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2001-11-26 - 11:33 a.m. U.K. Day 7: The Market and the Mittens After two days of darting here and there, we slept quite late on Saturday. The morning Le Brunch stop didn't happen till closer to 10 a.m., so we departed late start out of London. Map girl is flying solo from London to Oxford. The previous days, Beth and I combining the map girl powers - with Beth being familiar with the geography, my job was much easier. Still, Beth made sure we stopped in a bookstore on the way to the Shire meeting and obtained a copy of her favorite road atlas "Great Britain A to Z", a fabulous wirebound, easy to use book. With the slow start, we didn't really do much in Oxford. It's not a sleepy little town anymore, but a bustling place. With thirty colleges spread out, it's a maze. We did an extremely quick tour of the Ashmolean Museum - which has some cast bits and coins and Ucello's painting "The Wild Hunt." They could stand to learn a lot about proper display since their bits were jumbled together and badly labeled. We spent the afternoon at the Oxford Re-enactors Market. Twice a year, a bunch of the retailers who sell to re-enactors gather at the Blackbird Leys Leisure Center outside Oxford. (I have no idea what a Leys is.) Beth pointed out we'd be there on the same day, so we had to stop. Like Pennsic market, some of it's good, some of it's horrible, and some of it's great. It's all time periods, so we saw people in everything from Viking to Roman to Cavalier. We spent about two hours rummaging the stalls. Score for good glassware, more books (ever our downfall - who wants to help catalog when I buy new bookshelves?), and some nice pewter bits. And I got mittens! There was a lady doing this amazing hand felting work - she had one pair of hand felted wool mittens left. Mine, mine, mine! Soft, warm wooly. And a matching green and grey hat to keep me warm at Ymir. (Watch Ymir be as hot as November Crown.) Me, waving my mittened hands in Rob's face : Aren't they keen? Rob: Sure, and with the three fingered look, you can also do a good Mickey Mouse imitation. I think they actually have more the look of the Vulcan 'Live-Long-and-Prosper' salute. We spend the last of our cash, which means it's time to leave the land of frighteningly bad garb. Northward, driving man and map girl travel, heading for our hotel in Leeds. The M roads feature service plazas much like New Jersey and these make handy stops for petrol, toilets and snacks. (See how all the words are just a bit different in Britain? How did Laura translate?) We stop and get dinner at a burger joint called Wimpy's. Thoroughly icky food and a hideously long wait for it. Their method was to take the order, send you away, and when they actually assembled all the items, they'd lean over the counter and yell out the order, hoping someone would come fetch it. This system did *not* work well. We explore BBC radio while driving north. My favorite new vocabulary word is 'whinging'. I guess that's how it's spelled, and it appears to be a form of whining. As in, Mick Jagger was whinging on in that interview that he's never been knighted like some of the other entertainers. Leeds requires Zen mapping. Again, the British road system doesn't really post anything telling you the name of the road you're actually on. So we ditch the map and follow signs to 'City Centre' Luck of the travelers, Marriott Hotel signs appear. Rob checks in while I organize the mess that is our backseat. It turns out we've been randomly upgraded to a suite - Sweet!. Valet parking - Bonus! Rob enters the room and stops dead causing me to slam into him. Hey! Sorry, I'm trying to figure out which way to go ... From the entrance, the suite splits into a reception room, a kitchen, and a walk-in closet hallway leading to the enormous bedroom. We did what any red-blooded American would do. We explored every room and flipped all the switches (I have *no* instinct for finding where British architects put the light switches.) The place includes four mini-bar fridges, and the upstairs features another entertainment lounge with a huge TV. I feel like we should have a party given the facilities available. So we did the next best thing and ran a bath for a soak in the tub. Ahh, real fluffy huge bathsheets, a large bathroom and a bidet. (I can feel Mel wince from here.) Oh, look, room service includes an option for pizza, which will handily replace that thoroughly horrid dinner. Who but the British bring you pizza delivery boxes on a charming wood tray? Acceptable beverages are scrounged from the mini-bar fridge and, ah, the fine American tradition of the pizza glut. Which is shortly followed by .... Zzzzzzz.. � � � 
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