kids? I am fortunate. I am a fortunate traveler who appreciates the kindness of friends and strangers and understands and seeks out the lucky stroke of serendipity.