On August 5-14, I visited jolly old England in the company of
my good friend Alison.

We started out in Chester...

where we found this marvelous column.

Then on to the Brother Cadfael Museum in Shrewsbury.
Brother Cadfael is a beloved mythical mystery-solving monk
in the novels of Edith Pargeter (1913 - 1995).

In the garden courtyard, we found a leading candidate for...

      The Most Relaxed Being In The World

This feline remained in this exact position for well over a minute,
as I fished out my camera, turned it on, and took the picture.
I even had to speak a little to get it to open its eyes.
Clearly
     the garden courtyard of Brother Cadfael
         is a very
             peaceful
                place.

In the Scriptorium, visitors could make and use
medieval tools to create manuscripts.
I created this one (see above).

I also found the following Dedication to the author, which is apparently
Brother Cadfael reflecting on his impending mortality
[living in medieval times, cryonics was not yet an option].

Dedication To Edith Pargeter (1913-1995)

"He had never been quite so acutely aware of the particular quality and function of November,
its ripeness and its hushed sadness.  The year proceeds not in a straight line through the seasons
but in a circle that brings the world and man back to the dimness and mystery in which both began,
and out of which a new seed-time and a new generation are about to begin.  

Old men, thought Cadfael, believe in that new beginning, but experience only the ending.
It may be that God is reminding me that I am approaching my November.  
Well, why regret it?  November has beauty, has seen the harvest into the barns,
even laid by next year's seed.  No need to fret about not being allowed to stay and sow it  
someone else will do that.

So go contentedly into the earth with the moist, gentle skeletal leaves, worn to cobweb fragility,
like the skins of very old men, that bruise and stain at the mere brushing of the breeze,
and flower into brown blotches as the leaves into rotting gold.

The colours of late autumn are the colours of the sunset: the farewell of the year and
the farewell of the day.  And of the life of man?  Well, if it ends in a flourish of gold,
that is no bad ending."

       [Brother Cadfael's Penance]

Even the gargoyles read books in Shrewsbury.

Which brings us to our next town: the used book capital of England:
Hay-on-Wye.

This castle was one of the dozens of used
book stores in Hay-on-Wye.  As you can see,
additional books were for sale outside as well.

Alison & I drove to Bristol, and picked up two Norwegian beauties:
Kristine (who we'd first met in Athens in 1995) and her friend
Marianne.  On our way west, we stayed one night
at the Red Lion Inn at Clovelly, a strikingly beautiful
town perched on the side of a steep sea cliff.

Kristine and I went swimming in the brisk sea water.
The beach was composed of giant pebbles, which made
barefoot walking an interesting affair.  I adapted by
walking on all fours, an adaptation which came rather easily.

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