Stuart and I had a much-needed weekend away in Kent.
Saturday at Leed’s Castle.
I think in my next life, I want to be a bird at Leed’s Castle.
It seems like a good gig.
Was really lovely. My favourite castle so far.
Off we went to Canterbury where we had reservations at The King’s Head - a 15th Century pub and Inn. Exposed beams. Friendly owners. Pub full of locals – the only tourists were us. Will go back.
Next morning at Canterbury Cathedral. . .
I dragged him into a service. I had told him I wanted to go to a service, but I don’t think he believed me. For me, it was part of being a tourist.
Stuart however didn’t know what to do. On one hand, he was happy I saved him 7 quid (you don’t have to pay if you are going to church) on the other I was forcing an hour of his life to attend a service. Midway through somewhere between the choir singing and the 2nd reading, he whispered that he was going to get me.
It was my first Anglican service and I really didn’t see any difference between it and a Catholic mass. Guess it all comes down to transubstantiate or to not transubstantiate.
Was funny. If it wasn’t for the whole not believing in God thing, I would really like going to Church. And it is strange. . . even after 16 years, I still knew the Nicene Creed by heart.
When it came time for communion, Stuart said, “No way am I going up there.”
“Of course you aren’t going up there! You haven’t taken the Eucharist ever in your entire born in Slough life and I’m not going up there because even though I have taken communion, I don’t believe in it and I have enough respect for the people that do to not take the Eucharist!”
Stuart looked at me like I had hair growing out of my eyes. “Now would be a good time to sneak out, don’t you think?”
After wandering around at all the dark corners including the spot where Thomas Beckett bit it, all too soon it was time to leave and we went to the white cliff’s of Dover and the castle there.
And then home.
Was an English heritage weekend.
Would be all too happy to do it again.
Especially the part where I was singing to the radio in not so subtle attempts to wind Stuart up. My version of Nessun Dorma from Turandot is especially effective.
