A weekend in Lincolnshire (Olde Towne Boston)
December 2, 2001 ~ 1:25 p.m.
I had an interesting weekend. I went with my wife 100 miles to the north, to visit my mom-in-law and to have a look around a Christmas bazaar in Boston. Boston, England, that is, on the eastern coast of Lincolnshire county.
On Friday, it was a warmish and humid day here in London and I spent most of my time sweating rather profusely on my way into the city. I don't know whether it was the humid temperatures outside or the still-hot state of the subway that made me sweat the most. But, despite the sweat dripping off my forehead, I'm not one to complain about a warm day, especially this late in the year.
Finding myself at King's Cross station, where we would board the train north to Lincolnshire, I found myself with time to kill, so I continued to enjoy the weather (even though it was overcast and threatened showers) by standing outdoors. King's Cross is a sort of scruffy place. You see all sorts of dodgy people there. To prove the point, a woman strode up to me, looked up into my eyes and pleaded for bus money. I said what I always say to beggers: "Sorry, I've only got enough change for my own trip home." Then she smirked and asked if we could perhaps arrange "some business." I think she mistook my shocked look for one of ignorance, but I knew right away what she meant. "You like sex?" she asked. I told her, "I'm married," and she cleared off after hearing that. I watched her go thinking, Good riddance. I met my wife and we boarded the train, leaving London�along with its dirt, noise, scruff and desperate prostitutes�behind.
My wife and I arrived in the small city of Grantham an hour later and took a taxi to my mom-in-law's house. She (Jo) met us at the front door. I went to bed straightaway for a nap, but woke up in time for dinner. Then we spent the rest of the night listening to music. She played her copy of a greatest hits CD of The Eagles, but then I pulled out some Steely Dan, Alan Parsons, and Police CDs of my own and played DJ by spinning some tunes off those.
We also drank wine as we listened to the music, and I must have drunk much more than I realized because I got sick. The ironic thing is that I talked earlier in the night about how I won't touch champagne because "it kills me," but how I can drink as much red wine as I like without ever getting sick. Usually that's true. But on this night, having put away 2-1/2 bottles, I got terribly ill. I woke up in a panic, rushed to the bathroom, and luckily made it to the toilet in time, whereupon I spit my guts out five times before stumbling downstairs and crashing on the living room sofa. I don't even know how I got up a few hours later in the morning, but I did.
However, on the coach to Boston, I had to lie stretched out on the back seats of the coach bus because I just could not sit up without feeling sick. Oddly enough, it was when I was standing up and walking around when I felt best. We had coffee and danishes at this nice little cafe when we first arrived in Boston, but I couldn't sit for long; I wanted to get back up and start walking.
It was cool and rainy when we arrived in Boston, so after our coffee, we headed into a little trinket shop called Spooky's to look around. This is a place that sells lots of Gothic stuff: all sorts of dragon figurines, witchcraft symbol necklaces, outlandish jewelry�that sort of thing. It is the sort of place you would least expect to find in a small English market town. Spooky's does seem to make Boston a rather unique place. What is really quite funny is that this shop, with all sorts of pagan paraphernalia, is located in the shadow of St. Botolph's, the Anglican cathedral.
My wife and I visited the cathedral. They were having a small fair inside, selling certain goods. The nave was free to walk around, so we strolled among the old wooden pews, looking at the ornate altar and the stained glass windows. It made me feel peaceful. Being inside a rustic English cathedral always makes me feel heady and blissful. They were serving mulled wine, which is a hot and spicy aromatic red wine, popular in England during the Christmas season. So I had a glass of that. It's 10 percent alcohol, so I had a bit of hair of the dog.
Then we climbed "the Stump," the 400-foot tower of St. Botolph's. It is very high and the passage very narrow, and the stairs are uneven. It is treacherous going, but there's a sturdy rope which wraps around the wall, so we hung on to that. On the wall, there is some amazingly old graffiti. We found a carving in the wall dated 1744! It was no joke, because the style of lettering did look that old. The view from up the tower is great. Boston is totally surrounded by farm and bogland; it's a medium sized town in a sea of green.
Jo didn't climb the tower, but she'd have hated the climb up and down. It was strenuous exercise anyway, not recommended for a woman of her age. Jo, however, did get her navel pierced. While in Spooky's, she noticed some navel studs, and she liked the jewelry so much that she consented to having her navel pierced. When she caught up with us in the cathedral, she declined going up the tower because, as she put it, "I've already done my brave deed for the day!" And how! They did apply a local anaesthetic when they pierced it, so she didn't feel a thing. But it made me reflect on what an amazing mom-in-law I have. She's a petite English lady with that time-honored British reserve on the surface, but she is modern and hip to the core. I mean, she kept the pace with us in Barcelona and Paris. Not too many 60 year old women could!
After we left the cathedral, it had cleared up and it turned into a mild day, even becoming really sunny at one point.
There was a lot going on in Boston, they had stalls set up around the town center which stretched over five or six blocks; and up the street, there was a small carnival. So we poked around the markets, and went on the hobby horses carousel at the carnival. The carousel was all I was willing to do because I did not wish to test my weak and hung-over stomach.
Unfortunately, the local museum which provides an in-depth look at the Pilgrim fathers, including the gallows where many of them were imprisoned, was closed. It is due to remain closed for the next two years while it undergoes a major refurbishment. A small sign above the door denotes the museum as part of something called The American Heritage Trail. It is a shame that I didn't see it, but I will someday when the museum is back in business.
It was fascinating see the Olde Towne Boston, the small market city which provided the name for the big and bustling metropolis where I am from. The English Boston is not much like the American one; it has the same name, but is an entirely different place. However, given the many fine stores in which we killed some time before catching the coach back to Grantham, I can say that the one thing both Bostons have in common is some really decent shopping. I bought a really decent black leather jacket for only �15 ($22 US). I don't like to shop, but you can easily spend several hours shopping in the Boston of the Old World.
And when I see my family and friends again just after Christmas, I can say that I've been to two Bostons in the same month.
� M.E.M.
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Copyright � 2001-2007 by M.E. Manning. All material is written by me, unless explicitly stated otherwise by use of footnotes or bylines. Do not copy or redistribute without my permission.
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