Sunday, February 22


We spend the day in Canterbury, where I have not been since our first year in London. The first and only stop is the cathedral, which looms large over the village and indeed all of England: this is the home of the Archbishop of Canterbury, leader of the Church of England and the worldwide Anglican Communion. I hear him from time-to-tim on Radio 4's daily "Thought For The Day" which reaches six-million Brits. But the Cathedral: origins from 597AD when archbishop St. Augustine of Canterbury, previously an abbot Rome, sent by Pope Gregory as a missionary to the Anglo-Saxons; Augustine founded the cathedral in 602 (archaeological investigations in 1993 revealed the the original Saxon cathedral, which was built across a Roman Road)(The kids could care less - in fact, Eitan downright hung-dog and refuses to listen to my brochure) The history palpable - for instance martyrdom, when Tomas Becket murdered by King Henry II ("Who will rid me of this turbulent priest?"); Becket now entombed in the downstairs crypt - creepy. Henry IV and Navine also on display with The Black Prince or Edward of Woodstock and the oldest son of King Edward III and father of Richard the II; Edward an exceptional military leader and popular during his life but died one year before his father and never took the thrown. The cathedral's inside a remarkable, inspiring 90.5 meters high by 90.5 wide and I beg Eitan and Madeleine to consider the effort, if not the history. I may never be able to regard stained glass again - pictured is one of the many, and perhaps oldest in England dating to the 12 century. It is a picture of a pilgrimage to Canterbury.

Madeleine buys a "buddy" at the toy shop but changes her mind 30 seconds later; I get into an arguement with the store clerk who informs me "returns are not our policy." Eitan, unperturbed, begs me to buy him a remote-control-farter.