My friend Laura went to London in July and braved cows and bomb threats to bring back some wonderful pictures and a beautiful description of her trip...

Here we go.

Sheffield is a nice city, a bit industrial, but not the nightmare I was expecting.  I stayed at a B&B in the suburb of Hillsborough that was just lovely.  I didn't go to the cemetery on Tuesday, I don't think I was ready.
Just stalling, probably...

Wednesday morning was gorgeous.
The temperature was in the mid 70s and the sun was out, so I took the tram two stops into Hillsborough proper, and went to the first flower shop I could find.  The lady in there was so sweet, she made me this stunning bouquet of  white roses, pink lilies and a couple yellow carnations for color.  When I asked where I could catch a taxi, she just called one for me.  The driver, too, was really sweet, and when we got to the cemetery, he helped me find the caretaker, who then walked me right to Steve's grave.  Very sweet people, these Sheffield folks.

I was okay at first.  I cleaned up some of the dying flowers, and some leaves and stuff that were scattered around, and then I put in my flowers and the letter I'd written, and I was just fine.  Steve is in a really, really beautiful place.  It's on a hillside overlooking a valley dotted with cows (black and white, appropriately enough), very peaceful and soothing.

Then this older gentleman stopped by while I was sitting there, and told me he knew Steve's mom, and was there anything he wanted me to tell her? 

Well, I started crying all over this poor man, telling him to tell her that her son was a beautiful person, a brilliant songwriter and guitarist, and that his music touched so many people, and that I, and a lot of other people, missed him terribly.  I don't think he caught all of that, and I think he was shocked that I was so emotional (startled myself, actually), but he patted my arm, told me he'd tell her, and to "try to have a nice day, love."  Anyway, I calmed myself down, and then just sat there for about 30 minutes.  I hope the gentleman I met was able to tell Steve's mom what I told him, though I fear she may have gotten, "there was this hysterical American girl at your son's grave today..." but I did leave the letter and I hope she reads it.   

London... 

I was on my way to Steve's house and there was a bomb threat on the tube...the buses were jammed and getting around London was way more difficult than usual.  Anyway, I found Steve's house, it's actually pretty easy to find once I got my bearings straight.  It's just like Peter Mensch describes it on the Vault liner notes.  It's an old dairy, so there's a cow's head overlooking the door, and pictures of cows on the buildings lining up next to it.