Days Remaining to Next Beer: 353
After getting married a most folks take some sort of honeymoon. Some travel to wonderfully burly amusement parks like Ceder Point, others visit relatives in neighboring counties, and others like us hop a plane and fly the friendly skies (and suffer the unfriendly airport security protocols) to reach exotic locales abroad.
Our honeymoon landed us initially in London for an overnight in a business hotel that seemed to cater largely to Italian and Spanish businessmen. After a delightful ride in the distinctly spacious back of a black London cab, a style of luggage friendly vehicle versus footprint I'd like to see adopted in North America, we stashed our bags at the hotel and set out to find a proper English pint. minutes later we did, as sat outside a cute corner pub at a park bench picnic table where I could have a puff and we could watch the passerby while we wore off that loopy euphoria lengthy air travel leaves you with.
The Missus and I whiled away the morning exploring the nearby sights and scenes, Buckingham Palace, a military history shop specializing in metal Britain's figurines wherein I picked up a gift for my Dad and WW2 a field reporter figure typing up his report with a vintage typewriter set onto a stump presumably a stone's throw away from all the action, and a killer toy store well decked out for Halloween & Guy Fox Day that had wonderful toys I'd not encountered before and wish I could teleport back to visit with now.
Oxfordshire, specifically a quiet, quaint little spot called White Horse. Here's a thing, if you see Ridley Scott's adaptation of Robin Hood, you'll see White Horse mentioned, however, apparently no one on the crew bothered to Google map White Horse, or it's proximity to the shore, or search Flickr for people's photos of the actual horse on the hillside the village is named after. Perhaps the film makers thought Americans would be too ill traveled or otherwise apathetic as to bother investigating the English landscape further to fact fund after seeing the film. The film presents a massive, bloated as though with foal white horse silhouette that in only a drunk might mistake for the real thing were they to see it at a party.
English Bed and Breakfast, wish we could take Boomer there, our 100 pound dog, he'd go mental.
Continued tomorrow in White Horse... - Part Two