Off to See the Wizard

January 27, 2015February 22, 2020JT Twissel 12 Comments

When I first found out about the Board of Equalization I felt like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. Somewhere in the valley fog between the coast and mountains of California was a wonderful group of human beings just waiting to save me from a crushing tax debt with a wave of their magic wands! I couldn’t wait to plead my case, to tell them what I’d been through, and to have them severely chastise the evil taxmen who’d been hounding me unmercifully.

“I’m so glad there’s a Board of Equalization – I’m sure they’re absolutely lovely people!”

Of course, I had a ton of apple strudel in my noodle.

From the book Willful Avoidance (written from the POV of an exasperated tax attorney)

“The Board of Equalization? What is it?” Maya asked.

“It’s a them. You vote for them every four years.” It was amazing to him how many people had no idea how tax laws were enforced and adjudicated. No idea. Living each day blissfully ignorant and apathetic about tax laws that could destroy them for the slightest of infractions. Voting every four years for a representative to the Board of Equalization with no idea why, their bios and statements of policy and intent ignored or used to line bird cages. “Among other things, the Board of Equalization is the court of last resort for the taxpayer. There are five members of the board. Four are elected separately—from each of the four different districts of California,” he explained. How much of this did she really want to know, he wondered. Despite her many insecurities and her tendency to overdramatize, she seemed intelligent, “The fifth member is always the state controller. He or she generally serves as the chairman of the board.”

“I will take my case to the Land of Mordor and plead with the Evil Sauron to free me from an unfair debt.”

As in the story, quickly and without a hint of ambiguity, my lawyer informed me that there was no wizard hiding behind the curtains in Sacramento. Just a group of politicians who probably wouldn’t even read my twenty-six pieces of evidence but instead hand the appeal over to a first year law student to read and summarize. The more he went on about their procedures and possible conservative biases the more I felt like Frodo from the The Lord of the Rings.

Next: Confronting the Board of Equalization.

Images from bing.com

Secrets of a Kick Ass Tax Woman

January 21, 2015March 30, 2022JT Twissel 11 Comments

This is a continuation of a series of posts on Innocent Spouse Relief, a provision enacted to relief people from the the burden of an unfair tax debt. If you should find yourself needing to file an appeal with the tax board and you feel like you can satisfy all of their requirements, then:

Complete a form (8857) that lists your assets, your income, and debts.
Beg three of your long time neighbors to write letters attesting to your meager and miserable lifestyle during the year in question. (Good luck to you on that one. Most people are very squeamish about getting involved with the tax man)
Provide proof – as much as you can – that your spouse hid information about joint finances from you. I had twenty-six letters from my divorce attorney. I called them “The Exhibits A-Z.”

Finally bundle up the whole shebang and send it to The Franchise Tax Board. They will assign an attorney to review your appeal and get back to you. In under a year, if you’re lucky.

Do not be surprised if you get the following response:

"It is clear that appellant has failed to 
meet her burden of overcoming rebuttable
 correctness of respondent’s determination."

This is taxman speak for “your appeal has been rejected.” Remember, they’ve assigned an attorney to defend their position. He’s not going to say “whoops, we made a mistake.”

Do not despair, as I did, it need not be the end.

Next – The court of last resort...

No, the court of last resort is not a heavenly intervention!

The Three “Easy” Pieces

December 11, 2014February 21, 2020JT Twissel 8 Comments

Back in the days when women wore a strand of pearls and high heels to make dinner. “My husband takes care of all our financial affairs!”

In the last post, Five Deadly Sins in the Eyes of the Taxman, I talked about how easy it is for innocent people to find themselves in the crosshairs of the tax man. You just have to commit the deadly sin of marrying and trusting the wrong person. However, because the tax code was written at a time when most married women worked from home and weren’t considered smart enough to understand finances, there was a provision added that allows a spouse to claim relief from a shared tax debt. All they have to do is prove their incompetence.

The ideal innocent Spouse Candidate

As you can imagine, it’s changed over the years.

In 1986 there were three “requirements” that had to be met before the tax review board would even consider an appeal. On the surface they sound relatively straight forward but they’re not. And the tax man is very strict about these requirements – if they don’t think you’ve satisfied all three, your appeal will go unanswered.

The first condition is that you filed a joint tax return with your spouse for the year in question. If you filed separately thinking you’d be in the free and clear should your husband’s shenanigans come to life, think again. To the IRS, until the divorce is final, you are jointly responsible for community property or income acquired during your entire marriage. If you filed separately during the year in question, to the IRS that means you knew your husband was defrauding the government and didn’t turn him in. NO RELIEF FOR YOU!

Godfather, please make my husband come clean. Break his legs if you need to!

The second condition addresses knowledge and the duty of inquiry. How much knowledge did you have of your ex-husband’s financial situation and how much you should have known, based on your education and experience. If you can’t prove that you’re too uneducated and inexperienced to understand finances, then NO RELIEF FOR YOU! However, if as a prudent taxpayer you can prove that you did everything in your power to get the information from your spouse but failed, then you might have a chance.

Honest Mr. Taxman – I had no idea my husband made so much money! Excuse me while I shuttle off to Bermuda for my spa treatments!

The third condition is the one that sinks most appeals. For me, it was the easiest to prove but apparently many women drive around in Ferraris, shop on Rodeo Drive and winter in Aspen all the while unaware their husbands have money. Then, after being confronted by the taxman, they try to claim innocent spouse relief. I have to point out that the tax man doesn’t care if at the time of the appeal you’re working a minimum wage job, living in a trailer park and supporting three kids. If, during the year covered by the questionable tax return, you and your spouse lived a very lavish life style NO RELIEF FOR YOU!

Next, Secrets of a Kick Ass Tax Woman.

*All the images on this post are from Bing.com

Five Deadly Sins in the Eyes of the Taxman

December 4, 2014February 21, 2020JT Twissel 8 Comments

From Bing Images

At one time I owed over $100,000 to the State Franchise Tax Board. They threatened to take my house and bank accounts and to attach my meager wages, leaving me and the kids out on the street. They even verbally threatened my sixteen year old daughter over the phone because her father had dissolved her college savings plan and they expected her to pay the taxes due (six thousand dollars!). By that time I’d divorced my husband, leaving me with a mortgage, two children and a dog and cat to support on a minimum wage “temp” job.

Box full of appeals – the exhibits A through Z

The State Franchise Tax Board, affectionately known as SFTB, is the agency responsible for collecting taxes on your income for the state of California where I live. Not all states collect income taxes. Some states have found other ways to get necessary revenue. For example, Nevada has no income tax because taxes on the gambling industry fill the coffers. The petroleum industry is Alaska’s sugar daddy. They are apparently so desperate for workers and women to keep those workers happy that they provide a yearly stipend for families. However, everyone wants to live in California, so, instead of getting paid, we pay.

The year in dispute, I was a stay at home mom with no income. A Make-a-Wish volunteer, girl scout leader and soccer mom. So you might ask, what sin had I committed?

Well, as it turns out, I had inadvertently committed all five of the tax man’s deadliest of sins.

Sin Number 1: Trusting your spouse.

Every taxpayer in the United States has what our government calls the “Duty of Inquiry.” This means that if your spouse hands you a tax return and orders you to sign it, you must say the following:

“You mean, I’m not supposed to obey the old coot?”

“I can’t just sign this, honey. It is my duty as a US citizen to affirm the validity of every, single line item on this return. Failure to do so would be a crime. A crime called Willful Avoidance. And I’m sure you don’t want to be married to a criminal, do you Honey Bunches?

Hubby: “Don’t you trust me? Didn’t you vow to love, honor and obey me?”

As you can probably guess, refusal to sign every document your husband puts before you might cause a bit of stress in a marriage, particularly if the secretive spouse belongs to one of those religions in which the husband is always right. However, trust between spouses is not something your government condones. Even though the politicians rail on about the sanctity of marriage and all that family values crap, it is written into tax code that prudent taxpayers must disobey their spouses should one or the other attempt to hide taxable assets.

Sin Number 2: Believing a spouse when they say “It’s my money. I earned it and can do with it what I want.”

No, no, no! Not so fast! According to the tax man, even if your

Woman peeking into her husband’s secret money chest. It’s not a Pandora’s box – it’s your money too, according to the tax man.

spouse had all his income going to an account you did not have access to, or, in some cases, knew nothing about, you are as responsible as him (or her, let’s not be sexist), for whatever the heck he’s doing with “his” money so you better know where it is and what he’s doing!

Use whatever methods at your disposal to get your spouse to reveal his assets. Tie him to an ant-hill! Hire a hit man! Call 911! Oh yeah, that’ll work.

Sin Number 3: Believing you’re innocent until proven guilty.

No innocent spouse relief for you! (image from Bing)

There is one court in the United States where there is no presumption of innocence. The tax court. I’ve had this explained to me by not one but two lawyers and I still don’t completely understand, but it here goes… The amount you owe is computed based on the many articles of The Code which is the tax man’s Holy Bible. Once it’s spit out by one of their super computers, penalties and interest begin to accrue and if you don’t respond, they come after you with the assumption that you are guilty. The so-called Innocent Spouse Relief is a misnomer. What it really means is that after a long, drawn out often humiliating battle, the tax man has granted you either full or partial “relief” from a tax debt. But you are still guilty as hell because of all that duty of inquiry crap. One lawyer told me to compare their decision making process with that of a referee deciding whether or not to toss a penalty flag during a football game. Comforting thought, hey?

Sin Number 4: Thinking government service attracts compassionate people willing to go the extra mile to help you out (the Jimmy Stewart complex)

I’m sure there are many people who go into government service for altruistic reasons however, for most it’s a nine-to-five job with benefits and a retirement package. People who uphold the Holy Tax Code are particularly lucky in that they aren’t expected to make any decisions. The Code makes life easy. If a taxpayer says:

From Mr. Smith goes to Washington. Love the expression on his face! What???

“Can’t you see that I’m just barely making it, that I’m not defaulting the government?”

The tax collector can respond with a clean conscience: “I’m only upholding the Code.”

It’s not that they don’t care about their fellow human beings, or give to charity or volunteer but they have sworn to abide by a complex set of rules mandated by the Congress. You know, those family values folks who’ve decided trusting your spouse is a crime when it comes to the revenue stream paying their salaries, their retirement, etc.

I have to admit that I did run into one particularly lovely agent (a woman) who helped me get Innocent Spouse Relief from the federal government however that didn’t help me at all when dealing with the henchmen hired by the state of California.

Sin Number 5: Thinking you can win a battle against the tax man.

They want you to believe it’s impossible to win a battle against them but it’s not.

Next, the three “simple” requirements for Innocent Spouse Relief and why they’re not so simple.

Music Tuesday Debut: Guest Post by JT Twissel–The World’s Worst Folksingers

November 26, 2014JT Twissel Leave a comment

Here is a post I wrote for Mary Rowan whose first two novels deal with (amongst other things) the effect music has on our lives.

MaryRowen.com

Today is the first day of a new blog series called MUSIC TUESDAY. If you’re familiar with my books LIVING BY EAR and LEAVING THE BEACH, you know they both have strong music themes, although they’re very different stories.

I’m excited to have the wonderful author JT Twissel begin the series with her post, THE WORLD’S WORST FOLKSINGERS. So, without further ado, he-e-e-e-rs Jan!

———————————————————————————————————-

This post is going to age me somewhat but here goes. My father refused to buy what he called a “boob tube” until I was almost fourteen. Instead, our entertainment on cold snowy days consisted of listening to classical music, or show tunes, or the irreverent monologues of comedian Bob Newhart,* who we’d seen many times performing in either Reno or Lake Tahoe. (I was raised in Reno, Nevada).

My father had extensive knowledge of the Classics as well as Greek and Norse mythology…

View original post 594 more words

Let’s go fly a kite!

November 19, 2014February 17, 2026JT Twissel 12 Comments

The other day I watched Saving Mr. Banks, a fictionalized account of the filming of Mary Poppins, which I have to admit was not my favorite Disney film. Apparently, PL Travers, the author of the book, had an even stronger reaction. She gave ole Uncle Waltie such gas that at first she wasn’t even invited to the premiere. The reasons she gave for her disapproval were: the nanny wasn’t strict enough and Disney insisted on adding animation. After her experience, she refused to allow him to film any of her other books. (Watch the trailer from Saving Mr. Banks.)

The movie Saving Mr. Banks implies that Travers’ hatred of the movie went far deeper than a dislike of dancing penguins. Apparently the filming brought back memories of her delightfully fanciful

but totally irresponsible father and the stern aunt who arrived after his premature death to pull the grieving family together. In the Mary Poppins’ books, the nanny is able to save the whole family whereas in real life, help arrived too late. So you could say PL Travers used fiction to save a father she’d tragically lost and for that reason, seeing him and her beloved aunt portrayed as Disney caricatures must have mortified her. I can understand this feeling well. The other day someone commented that the Captain Wug character in FLIPKA was a “crazed geezer.”

Since that character was based on a decorated war hero, I freaked. What have I done, I thought. Turning the beloved people in my life into caricatures? The person who made the comment was surprised by my reaction. Many memorable characters in fiction began their lives in the impressions of children, he pointed out, and thus are often capable of the improbable, the fanciful, and the heroic. They are also subject to caricature. Every book we publish is like a kite we launch into the sky. Everyone who sees the kite will see it differently and about this fact we can do nothing except be happy the kite is flying.

By the way, PK Travers was not the first nor will she probably be the last author to hate the film version of their baby:

Farewell — I don’t know about Papa, but this book cover implies a little hanky-panky might be going on.

About the movie adaptation of The Shining, Stephen King complained the hotel was not sufficiently “evil” and Jack Nicholson acted “too psychotic.” Having read the book and seen the movie, King’s comments made me think he doesn’t know what he wrote! I could say the same thing about Ernest Hemingway’s response to the first adaptation of A Farewell to Arms. He felt it was “too romantic.” Okay. Here’s what I think. The heroine was based on his first wife and by the time the movie came out he was probably on his third. Sounds like the rascal was just trying to save a marriage!

The list goes on to include so many authors that I decided if anything I write is ever made into a movie or play, I’ll try to keep this in mind – it’s only a kite I launched which once airborne belongs to the world.

Click here to read about other authors who hated the movie adaptations of their books.

Why obeying your husband is against tax law

November 13, 2014February 21, 2020JT Twissel 8 Comments

The last novel I published was loosely based the fourteen years I spent battling the State Franchise Tax board. How boring, you say. No vampires. No zombies.

We’re from the IRS!

The fact of the matter is, not understanding your liabilities under tax law can result in a truckload of vampires arriving at your front door, IRS agents whose bonuses and raises are dependent on how much blood they suck from a delinquent taxpayer. Followed by the courts of last appeal whose zombie lawyers blindly follow the tax code regardless of what they see or hear. Nothing but complete surrender will drive them away. At least, that’s what they want you to believe.

In honor (or horror) of the coming tax season, here is my story:

If you ever find yourself divorcing a con man, there’s just one way of escaping a shared tax debt without providing your death certificate or going to prison and that is to prove you were too stupid and dimwitted to understand the tax forms you signed.

The ideal innocent Spouse Candidate

If you can’t prove you’re a moron, you will be charged with willful avoidance.

Willful Avoidance means, in brief, that it is your duty as a prudent taxpayer to fully understand tax returns you have signed. It doesn’t matter if you’re married to a billionaire with more properties than you can count, Swiss bank accounts, and an office full of tax accountants. If your spouse disappears owing taxes, the IRS will be after you, particularly if you’re living in the primary residence. And you can’t claim you knew nothing; they will harass you continually as each day brings rising penalties and interest on your debt until it’s so ridiculously inflated that one lifetime alone will not be enough get out from underneath.

For this reason I believe a taxman should be in attendance at all wedding ceremonies and that the following should be written into the vows:

Preacher: “According to IRS Code, Section 40.01(c), Article 99, Rev. Proc. 2013-2014, do you, Chester Morton, promise to provide your wife with an audited set of financial records every quarter.”

Groom: “I do.”

Preacher: “And do you, Sally Murgatory, promise to fulfill your duty to the IRS as a prudent taxpayer, by scrutinizing all financial records and tax returns with the help of CPA and refusing to sign anything you do not completely understand?”

If the bride objects thusly: “Golly Preacher Man, shouldn’t I be obeying my man and making him feel like a king in his castle?”

The taxman in attendance must interject: “To blindly obey your husband constitutes Willful Avoidance, a crime in the eyes of the IRS!”

Granted it would probably take some of the romance out of a wedding to have a taxman standing between the bride and groom, but it needs to be done! Too much of that honoring and obeying is what leads to willful avoidance and you don’t want to go there.

Here is another fact about marriage and tax law which should be made clear to both bride and groom: Even if a wife doesn’t work, even if she stays home to take care of the children, no husband has the right to say the following:

“It’s my money. I made it and I don’t have to tell you what I do with it!”

WRONG! In the eyes of the tax man, both spouses are equally responsible for paying taxes on any money and or property brought into a marriage. State laws may differ but I wouldn’t bet the bank on it.

Okay, I’ve painted a pretty dire picture. The IRS has provided a way out of an unfair tax debt. It’s not an easy road but it can be done.

Next: Five Deadly Sins in the Eyes of the Taxman

***Images and cartoons are from Bing.com

Dear Rick Steves –

October 23, 2014August 6, 2016JT Twissel 22 Comments

On page 1019 of your travel guide Great Britain (the Twentieth Edition) you assert the following:

“Driving in Britain is basically wonderful – ”

No offense to all my British friends, but what were you smoking?

Of course, you amend this comment slightly by including the following admonition: “. . .once you remember to stay on the left and after you’ve mastered the roundabouts.” Oh yeah. No sweat. Those roundabouts are a piece of cake!

The P sign which in Britain means that the driver has just passed his driver’s test and should be avoided like the plague. Can’t they have a T sign for tourist? Please!

Bless you for pointing out that other readers found driving in Britain to be a “nerve-wracking” and “regrettable mistake.” Otherwise I would have felt like a real wimp.

By the way, when you suggest that nervous readers buy a green P sign to put in their car window, does that sign really mean “pansy-ass driver on board”?

As much as we enjoy your travel guides (I think we’ve bought over thirty of them!), I must point out the following changes that should be made to your section on driving in Britain based our recent experiences:

1. In Britain (unlike the USA), rental car companies are perfectly happy to rent stick shifts (manuals) to people who haven’t driven one in over in twenty years, and are most likely to:

√ drive on the wrong side of the road
√ slam on their brakes in a roundabout
√ frantically flash their green P signs hoping for mercy from the locals

Here’s our story: We decided not to attempt driving in London (as we could barely find our way around on foot) but to instead begin our driving-around-England portion of the trip at Heathrow Airport. So, our last day in London we took the Underground to Terminal 3 where we’d been advised the car rental companies had their booths.

(You might mention to your readers, Mr. Steves, that apparently the only function of the car rental booths at Heathrow is to direct you to the their shuttle buses. So don’t waste a lot of time, energy and patience by futzing around at the booths inside the termination. Just catch a shuttle.)

Once we got to Avis we found out the rental reserved for us was a stick shift and that an automatic would cost an additional 50 pounds a day. At that point we probably should have said thanks but no thanks but alas, as in any good horror movie, we foolishly went ahead with the rental. Cue the theme from Jaws!

2. Make sure to caution your readers to test a GPS system before getting on the road and not after.

Our story: We decided to spring for the GPS foolishly thinking it might prevent us from getting lost but, alas, the Avis employee-in-training who programmed the gizmo for us made one slight mistake. She thought we were Italian. I don’t know why. I thought we were speaking English. Of course, I didn’t turn the darn thing on until we were exiting the parking lot.

3. Another good thing to point out is, GPS systems do not work the same way in Britain as they do in the US.

One lane road we ended up on for miles and miles until finally asking for directions from a real human being.

Unlike the navigation system on our Prius, which beeps to alert you of an upcoming turn, in Britain a beeping GPS means you’re going over the speed limit. So don’t immediately take the next exit off the motorway every time the darn thing beeps or you could find yourself on a one-lane road out in sheep country!

Thank you providing these instructions as to how to enter an exit a roundabout however, what if the cars aren’t all white and gray?

Another thing you should mention is, if you miss an exit, instead of the familiar “recalculating” message Yanks are used to, a British GPS system will take its time to calculate another route and it will get back to you when it’s good and ready. So stop the car if possible and give it time to think. (we didn’t and ended up circling around Winchester for about an hour before spotting the M3 sign and telling Miss GPS to bugger off.)

4. On page 1023 you make the following assertions which I believe need clarity: “Outside the big cities and except for the motorways, British roads tend to be narrow. In towns, you may have to cross over the center line just to get past parked cars. Adjust your perceptions of personal space: It’s not “my side of the road” or “your side of the road,” it’s just the road – and it’s shared as a cooperative adventure.”

Chipping Campden – note the cars parked in all directions!

“Tend to be narrow” and crossing over the center line” should be amended to read: “Narrow as shit with no space for cars to park thus they park halfway up the curb, blocking your lane.”

“Cooperative adventure” should be amended to read: “Prepare to play chicken with oncoming traffic and make sure to wear your Depends!”

And, to that lovely bit of psychedelic advice: “Adjust your perceptions of personal space” I can only add that a little LSD might help.

5. On page 1021 you state the following “The driving instructions in this book are intended to be used with a good map.” We took your advice and purchased a map of Great Britain from AAA.

Find your way to Stratford on Avon using this map – I dare you!

Above is a close-up of the map I tried to use to find Stratford on Avon after the GPS wanted to take us on itty bitty backroads. We almost ended up in Birmingham! Deciphering maps of England should not be attempted by those people with a green P card plastered in their back window.

Perhaps the folks in Stratford on Avon had the right idea about how to handle traffic. Close down the streets, set up a carnival and party the weekend away! Rock on Will!

All the world is truly a stage!

Sincerely,

Your biggest fan, Jan

Ask the bloke on the corner, luv…

October 20, 2014JT Twissel 4 Comments

Map of our section of London. Note how the streets change names every block or so.

Just because you own a map, or two (or three)…

Just because you’ve read Frommer’s and Steves’ and have an excellent sense of direction…

Just because you’ve prepped for weeks doesn’t mean you’ll be able to find your way around the streets of London on foot without seriously pissing off whoever you’re sight-seeing with!

Actual conversation between me and my hubby:

“Give me the map! You’ve obviously gotten us lost!”

“Yeah, well you figure out where we are!”

Fifteen minutes later. “I give up!”

“See, I told you!”

“Let’s stop at a pub and get a beer.”

“Oh yeah. That’s a good plan – have a few beers and then try to find our way home!”

Save your time, money and marriage and just ask for directions.

Trafalgar Square which we stumbled upon while looking for something else!

No, strike that. Londoners, though for the most part friendly, are much too busy getting wherever they’re going to stop and give you directions. They’ll just shrug their shoulders and say “Sorry Mate!” …if you’re lucky. If not, they may send you in the wrong direction (not on purpose, of course). We even ran into a policeman walking the beat who claimed he didn’t know where he was. “Ask the bloke at the fruit stand on the corner, luv,” he said. “”He knows the area.” But there was no fruit stand or bloke on the corner.

Another thing we just happened upon – the Changing of the Guard (literally at the tail end!) This event happens only on nice days. When it’s raining they do what’s called “a wet change” (sounds like diapers may have been involved doesn’t it?) They look a bit like Klu Klux Klansmen from this angle, don’t they?

The problem is the city’s flat. There’s not one mountain on the horizon in any direction to provide a north/south, east/west orientation. And, if that weren’t bad enough, there’s this river running through town (the Thames) which does not run in a straight line. No, it winds through the downtown in a giant ‘s.’

The Tower Bridge. I must admit the many bridges along the river are handy for navigation. And they don’t change name mid-span.

Sometimes it will be to the north of you, sometimes to the south and God help you if you have the map upside down (a very easy thing to do). Instead of heading south, you could be heading north, soon winding up miles from where you wanted to be.

If the attraction you’re trying to find is on the Thames, no problem. Just walk along the water until you find it.

But if you’re looking for the British Museum, which is somewhere at the intersection of Piccadilly, Soho and Covent Garden, God help you. The area is full of alleyways and streets not on any map. In addition, there appears to be an ordinance that a street cannot have the same name in Piccadilly as it does in Soho!

The lobby of the British Museum

Remnant of one of the four horse chariots from the Mausoleum of Halicarnassus - one of the seven wonders of the world now preserved by the British Museum.

In contrast – a remnant of one of the four horse chariots from the Mausoleum of Halicarnassus – one of the seven wonders of the world. It’s sad to see it here and not in the country where it was built but then perhaps it might not have survived.

Here I am, to the right, all layered up like a bloated tick!

Weather-wise, we were very lucky. The first couple of days the weather was (as the Brits would say) brilliant. Sunny and so mild that we left the windows open at night. I’d followed the weather reports carefully for weeks before the trip and thus packed appropriately (or so I thought) – no winter gear. My plan was to layer if the weather changed. I didn’t think my husband would be so cruel as to actually take pictures of me all layered up. Let me tell you, it’s not a good look for anyone who weighs more than ninety pounds.

The day we decided to see Dover Castle started out sunny and our hopes were high. By the way, if you want to witness the efficiency of the British, just visit Victoria Train Station. There are lines on the floor leading you to the trains, the bathrooms, the ticket counters. It’s truly idiot proof. And the trains are clean, run on time and keep you well informed of your location. (I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been stuck on a train in the US which, after being delayed for days, quickly dissolved into a scene from some zombie apocalypse movie when the food ran out and the toilets overflowed.)

There’s the castle – now where are the signs telling us how to get up there?

Dover Castle, according to Rick Steves (who was losing credibility by the day), is an “easy, well-marked, fifteen minute walk from the train station.” Ha! It sits on top of a hill overlooking the the English Channel. You can see it as you enter the small sleepy town but can you get to it? Aye, there’s the rub. After cavorting around the town for over fifteen minutes searching in vain for the “well marked” route, we ran into a lady carrying groceries who showed us the path to the castle.

The unmarked path to Dover Castle

This path led to a seemingly endless staircase which only got us half way up the hill. From there we followed the road up, up and up again. We’d barely managed to reach the top when the clouds menacing the channel suddenly appeared overhead, driven by strong and icy winds. Then came hail. Hail, I said. Followed by thunder, lightening and a wind strong enough to sweep you into the Atlantic.

Never travel to England in October without a winter coat!

A few pics for you…

Storms moving across the Channel. They move fast and hit hard!

View of 12th Century Church and 1st century Pharos (Roman Lighthouse) from Dover Castle.

What year is it, she gasps…

October 16, 2014March 4, 2021JT Twissel 8 Comments

The clothes are clean, the cat has forgiven us for leaving him at the animal hospital, the luggage is mostly put away, but, alas, I have no energy. The sun, a fuzzy ball hidden behind cloud layers, adds to the dreamy illusion that, although I am back in the states, I haven’t made it home. Worse yet, I believe this condition will never end and that, like a character in a science fiction movie, I will be stuck in a limbo between time zones forever.

View from the Tower of London. Building designed by Dr. Seuss?

England (London in particular) is a country of stark contrasts. Built next to the remnants of medieval castles are modern structures seemingly designed by Dr. Seuss. Neither seem quite real, separated as they are by centuries. I felt haunted by Lady Jane Grey as I stood on the walls of the Tower of London looking out at the rising skyscrapers of modern London. What would she think if she could see London now? Don’t ask me why I channeled Lady Jane and not one of the many other people executed on the chopping block. Perhaps because my ancestors left England in order to avoid prosecution for their beliefs, the same beliefs which sealed Lady Grey’s fate. I hope she was comforted in the end by a vision of a time when the mighty Tower would be rendered small and puny by history.

I must admit – I don’t get the whole crown jewels thing. Luckily the day we were at the Tower it was stormy enough to scare away most of the tourists and the line to see the royal trinkets and baubles was not long otherwise I’d be even more perturbed by the ostentatiousness of all the jeweled crowns, orbs, ceremonial plates, solid gold teapots and emerald-bearing serving spoons which I’d stupidly waited in line to see. Good grief! It was all a little too much for my Yankee sensibilities. Especially as they are stored in a castle famous for savagery and blood-letting. As I said, I don’t get it. Blood and greed together are not pretty, even if their value is inestimable.

If you visit enough castles and museums in England I guarantee you will get royally confused by the royals. To help us understand the royal succession we bought a book about the Kings and Queens of England which I attempted to read. Holy Shamoligans! Here’s the lowdown on those dudes: It all started with the House of Wessex, a bunch of Saxon warlords who took over after Roman rule came to an end in 802. They were eventually beaten by William the Conqueror (a Norman). And when his descendants started to falter, the houses of Beaufort and Tudor, Lancaster and York moved in for the kill resulting in the house of the Plantagenets which ruled for 300 years. In 1455 the infamous War of the Roses (actually a thirty year clash between the houses of York and Lancaster) ended up with the Tudors back in control (a whole lot of backstabbing and scheming went into this turnover). When Elizabeth I died without heirs, the son of Mary Queen of Scots (James I) was crowned King of England. His coronation helped insure that Scotland would stay a part of the Kingdom (very clever). The Stuarts (as they called themselves) ruled until Bonnie Prince Charlie lost the kingdom to the German house of Hanover. During WWI the Hanovers changed their name to Windsor for obvious reasons. So there you have it. An idiot’s interpretation of the history of the English aristocracy!

Big Ben and the houses of Parliament

In order to live like Londoners, we rented a flat for the week. It was nothing to write home about but clean and safe. My God, really safe. We were across the street (more like an alley) from a barracks housing the Queen’s brigade, and round the corner from the very modern New Scotland Yard. Two, maybe three, blocks over was Buckingham Palace and just down the road, the houses of Parliament, Big Ben and Westminster Abbey. Each morning thousands of commuters dressed in suits and carrying briefcases exited nearby St. James Underground station, walked past our flat in unison, marching off to jobs we figured were with the government. Across the street was a pub and just beneath us a small market run by an Indian family. We went out for lunch most days but, exhausted after walking all over London, generally opted for take out from the nearby Marks and Spencer for dinner.

For months I’d fantasized about taking day trips to places outside of London – Bath or Stonehenge, maybe. Trust me, there’s an unending list of must see places supposedly close enough to London to visit in a day. “Supposedly” being the operative word. The problem is that there are twelve major railway stations in London! Twelve! And they are all in different districts and they all service routes to different parts of England. We were fifteen minutes walking distance from the Victoria Station which services towns in southeast England – Dover, Canterbury, Rye and Hastings. However Bath is serviced via the Paddington Station, probably an hour’s walk from our flat.

Thus if you factor in the time spent getting across London via the tube, a bus or taxi, those “easy day trips” become days to endure.

Next: Freezing our butts off in Dover, a carnival fit for the Bard, and “stay on the left Joel and mind those curbs” – tips for driving in England. Basically, don’t.

By the way – what year is it?