Don't be ridiculous, Charles died 20 years ago!

My friend Megdon always says that being in London is like being stuck in a Harry Potter movie. She has a point. Sometimes I just wish that my American friends were around when I hear or witness something so laughably, stereotypically British that I want someone to commiserate with….like a really exaggerated posh accent, or a man wearing an outfit befitting Sherlock Holmes (complete with fob watch), or a little kid tugging on his mom’s skirt in the grocery store, saying, “Mummy, may I have a lolly? It’s only 20p!” (Seriously, kids with British accents are just funny).

Obviously, these moments are becoming fewer and farther between as my time here marches on, and I grow desensitized to the muggles (by the way, there is an actual Platform 9 ¾ at Kings Cross station for you die-hards). Still, every now and then, I’m struck by the blatant British-ness of it all, and more often than not, it’s quite entertaining.

This weekend was one of those times…only it wasn’t Hogwartsian so much as it was Four Weddings and Funeral-esque. Out in the English countryside with a group of 12 friends, I wouldn’t have been surprised if a bumbling Hugh Grant had come knocking on the door, demanding a pint and a fag.


Adding to the whole wedding thing was the fact that we were there for a joint hen and stag do (translation: a joint bachelor and bachelorette party) for Alex’s friends Christy and Jason over a bank holiday weekend (translation: a three-day weekend). We stayed on an estate in a town called Church Stretton in Shropshire, which is very far northwest of London on the English/Welsh border. I didn’t know it at the time, but we had to change trains in Wales, a country I had never been to (or even really thought about save for Catherine Zeta-Jones’/Charlotte Church’s repeated public references to it).

I’m going to admit my ignorance here now, but did anyone else know about the proliferation of the Welsh language in the country? I thought maybe it was like Gaelic…it’s there but no one really speaks it. Even though I read (I’m a nerd) that only 21% of the population actually speaks Welsh anymore, they seem hell-bent on keeping it alive, putting it on all street signs and announcing trains in both languages. I admired the dedication, so I took this pic (also, like Glasgow, I wanted to prove I was there).

(I resisted the urge to ask if anyone had any gwybodaeth on Casnewydd.)

Once we arrived in Church Stretton, we were driven out to the boondocks to a working farm. As the best man, Alex had been responsible for the accommodations, and he did an amazing job finding a 6-bedroom recently renovated former barn with a huge banquet table inside, a great outdoor dining area, a fully stocked kitchen, and a great backyard.



The weather was, for once, agreeable ("Is it raining? I hadn't noticed."), which was great for our planned Sports Day. We played a full day's worth of a Girls-Against-Boys competition of grade school games, like three-legged man race, egg and spoon race, space hopper race, etc (no Quidditch). I took a time lapse video of some of the action. Hopefully you'll get the gist....We were all sore the next day (that wheelbarrow race is a killer).

The next day, we hiked to a really nice gastropub about five miles away, where we had a great meal and took in the local scenery.

Pretty nice, eh? It was a great weekend, full of fun times, sunny weather, and many laughs...and fortunately, not a single funeral.