by Reb Stevenson on May 17, 2012
Today I snuck in a walk in one of my favourite places: the South Downs in East Sussex. I’ll elaborate on why this cluster of close-cropped, vivid green, undulating hills tops my list when my official “Across the Pond” series starts on Monday.
In the meantime, I need to report that a lone jogger passed by me and shouted “it’s great to be alive!” with a crazy smile plastered on his face.
Also, a good friend of mine has claimed that this very walk saved his life when he was going through some troublesome times.
And you thought this was just a travel series. Oh no. This self-help-by-scenery.
by Reb Stevenson on May 16, 2012
Sometimes you’re walking in a field in the U.K. and, out of nowhere, a very random tower, temple or even a cement pineapple will present itself.
“Wow, has this been here since Roman times? Am I the first to stumble upon it? Did it somehow slip under the radar?”
The answer is no. Not just because absolutely nothing has slipped under the radar in the U.K. (see: Ordnance Survey maps). But also because this bizarre morsel of architecture is likely a folly.
You will occasionally see a folly in Canada (for example, the “ruins” at William Lyon Mackenzie King’s estate in Gatineau, Quebec), but they’re far more prevalent in the U.K., where folly building was all the rage in the 18th and 19th centuries.
A folly is essentially a silly, silly building that a rich man decided to throw up on his land just for kicks. It generally has no purpose other than to make peasants and less whimsical peers gape in awe.
Another common feature of a folly is that it references a much earlier time period. Sometimes, they’d even go so far as to distress it so it would appear to have crumbled over time. I think we can liken this to intentionally ripping brand new $200 jeans.
This morning, I went with my friend Andy and his sweet mum (have to use the “u” because I’m in England) Stella to check out Horton Tower in Dorset. A quick google search revealed that it was built around 1750, but the floors have since fallen out so it’s basically just a big, scary brick tube that provides shade for sweaty sheep.
Not bad, though, is it?
I’m drawing up some plans for a miniature leaning tower of Pisa, which will look quite nice by my patio set.
by Reb Stevenson on May 15, 2012
These days, even seniors seem to be fishing buzzing mobile phones out of their pants (ahem – trousers), but there was a time in the not-too-distant past when many people didn’t even have a telephone in their house.
Hence the rural phone box, which turns up in some of the strangest places. This one sits on a corner in the minuscule village of Acton Scott in Shropshire, glowing into the night like some kind of portal to the past. I asked around and nobody seems to recall a time when it wasn’t there – and some of these were folks who grew up in the fifties.
Although it’s seldom used, it’s awfully quaint don’t you think? I’d be sad to see these go, and I don’t even have a personal memory of calling someone up to find out if they’d be my date for the village dance!
Let’s give these lonely phone boxes a boost: if ever you see one sitting in a field, near a bus shelter or outside someone’s front door, get in there and give your mom a quick call. Double benefit, you see.
