A SUNDAY IN THE COUNTRY

    I had planned today to be a quiet interlude between the hustle and bustle of London and our adventures in Sicily. I had not expected it to be something out of Masterpiece Mystery.

    We chugged by train from the City to Horley, a tiny village near Gatwick Airport. The taxi from the station let us off at our inn, The Lawn Guest House. There was no one about, so we rang the buzzer. A disembodied voice unlocked the heavy front door, and inside we found a key with our name on it indicating Room 5 was ours.

    Okay . . .

    The room is clean and cozy, and it has an ultra-modern bathroom. So far so good. But how to get on the internet? I noticed in the entry hall, a telephone to call for help, so Bob did. The Voice yielded up the password, and we were in. The first email Bob saw was Instructions to Access Your Room at The Lawn Guest House.

    After a short stroll in town, which was filled with empty restaurants and locked shops (It was Sunday afternoon.), we returned to Room 5 for yet another afternoon of napping in our on-going struggle to rid ourselves of our colds.

     For dinner, we had made a reservation at Ye Olde Six Bells on Church Street, a country pub that claims to have been in business for over 700 years. Fortunately, before leaving Tucson, we'd printed out a map of how to get there, since there was no one here to ask.

    Our serving wench told us they were out of beefsteak, so we made do with a beef pot pie for Bob and a duo of beef and pork for me . . . plus a shared bottle of wine (imported from California). After, it was still light out as we wended our way across hill and dale to our country inn.   

Tomorrow: Sicily!