Denis Lipman's Blog, page 11

Washed out in Sissinghurst

Just as we arrived, the sky opened up and poured down buckets. I could barely see anything.
"Go check it out, see if it's worth going in," said Frances.
I felt no great desire to get out of the car. "If we go in, we'll still be outside. It is a garden," I said, trying for once to use logic on Frances.
After a bit more prodding, I got out to reconnoiter. I peeked over a fence for a free look.
In good weather, the crumbling monastery sprouting plants and shrubs and flower beds must have looked quite d

Another English garden

One of England's most famed gardens, Sissinghurst was created by the writer Vita Sackville West and her essayist-publisher husband Harold Nicholson, two members of the Bloomsbury Set who, after sowing their gayest and wildest oats, decided to take up gardening. The English either come out of the closet or the woodshed. Vita and Harold came out of both. Not exactly faithful to each other, they were faithful to their garden. Ironically, long after their deaths, with books and scandals all but forg

England's "most beautiful garden"

One of the things I've come to love about England is its fabulous gardens. So I was delighted when the lovely Teresa Inside the Mind of a MiniMadWoman sent on this wonderfully inviting photo of Hidcote Manor in Gloucestershire. Hidcote Gardens are considered by many afficionados to be the most beautiful in England—a definite must-see! (The manor looks pretty nice too!)

If you have a great photo of England, share! Email us and we'll link back to you if we post it. (72 dpi please!)

Laps 'round the grounds

We went around to the stables. The manager was merry and enthusiastic, and said she was looking forward to taking Kate on her first pony ride, a very important event in a young girl's life.
"Wonderful view. You must have some great rides here." I indicated the rolling countryside, framed by poplars and willow trees around a pond.
"Unfortunately, the hotel's property ends at that line of trees."
"Really? I thought they owned acres and acres."
"They did, but they sold it. Think they regret it now, sel

A room in the attic

We reported back at the front desk. Our room was ready. Perfect. Need help with bags? Thank you. The hotel was three stories high, apparently not worth installing elevators, so we followed our porter up a staircase becoming less salubrious and narrower as we ascended. We were heading for the old servants' quarters. No matter, our room was big with a ceiling high enough to throw an echo. The bathroom was long and skinny and incredibly ornate, with a tub I could stretch out in. Big tubs – one of t

'Tis the season to be fruity

With summer coming to a close, I wanted to tempt you with a lovely English fruit pud called, most aptly, summer pudding. I must confess, Prodigal Wife and Daughter never quite took to the cooling charms of this quintessential English dessert. They said it was too bready, too pudding-like, and just a bit too splodgy. And I really could not blame them: apart from fresh fruit, the standard recipe is mostly day-old white bread and gelatin.
So here is a lighter version of this classic summer stand-by,

"And one staircase going nowhere, just for show..."

As our room was not ready, we decided to explore. The staircases went up and went down at various levels and ended in totally different locations. Most odd. The bedrooms – those we could peer into – were not uniform in size, and neither were the public lounges. The walls were dotted with photo portraits of the hotel's original owners, dressed in formal dinner wear, outfitted for country walks with Norfolk jackets, casually resplendent for tea, or in gauntlets and flat hats, roaring to go for dar

Roast beef portsmouth, anyone?

On the ride back to Deal, Lew read snippets from the pamphlet Frances had picked up. The town of Sandwich was first recorded in the seventh century and had Saxon origins, though many believe it was settled much earlier. The name was derived from the Place of Sand, but it was the origin of the edible sandwich that intrigued us most. It all started in the mid-eighteenth century. The illustrious Earl of Sandwich, in order to continue gambling and, presumably, not break a winning streak, called for

Is anybody out there?

Prodigal Daughter, who is much more technically savvy than we are, encouraged us old folks to get onto Goodreads and Shelfari. Which we did--but we can't figure out who's out there (Shelfari's search engine is particularly weak)! If any of our bloggy friends would like to join us, we would love that! If you can figure out the system, our user names and email on both sites are:
Denis L aprodigaltouristATgmailDOTcom
Frances E prodigalwifeATgmailDOTcom
Hope to see you in the shelves!
Denis & Frances
P

Our blogger's cup runneth over

Now here's what I call a lovely cup of rosie lea! We were honored by this charming cup of roses from our friend Melissa at Smitten by Britain, which she says she created to recognize "bloggers who inspire, whether through laughter, grace or just darn good writing." If this is the case, we should give one back to her, because her blog is a breath of fresh air, and we always enjoy our visits. However, the idea is to pass it forward, so here goes.
*More of a share than a pass-along, my first choice