“Half memoir, half travel, A Yank Back to England...is an absolutely wonderful book, not only about going home again but also about love and family and tradition and the passage of the years.” —Michael Dirda, Pulitzer Prize-winning literary critic (Washington Post) To see the entire quote, click here.
Monday, August 17, 2009
A room in the attic
We reported back at the front desk. Our room was ready. Perfect. Need help with bags? Thank you. The hotel was three stories high, apparently not worth installing elevators, so we followed our porter up a staircase becoming less salubrious and narrower as we ascended. We were heading for the old servants’ quarters. No matter, our room was big with a ceiling high enough to throw an echo. The bathroom was long and skinny and incredibly ornate, with a tub I could stretch out in. Big tubs – one of the things I loved about coming back to England. But first a nap. Two hours later, we were up and about. I felt human again, Frances was smiling, and Kate was eager to go out and run around.
Standing, from L to R: Lew (Dad), Frances (Prodigal Wife), Denis (The Prodigal Tourist), and Jessie (Mum). Floating: Kate (Prodigal Daughter).
About this blog
You are reading random vignettes, deleted scenes, and other extras from and about my book, A Yank Back to England: The Prodigal Tourist Returns. Enjoy, let me know what you think, ask questions, and thanks for your support! Cheers, The Prodigal Tourist
Years ago I shed my Cockney accent and left London's blighted East End for America. Since then, I’ve only returned to see my increasingly cantankerous parents and assorted relatives. Until my American wife comes along. She wants to tour, see the sights. No thank you. It’s not for me. But she insists, and I become a reluctant tourist in my former homeland.