Tuesday, June 25, 2013

my trip to Devon

Brixham, Devon, England

Sometimes you find yourself in places you never dreamed you would be (hello, Le Petit Village), life's twists and turns dropping you off in some curious spot or another. A few weeks ago my path led me to a small fishing town in Devon in the southwest of England where Mr. London grew up. (Mr. London was taking part in a charity rugby event down there and he asked The Husband to join him on the pitch. I decided to tag along.)

{source}

There was an old pirate ship (that I was desperately waiting for The Dread Pirate Roberts to saunter off of), and fish & chips and lots of little touristy shops selling sweets and postcards, and a donkey in a colorful bow tie and a clown wig (although I don't think he was for sale). 

Brixham sweet shop fudge

We even got to visit a psychic when we were there. She's located in an old shop shaped like a coffin (it's true, it's even called 'coffin house'). Pirates, psychics and a donkey in a bow tie... what else could you possibly want in a mini-break?

{hey number 14... pull up your socks}

The main even took place on Saturday at the rugby club. The Husband ran out on the field for the first time in almost six years. He tried blaming his lack of speed on his age, personally, I blame it on all the beers he and Mr. London drank before the match. But somehow, despite the pre-match beers their team consumed, they still won.  

After the match, everyone took advantage of the sunshine and lazed about the pitch. Mrs. London and I also took advantage of the delicious Pimms (it's like summer in a glass).


Do you see how The Husband has the shoe and sock off of one of his feet? Well that's because the day before, Mr. London had him shimmy through a window of the house (Mrs. London had the key, if they had bothered to call, we would have brought it to them... morons). For some strange reason The Husband decided to do this without his shoes on (of course he did) and in the process, stepped on a nail. This is something that could only happen to The Husband. So in hindsight, maybe it wasn't just the pre-match beers that slowed him down on the pitch after all, but the bleeding hole in the bottom of his foot... moron.

That's pretty much my trip to Devon in a nutshell. I never did spot The Dread Pirate Roberts though, but it was loads of fun nonetheless. Of course, we all know how it ended... 

Bisou! 

14 comments:

  1. I love the Princess Bride reference about the pirate ship. We just watched that for the first time with my sons (well my husband and I have seen it many times, but my kids' first time).

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  2. Now, you're just teasing me with those fish and chips!!

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  3. Why is he mr London, when he's from Devon? Either way, him and the husband are a pair of rascals!

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    1. He's Mr. London because he's married to my cousin, Mrs. London. We're very modern like that.

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  4. What a great little mini break and with good weather too! Those fish and chips look so good and I agree that Pimms is like summer on a glass. It's ages since I went to Devon and Cornwall - it really has a lot to offer down there.

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  5. Ouch, poor husband. Hope the hole in his foot heels, oops heals soon.
    Cortne

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  6. Ooh ouch! And then he went on to play rubgy, with a few beers in his belly? You are married to Superman, aren't you??

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  7. Gregory is hysterical. I cannot even handle the adventures that he + Mr. London get into -- while you and Mrs. sip all types of drinks. You're women after my own heart! (And you're making me long for a drink right now -- it's 98 degrees and HUMID here - no thank you).

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  8. A donkey and a pirate ship..that sounds like my kind of place!
    Ouch, I stepped on a nail too once. It got stuck in my foot, it hurts a lot. Your poor husband!

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  9. The fish and chips looks mighty tasty. As usual, you find a way to have a grand time no matter where your travels take you.

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  10. I want some of this summer in a glass business...

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  11. With that neighbourhood, Mr London seems to have turned out surprisingly normal lol And everyone knows you can only bread into a house barefoot, otherwise you leave shoe prints that the police can track ('cos obviously they can't track your blood/DNA after you step on the nail ;o))

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