And the Lord said, "Noah. . ."

Certainly, that most famous of boat-builders must have experienced just such rain as we've seen here in Northern England in the last couple of days when he set about constructing a sanctuary from the rising waters. Here, as in biblical times, it just keeps coming down.

Resisting the temptation to set the GPS for some place like Greece, Concetta and I put aside our plans to explore the length and breadth of Hadrian's Wall this morning, and instead decided to visit the local museum dedicated to the Roman town of Corbridge. You may remember that the reason we're here in Northumberland is that my great, great, great grandfather lived in Corbridge in the 1820s. Eighteen some odd centuries before Paul Brown helped bring three children into the world in the tiny town, the Romans were busy establishing a frontier garrison between the conquered Bretons and the hated and feared Picts and Scots to the north. Though we were unable to tour the actual archaeological site due to the downpour, the museum was one of the finest I've ever seen. Archaeologists have found just about anything and everything you can imagine, including a wooden box with a soldier's third century armor inside. They've found beautiful pottery, glassware, medical instruments, gaming pieces, carved stone tablets and statues, food prep items, and thousands of equally interesting things. All were expertly displayed and clearly explained. Just wonderful.

After our museum trip in Corbridge, we moved on to the village of Hexham where we visited The Abbey of St. Andrew, first begun in the 8th century. It wasn't quite as grand as the churches and basilicas we saw in Rome in 2006, but the carved stone Gothic arches were truly magnificent and the stained glass windows took your breath away. The open-beamed wooden ceiling towered above so many stories that I found myself wondering just how those 8th century craftsmen worked way up there. Very impressive!

Our respite from the rain was short lived and when we emerged from the abbey we discovered that, if anything, it was raining even harder. We decided it was time for a tea break. Spying a cafe just down the block, we huddled under our umbrellas and made a dash for it. Then for the next hour we enjoyed fruit scones, strawberry jam, and that ever wonderful (and plentiful) English drink while we watched the sea of umbrellas flow by outside.

Casting about for some other "dry" diversion for the balance of the afternoon, we decided to check out the local cinema which happened to be showing a film we hadn't yet seen, "The Duchess." If you haven't seen it, we recommend it. Some fine acting by Keira Knightly, Ralph Finnes, and the rest of the cast.

After the movie we emerged from the theater to discover that the rain had tapered off to a slow drizzle. Feeling in the mood for soup on such a cold, rainy night, we prowled the tiny village of Hexham until we spied a sidewalk sign indicating the sought-after item was on the menu.

"Potato Leek," the waitress said, in answer to my query about the day's fare.

When the soup arrived you can probably guess the way the conversation went. "What kind of soup did they say this was?" Concetta asked, after she'd tasted the first sip.

"Ah, potato leek," I said.

"Doesn't taste like any potato I ever cooked," she said. She made a face.

"Eat it anyway," I said. "You don't want to hurt their feelings."

As you can see, finding tasty (even readily identifiable) food here in England is just about as difficult as most folks advised us it would be. Breakfasts seem to be the easiest meal for English cooks to master, so maybe we could just eat nothing but breakfasts for the next month. The strawberry jam is especially good and I could probably live on jam and bread if I had to.

We're back at the B&B now, sitting in front of a cozy fire, reading and filling out our journals. Everyone else is out attending a wedding and we have the house to ourselves. So, let it rain, let it rain, let it rain. I got a little better with the driving today. Still a little trouble with the left-handed shifting. But our trusty GPS, however disdainful it sounds when I make a mistake, faithfully guides us to and fro down these tiny country lanes in search of adventure and I expect tomorrow is going to be another exciting day.

ciao, tutti.