Hi folks, Every so often, I get the itch to write about important stuff like current events, world politics, or what I had for breakfast this morning. Posted here are my very (self) important thoughts on a variety of topics and stories of my travels. I hope you enjoy or at least tolerate my ramblings. Kraig

***NEW FEATURE*** In a tribute to my home town newspaper, "The Brown County News", I have decided to kickoff my own society column, which I will call "The Brown Cow News." So if you happen to be traveling through Bell Buckle and I spy you here, you'll get your 15 seconds of fame in the "Cow." I'll be updating the Cow regularly (translation = when I feel like it). Enjoy....

*************BROWN COW NEWS******************* 

  Round the Horn and Back Again – Summer Vacation 09

Saturday, July 19th, 2008 - Across the Pond -----  It had been a long overnight flight from Toronto, but I felt a surge of new energy as the morning sunlight began to filter through the 777s windows just as we were making our final approach to London Heathrow. I looked over at Josie who had finally fallen asleep a couple of hours earlier and knew I'd have a tough time getting her awake and out of the plane, after all it was actually still midnight Nashville time, and 5 year olds don't respond well to 3 hours of sleep.       As we coasted to a stop, it occurred to me that almost all airports look alike when you first land. You could be in London, Nashville, or Istanbul I suppose, and upon first look, you couldn't tell the difference. I managed to rouse Josie from her sleep, and the morning sunlight had a similar effect on her as she sleepily walked off the plane towing her carry-on bag behind her. We began the process of line-standing and slow shuffling typical of airport customs, and while we were waiting I called our benefactors Dee and Eric Hallett on my cell phone. They were about 30 minutes away, so we figured the timing would be about right by the time we cleared customs and they found a parking space. Val's guitar player, Eric Lambert had also been on our flight, so we gathered all of our bags together and went to the exit to await the Halletts. They arrived about 10 minutes later in what would be our new traveling home, a seventeen passenger minibus rented for the tour.

Now a word about the Halletts: we first met them about 10 years ago, and they have since become some of our dearest friends. Here's Dee Hallett's own account of how she and Eric first met Val and J. Gregory. ------ "It was actually around 10 years or so ago - and all began via Sammy Kershaw's agent (Kathy Mallick????) - who sent us Val's first CD Patchwork Heart. Immediately we heard it - we LOVED it...and called her. She promptly gave us your phone number in Nashville - I called Val...and as soon as we got talking, it was like we'd known each other for ever! Within a couple of months...after I'd managed to provide her with a couple of contacts, so Val & Greg came to London and travelled by train to meet someone in Norwich. On their return to London...Val and Greg called us to say that Greg was feeling sick and - as they were staying in some tiny room in an hotel where they culdn't swing a cat - could we possibly help them. The two of them came to Southampton - where we picked them up and brought them back to Chilworth. Greg took time out to recover - and I took Val to Salisbury (she rang you and said she'd visited Saltburg!!!) - And as they say, the rest is history...the UK invasion of VS&LP started slowly and has been growing in momentum ever since! FANTASTIC!" Dee Hallett

The owners of a booming photography business in Southampton, the Halletts also have a keen interest in music and auto racing. This interest, combined with Dee's writing acumen and Eric's photography brought them to the U.S. frequently to cover the INDY and NASCAR circuits and the music scene for various UK publications. Dee is a frequent contributor to Maverick magazine, as well as the BBMA (British Bluegrass Music Association) and the BCMA (British Country Music Association) and is the compiler and editor of the e-newsletter Bluegrass & More. For the last several years, Dee has been Val's agent in the UK for all UK and Ireland tours - and has done a really fine job of helping build up Val's fan base there. The weather was refreshingly cool after the 80s and 90s of a typical July in Tennessee, and a light jacket would not have been out of the question. Since parking is at a premium near Heathrow, Eric decided to drive us a few miles out of London to a motorway service area to await the arrival of the rest of the band. Because I had booked our flights at two different times, we ended up traveling on different airlines from the rest, and they were to arrive 5 hours later on US Airways, while we had traveled on Air Canada. As we drove on out the motorway, I had my first real look at England - and I couldn't see much! As with our own interstate system, you don't always see things from the motorways that you'd see on a smaller road - so the only impression I got from that first drive was of a lot of trees and greenery. We arrived at the motorway service area, and I got my first glimpse of what would be a frequent stop for us as we toured around the country. The typical service area has two or three fast food joints (often McDonalds, Burger King, or Wimpy's), plus a cafeteria serving hot food, and a coffee place, either Costa or Starbucks, and a convenience store. There's always a well-maintained bathroom and a mini-casino with video gaming machines. So what was our first meal upon arrival? Why McDonalds of course! I'm afraid American style fast food has made significant inroads in the UK, and while I was there I saw, the aforementioned burger joints, plus numerous KFCs and Pizza Huts. Their menus are similar but not identical to the U.S. and we found the fried mozzarella rounds at McDs to be particularly good. The one thing that we found ourselves missing quite a bit was good old American style mustard. English and French mustards were readily available, the Brits just don't care for ours - and Jose and I found ourselves craving it before we got back home. I did make every effort to minimize my intake of American style food and try regional specialties (more on that later!), but sometimes, it was just convenient to get fast food.

After our wait, we motored back to Heathrow, and after circling the airport a couple times, we found the rest of our motley crew and loaded them up for the short drive to Southampton and an afternoon of rest to try and recover from the jet lag. I had mailed numerous items to the Halletts house, and I never really understood their address: Firlawn, Dene Close: no house number or street number - I couldn't quite understand how the mailman knew where to go. But in the Hallett's neighborhood, each house has a proper name, like a person. So Dee and Eric's house is named "Firlawn" and their neighbors may be "Pine Meadow", etc., and their postal code tells the mailman which street they're on. Firlawn is a delightful house, white on the exterior, with a beautiful sunroom and a comfortable two-story layout. The Halletts base their photography business there as well, so it's a dual purpose facility. But my favorite part of the place is the back yard. They live in a woodland conservation area, so all of the trees are catalogued and marked by the nature conservancy, and if any tree is lost, it must be replaced. The whole neighborhood was basically constructed in a forest, and there's numerous critters that make daily appearances, including foxes, badgers, and deer. We got several close up views of a fox and badger at the back door of the sunroom where Dee usually leaves a few bread crusts. We all settled in for the first evening, as we had to be early to rise the next morning to catch the ferry to the Isle of Wight.

Sunday, July 20, 2008 - The Wonderful Isle of Wight  ------  Morning came all too early, as we fought off the sleep and jet lag to sample a nice English breakfast courtesy of Dee. The Hallett's have the right idea when it comes to breakfast, serving toast along with sliced cheese and ham, orange juice and cereal. We were also to encounter the traditional English breakfast a number of times, and this was generally tasty, except for the inexplicable (to me) use of bland tasteless beans. I like beans as much as the next guy, but please not all over my eggs! Where they have us beat however, is their pleasant variety of breakfast sausages, which have a texture and flavor unlike any I've tasted in the U.S. We had to head out early this morning to catch the ferry across the Solent (the narrow strait that divides the Isle of Wight from the mainland). Luckily the ferry departs from the Southampton port, only about 10 minutes from Firlawn, so we had time to fuel up the van and stop at ASDA prior to catching the ferry.

ASDA is the UK equivalent to WalMart (as a matter of fact, it's owned by WalMart), and the Southampton store is like the biggest super WalMart you've ever seen on steroids. I often lament how slow folks poke along at our local WalMart in Shelbyville, closely examining the labels of all the items, clogging up the aisles as they chat with their acquaintances, and exchange lengthy health updates with the checkout clerk. But I've learned you should be careful what you wish for! Upon entering the ASDA store in Southampton, you immediately feel like you're in a blender or perhaps a carnival tilt-a-whirl as the shoppers dash madly about in a frenzied attempt to complete their errands in less than a millisecond. Stand still for a minute in the cheese aisle, and you pose the risk of being run down by a granny on a mission. We finally found respite in the men's underwear section (although it was brief - - ha ha) before making the final charge through the checkout line. With the last minute shopping behind us, we drove to the port and got in line to be loaded onto the ferry.

We had about half an hour before loading, so we were able to stroll around the port for awhile getting some photos and videos. The Southampton port is historically significant for several reasons. The Mayflower departed from here on her way to the new world, and the Titanic as well steamed out to meet her fate from the Southampton docks. This is also now the pre-eminent departure port for pleasure cruises up to the Nordic fjords and the Baltic Sea and there were several large cruise ships in port awaiting departure. We were also fortunate enough to observe the QE II cruise ship that just happened to be in port here. It's a large beautiful cruise ship, but not as large as I had imagined. Before there was Southampton, there was the medieval city of Hampton. Old Hampton was bombed extensively during WWII, but some original buildings remain, as well as the old city walls. Some of the stonework here dates back to Roman occupation times, and the sense of history here is palpable as one feels the rough stone making up the old bastion. Unfortunately we didn't have time to explore the old city or the Titanic museum, as all too soon we made our way back to the van to be loaded into the ferry.

The ferry pulled out right on time for the 1 hour 30 minute crossing of the Solent, and the first thing we noticed upon walking out topside was the large number of sailing vessels. The city of Cowes on the Isle of Wight is THE location for sailing in the UK, and there were literally hundreds of sail boats in view the entire time we were on the water. These ranged from small one person boats, all the way up to a three-masted schooner. Once again we had lucked out on the weather, with pleasant temperature in the 70s, sunshine, and a light breeze. We passed Queen Victoria Hospital on the Southampton shore, where Florence Nightingale performed her mission of mercy during WWI. Much of the structure has been razed, but the central building still remains where thousands of English doughboys were treated upon their return from the battlefields of France.

The Isle of Wight (IOW) is situated on the southern end of the English mainland, and is famous for its imposing chalk cliffs on the southern side of the island and for the various fossils found in the underlying strata. The city of Cowes is a natural harbor on the north side, and although hilly is not overly so. I forgot to mention that we had been joined earlier in the morning by another good friend of ours Mike Plumbley. Mike is one of the co-promoters for the IOW show, is an IOW native, is a writer, and also is a founder of Ragamuffin Radio. And besides all of these things, he's just a great guy and fun to be around! We were fortunate enough to have him as a guide, as the road from Cowes to Freshwater was windy and rural, passing through hilly hedges, with itty bitty road signs designating indistinct turnoffs. Mike deftly guided us around all obstacles as we made our way on to Freshwater on the west end of the island. If the IOW sounds familiar to some of you readers, it's probably for one main reason. It was the site of the largest music festival in the world to date (1970), and was the last performance of legendary guitarist Jimi Hendrix. The attendance of 600,000 (on an island whose population was less than 100,000) exceeded the promoter's projections and planning capability and was a logistical nightmare. But despite the infrastructure problems, it was a legendary event similar to Woodstock the previous year. Mike Plumbley drove us by the field where it all happened, and it was hard to imagine the event as it must have looked then. Today, shaggy cows chew their cud serenely where 600,000 revelers partied nearly 40 years ago. As it turns out, Mike was actually there, on a hillside overlooking the pasture and watched the entire tableau unfold below him. It was peace and love 70's style, and a bon-voyage to the 60's. Eric Lambert plays guitar for Val, but is well-versed in multiple music styles. He is a great admirer of the late Mr. Hendrix, and spent some time communing with a statue of Jimi located in Freshwater, and later that evening, perhaps overcome with the spirit of the late rocker, played a short segment with his teeth to the amazement of the Freshwater crowd.

Upon our arrival in Freshwater, we were met by Mike's cousin Dick who is a fine gentleman and was the one-time (now retired) postmaster on the Isle. He had volunteered to take Josie and myself to one of the dinosaur museums near Freshwater while the band performed their soundcheck at the Freshwater Memorial Hall. After a quick lunch of fish and chips, Dick, Josie, and I took a scenic drive along the IOW southern coast to the Dinosaur Farm museum. As a person with significant geological training, I was keen to see some of the many fossils that had been found on the Isle, and I was not disappointed by the wonderful display of prehistoric bones and sea shells. They also had numerous activities for the kids, and Josie had a great time playing paleontologist by uncovering dinosaur bones with a whisk broom in a sandy pit. There was a wonderful display of ammonite shells, of which I am quite fond, all collected by the owners of the shop and museum. I talked to one nice gentleman and his son who at the IOW on holiday, specifically to collect fossils. This was their hobby and they built their vacations around collecting locales, and were quite knowledgeable about the fossils and the various rock formations on the island. These were the first of what I will call English "enthusiasts" that we encountered on our trip. I'll have more on this later, but let's just say the English are a society of ardent hobbyists. We stayed at the museum until closing time, and then we proceeded back to meet the band at scene of tonight's festivities, the Freshwater Memorial Hall.

The drive back to Freshwater afforded an even better view of the gleaming chalk cliffs, which I'm sure rival those of the famous white cliffs of Dover. Upon our return to Freshwater, we had our first encounter with Mr. Barry Knight, who is a true music enthusiast. He was to make four of Val's seven shows in the UK, which is commendable considering the price of travel - Thanks Barry for your support! The Freshwater show was produced by our friend Mike Plumbley, and his two partners in the venture, Vic King and Pete Turner. They had supplied a nice selection of sandwiches, drinks and chips for the band, so we had a pleasant supper break, and then prepared for the show. As it turns out, a film crew based on the IOW had asked permission to film the concert using a very nice array of hi-def cameras. The film is to be played on the English equivalent of public TV, and if it turns out well, we may make it into a DVD that Val can sell on the road. As the crowd began to build, it quickly became apparent that the capacity of the Hall was about to be reached. After scrambling to scrounge up some more chairs and asking for the crowd to rearrange themselves a bit, we managed to squeeze as many folks in as possible, but unfortunately, still had to turn several people away at the door as the fire codes were in danger of being exceeded. The show was a rousing success, with VSLP getting two encores, and the aforementioned act of dental derring-do by Eric Lambert delighting the crowd. There was really no place for me to sit, so I stood in the Hall entryway for the first set. The usually staid English crowd was really into the music, and one elderly lady who had walked in with aid of a walker was seen standing up and doing a little jig. Her daughter who was with her just said "now, mother ..." and I overheard one of the other guests whisper that she was 92 years old!

Since the last ferry had long since parted for the mainland, our accommodation for the night was an old seaside hotel called the Sandpiper Inn. It was a veritable labyrinth of a place, and I felt somewhat like a rat in a maze as I trial-and-errored my way around. The manager was a Scot with a thick Glasgow brogue that made him only marginally understandable, and he invited us all down to the tiny hotel pub for "wee drop." It is considered ill mannered to decline such an invitation, so I felt it necessary to represent the family and eventually found my way to the little pub where the jolly Scot bought the first round. Eventually the entire band found their way down, and as we were about the only ones there, we were having a nice time chatting and imbibing a few. To my surprise, Val showed up with Josie who had been running around the hotel room and knocked her head on a coffee table. She had a goose-egg sized bump on her head and Val was worried that she could have a concussion, but the jolly Scot took a look at her and proclaimed that she would be fine, and that all she needed was "a gless of mulk and some smelly feces." Now that milk sounded just fine, but I wasn't too sure about the smelly feces, but to our relief he showed up in about 10 minutes with the promised glass of milk and some little hash brown potatoes with smiley faces.

Monday, July 21st - You say Zebra, I say Zeebra   -----  Fortunately we didn't have to get up super early on Monday, as the ferry back to Southampton didn't depart until mid-day. We had a very nice English breakfast (no beans on this one) with eggs and sausages and toast with black currant jam. We had just enough time to walk across the street to the beach and spend an hour marveling at the beautiful white cliffs, collecting interesting rocks, and building a sand castle. We could easily have spent the entire day exploring the seaside, but about 10 am we had to load back up and head for the mainland. Mike Plumbley once again took over navigational duties, this time taking us back to Cowes a different route, passing through tiny villages, with their narrow little roads, and pointing out various points of interest on the way. The IOW interior is charming, and looks much like I suspect all of England did perhaps back in the 1930s - little thatch roofed houses in the towns, and large country estates on the surrounding hillsides. Over the years the IOW has been a refuge for numerous writers and poets, including Lewis Carroll, Charles Dickens, John Keats, Longfellow, and Tennyson. I could certainly see how the quiet countryside and spectacular scenery could stimulate the creative process.

The ferry departed right on time, and after a quick stop at the Hallett's house, we had to high-tail it to the city of Maidstone in the county of Kent southeast of London. It was a couple of hour's drive, so we were to get our first real taste of motorway travel. This was to become a familiar routine over the next two weeks, as we typically had to travel several hours each day to get to the next venue, and then often traveled back to the Hallett's after each show to avoid hotel costs. This usually meant that we would have to leave Firlawn between 10 and noon each day, and would get back between 2 and 3am each night. I definitely felt sorry for Eric who did all the driving, but the long hours didn't seem faze him at all, as he always appeared fresh and ready to go each morning. It was motorway travel all the way to Maidstone, so once again, we couldn't see too much from the van. Upon arrival, the Tom-Tom GPS unit guided us quickly to the center of the town and the venue, the Zebra Bar.

Maidstone is a fair to middlin size town, with a very active downtown area of shops, stores and markets. As the band had to set up and prepare for a sound check, Josie and I followed what would become our usual pattern and set off to explore the surrounding area on foot to pass the time. A short walk from the busy market area, we glimpsed a spire and the stone parapets of an enormous church. In five minutes we found ourselves in the churchyard of a grand old medieval church plus an accompanying structure that was once the home of an archbishop. Just on the other side of this structure, we unexpectedly ran upon a pretty river, with small boats bobbing around and an old stone bridge. This was the river Medway which eventually flows to the Thames. A walking trail along the river was inviting, but since we had now walked a considerable distance, I felt we probably ought to begin heading back before we got lost. We made it back in time to have a light dinner before the show, and then set up the CD table toward the back of bar.

The Zebra Bar itself was a medium sized facility that comfortably seated around 100 people at tables scattered about the room. Being a Monday night, we didn't know what to expect, but the place quickly filled so that all of the tables were occupied with enthusiastic music lovers. Here I should mention that Maverick Magazine provided considerable support for Val's tour, including print ads, flyers, and a nice article about VSLP. Maverick was represented at the show by editor Alan Cackett, and I'd like to take this opportunity to thank Mr. Cackett and Maverick Magazine for all their support! VSLP kicked off their set, and I noticed a woman who looked familiar to me for some reason. After a few songs she walked up to me and said "I know you don't remember me, but I'm from Nashville, and I was an acquaintance of Valerie's from several years back." After a little conversation, I did indeed recognize her as Val's old friend Susan Fiering, who is now touring around the UK as a jazz singer and has adopted the stage name of Suzahn. It's funny who you can run into halfway around the world (and this wouldn't be the last time), and at the break she and Val did some catching up on old times. Val invited her up on stage to open the second half of the show, and Suzahn did one of her jazzy numbers accompanied by Eric Lambert on the mandolin - very nice. Also at the break, a very nice lady approached Val and said she had been at VSLP's very first professional performance in Florida in 1997. As a matter of fact, she even had the program from the festival (it was the Wings and Strings fest near Orlando), and even remembered seeing us broken down on the side of the interstate prior to the show (therebye lies a tale in itself which I'll have to cover another time). The lady's name is Moira Holmes from Manchester, and she is a huge Peter Rowan fan. She was at the festival to see Peter and just happened to catch Val's first performance as well.After the show, we pulled the first of many late night drives back to Southampton, and prepared for our next day's adventure -some actual sightseeing!

Tuesday, July 22nd - The Immortal Bard  -----  It has been one of my lifelong aspirations to someday visit Stratford-on-Avon, the home town of Shakespeare. Way back in high school, I was taught a great appreciation for western literature (no, not Louis L'Amour!) and a general love of reading by my English teacher, Mrs. Rollo. I have read most of Shakespeare's works, and re-read select ones again every few years. Once you get past the archaic language, Shakespeare is a wonderful read, both funny and tragic. I think the thing I find most fascinating is that people haven't changed all that much in 500 years, and the basic human instincts of love, pride, humor, jealousy, etc. are the very things old William wrote about back then. Some people try to seek a deeper meaning to some of the works, but I think Shakespeare was a keen observer of humanity, and just translated his tales to fanciful locales and situations to amplify the feelings that we all have. So about eight months ago, when I really decided I would go on this trip, I put a bug in the ear of Dee and Eric to possibly plan a trip (time permitting of course) to visit Stratford.

Back in high school, Mrs. Rollo told me I would visit there one day, and now I have, although it's only taken me 44 years! Mrs. Rollo is now in her 80s, but still in fine shape and living in Aberdeen, SD. I sure hope she got the postcard I sent - and thanks again Mrs. R. Southampton to Stratford is only a few hours' drive, and this time we were able to get off the big motorway on some smaller roads and get a good look at the countryside. I was somewhat surprised at the amount of agricultural land, and we saw large fields of wheat, flax, and some corn. When I was a boy, some of the farmers around my home town would occasionally grow flax, and there is nothing more beautiful than a field of flax in bloom. Flax has a light blue flower, and grows to about the height of wheat, and when it's ripe and the flowers are in bloom, a waving field of flax looks like billows on the ocean. The countryside here was moderately hilly, with many of the fields bordered by hedges, giving it a patchwork quilt look. On one of the hillsides was a large chalk drawing that appeared to be a crown. These drawings are created by removing the topsoil to expose the chalk bedrock formation below, and some date to prehistoric times. I asked Eric Hallett if it was an ancient or modern work, and he thought it was probably newer, as some of the WWI soldiers had created drawings of their unit insignias upon their return from the war.

As we neared Stratford, I expected to see big signs that said "See Shakespeare's Birthplace" or "Shakespeare Mystery Spot" or "Shakespeare's Wave Country Water Park" or at least something, but only the occasional "Stratford 22 miles" signs were seen. Here I think I'll digress and talk about the roads and signage of England. There were no real "billboards" that I can remember seeing, as we have here in the U.S., and that's probably a good thing - they can often really clutter up the roadside. But a few little signs would be helpful; after all, if you didn't already know that Stratford was Shakespeare's birthplace, you would zip right on by the town without a clue. Also, the English are almost painfully polite. A temporary red light set up in a construction zone would have a sign with the following: "We kindly request that you wait here until the red light changes to green, and please allow all traffic to clear before proceeding." In the U.S. that sign would have said "Stop Here" with the final word "Jackass" being implied. I commented on the exceedingly verbose signage to Dee, and she calmly informed me that they can do that because everyone in the UK is literate - ka zing! The other thing about the UK is their utter fascination with "roundabouts." These jewels are at the intersection of each and every road, sometimes with four or five possible outlets. Even with the GPS telling you where to go, sometimes you have to do a few laps before you can figure out how to get onto the correct road. Now I will admit they do a fair job of keeping traffic flowing on the smaller roads, but have two big roads with a bunch of traffic come together in a roundabout, and you have a recipe for a daily traffic jam of epic proportions that would seem easily solved by building some U.S. style off and on ramps. We nearly missed our ferry ride to Ireland (later in the story!) because of one such instance.

We finally neared the town and were able to park close to the town center in a very nice community center facility parking lot. It was then just a short stroll to the river Avon, which is very picturesque with numerous stone bridges, and moored boats and mini-barges. I understand it has become a popular vacation now in the UK to rent out these little barges and float up and down the rivers through the countryside - I and can certainly see how this would be a pleasant way to spend a few days. Stratford has done a wonderful job of preserving the medieval town center, and has tastefully incorporated some newer monuments to Shakespeare in some very nice green spaces and gardens. When I say newer, I mean less than 200 years old, as the medieval portion of the city dates and pre-dates Shakespeare's 1500s. A very nice statue of Shakespeare, surrounded by four of his more famous creations stands by the river and was dedicated in the late 1800s. This was a good photo op for the tourists, and Chad and Becky took the opportunity to get some goofy shots of the statues using clever camera angles to make it appear that Falstaff was picking his nose, and Lady Macbeth was holding Chad's head by the hair. One of Becky's mom's friends had made a purse for her out of a genuine pair of lederhosen, and of course Becky took every opportunity to take pictures of statues appearing to wear the alpine pants. Since we didn't know quite where to go, J. Gregory suggested we all catch one of the double-decker tour buses for a ride around town and to get the lay of the land. He quickly secured tickets for all of us, and even bartered the price down a bit. The suggestion was a good one, as the buses took us several miles, both around the medieval downtown area, and out into the country to pass by some points of interest. The tour was narrated through a little earphone, and though the dialogue was a bit corny, it was informative. We passed Shakespeare's House, the market district, the Swan Theater, Shakespeare's school, his wife's house (apparently they didn't co-habitate too much), his mother's house, his wife's mother's house, his second cousin twice removed house, and I don't know whatall.

After the tour, we walked around the market district, and took some more photos in front of Bill's house, and did some light shopping. The shops were very nice, with items and souvenirs ranging from reasonable to quite expensive. Even though it's touristy now, I did experience some strong feeling, as I realized that Shakespeare himself had walked these very streets 500 years ago. All too soon it was time to go, so we once again loaded up and headed back to Southampton looking forward to the next day's adventure, and I checked off an item on my life's "to do" list.

Wednesday, July 23, 2008 - Pirates, Transvestites, and the Black Beast of Bodmin  -----  From here on out, we had no more days to devote exclusively to sightseeing, with Val having a show a day for the next seven consecutive days. Today's concert was to be in the coastal city of Bristol at the St. Bonaventure's Social Club, so an early start was warranted due to the long drive. The drive on up to Bristol was relatively uneventful, with a couple of motorway service stops along the way, and I could tell Josie was getting a little bored. About a week before we left home, we had watched one of my favorite shows on the history channel called "Monster Quest", and the episode was all about the "Black Beast of Bodmin" and other phantom creatures seen in the English countryside. The Black Beast was a large cat, about the size of a leopard, but pitch black, and has been seen by numerous people and even filmed (albeit blurry and out-of-focus). I reminded Josie about the beast, and for the remainder of the drive to Bristol, she and I kept a sharp eye out the window, lest the Beast should wander into our view.

Bristol is rough and tumble seaport town on the southwest English coast. It's actually several miles inland from the ocean, but the port of Bristol was located on the Avon River in the center of town. I understand, that most port activities have now moved closer to the sea, and that the old docks in the downtown area have been renovated as a cultural area. Unfortunately, we didn't have time to drive down to the city center, but arrived just in time for the sound check at the social club. The St. Bonaventure Social Club is affiliated with the St. Bonaventure Catholic Church, and both are perched on a hilltop completely surrounded by brownstone type townhomes. I'm not sure that "brownstone" is the correct term, but the types of home I'm talking about are the ones you might see in New York City or St. Louis, with typical two story narrow buildings built so the walls nearly touch the house next door. But here, instead of a stairway on the front of the house, each one had a postage stamp sized yard, of which almost all managed to have a pretty little flower garden. The St. Bonaventure Church was once a Franciscan (I think) monastery, but now is a regular Catholic Church. As is typical with most of the churches we saw, it was impressively large and ornate. It had a surprisingly small parking area, which lead me to believe that most of the congregation lived within walking distance. The social club was an unassuming block building next to the church, and was host to all sorts of functions, including concerts such as ours, and dance classes on the second floor.

Once again, Josie and I decided to do some exploring in the neighborhood, and to spice things up a bit, I drew a fake treasure map including a pirate's cove, the Black Beast, a crocodile pit, quicksand, head hunting cannibals, and the treasure of course (X marks the spot). We followed the treasure map around the neighborhoods, using our imagination to fill in the hazards, and Josie even spotted an "X" on the concrete which she was convinced was the actual treasure location. She really wanted us to get some picks and shovels to start digging, but I convinced here there were too many people around, and that if they found out what we were up to, we'd have to cut them in for a piece of the action. So we decided we'd remember the spot and come back another time in the dead of night to claim our treasure. The thought of all this treasure had Josie make up her mind that we should stay in England and buy a castle and have a butler, and then she could invite all her friends over for tea parties. Sounds like a good idea to me!

The concert was a sellout and the place was packed and hot, so Josie, Eric Hallett, and I spent most of the time outside in the cool evening air. There was a salsa dance lesson going on in the room on the 2nd floor, and it was odd to hear the salsa and bluegrass music wafting out the windows and blending together in a strange mishmash. I guess I haven't mentioned that the Smith family has a new star. Earlier this summer, Josie decided that she wanted to get up on stage and sing with her mom, and to everyone's surprise, she not only did it, but knew all the words to most of Val's songs. She had been quietly absorbing all this music her whole young life I guess, but had never been able to get her to sing in front of an audience. We never pushed her, but would occasionally ask her if she wanted to sing, and the answer was always "no" until this summer. But when she decided she was going to sing, she took to it like a duck to water. No shyness, no stage fright, no itty bitty little voice - she belts the songs out like a pro. Although we're modest people, I have to brag a little bit. At five years old, she can sing comp