Back in November of last year, just when we all thought we were coming to the end of this covid thing Amanda messaged me to moot the idea of us and a couple of her old work buddies going away somewhere for a girlie break sometime in the next year; late spring or early autumn, depending upon what we could find. I was a little apprehensive at first but since I did know Birgit and have been away with her and Amanda before I agreed that it would be a nice idea. And at least by going with Birgit and their friend Janina I wasn’t in any danger of it being a camping holiday with the possibility of the tent being flooded, blown inside out or both. After discussing it with Birgit and Janina we plumped for the third week in May; late enough for a chance of some nice weather but early enough to miss the dreaded school holidays. We had the date, but where did we fancy going? Since two of us live up North and the other two live in London and the South it needed to be somewhere within a reasonable distance from us all with plenty to see and do. Out came my trusty maps and, after ruling out places we knew we didn’t want to go and places that were too long a drive for one or the other, I suggested Somerset as a possibility, particularly as there wasn’t much difference in the driving time or distance for either party. I did point out that if we were going to get the dates we wanted we’d have to be quick since; with folks desperate to get away after the dreadful year we’d just had; even campsites were filling up fast. Within days she sent us all an email with a list of properties for our consideration. By the time we had all got back to her with our preferences a couple had already gone but she secured one of the nicer ones on our list. We had all decided that we’d be happy to pay a little extra to ensure we all had our own rooms. Well, the way Amanda and I snore I really didn’t want to have to share with anyone. And that was it. Done. Then, just before Christmas, the second covid wave hit and we were in lockdown once more. Christmas and New Year passed, January came and went and we were soon into February with no signs of the lockdown ending bringing all the uncertainty of whether we’d be able to travel, who could mix with who and would there be any point at all if everywhere was going to be closed. Not to mention that on New Year’s Eve Amanda had broken her ankle when she came a cropper by hitting a patch of black ice and falling off her bicycle in the middle of nowhere so spent the first couple of months of the year unable to weight bear and having to hop everywhere with a walking frame! With the end of February in sight the announcement came that the easing of the lockdown would start in April and holidays could be back on the cards from 17th May. Amanda quickly contacted the holiday company to see if she could amend our booking for a week later. The cottage we’d booked was unavailable so once again we had to peruse the list of available properties and hope for the best. In the end I think we got the better property. We could now relax and look forward to our week away in the land of caves, cathedrals and cider.
The day before our holiday was to start was our mother’s birthday. Since I had persuaded Amanda to come up and celebrate with the rest of the family, rather than head off down the M1, we had to do a bit of a detour back to her house the next morning for her to pick up her luggage and feed the cats. We then decided to have our lunch before setting off so we didn’t have to sit in a filthy car park in some poxy motorway services to eat warm, soggy sandwiches. The first half of our journey went without a hitch and I really thought we’d make it in good time, despite setting off later than planned; we even navigated round Birmingham with no mishaps. It wasn’t until we were on the M5 that traffic began to build up with the sat-nav showing an hour delay on our route and the motorway signs flashing up long delays ahead. Amanda phoned Birgit and Janina to see how they were getting on to find they weren’t faring much better. A few miles further on, with no advanced warning at all, the sat-nav took me off the motorway onto a minor road. In a flat panic I turned into the next available junction, which landed us in an industrial estate with nowhere to pull in and turn around. In the end I pulled up across the gates to some warehouse whilst we fired up Google maps to see where we were and where the sat-nav was trying to take us. Amanda did point out that as it was a fairly up to date sat-nav it had probably re-routed us to avoid the now nearly two hour delay on the motorway around Bristol. We decided to go for it and follow the new route, just a little disappointed that we were now going to arrive quite late. Amanda phoned the owner of the cottage to explain we would be later than anticipated to be told not to worry, the traffic around the area had been horrendous all day. Feeling better we continued our journey on lesser A roads, wending our way through picturesque villages and towns, through Bath and on to Wells. From Wells to the cottage seemed to take ages, like it always does when you’re late and looking for your destination. With a sigh of relief we spotted Birgit’s car and pulled onto the driveway where we were met by the others, who hadn’t arrived much earlier than us as it happened. We lugged our suitcases inside before exploring the house. Birgit and Janina had chosen to take the two bedrooms on the top floor which, having its own bathroom, essentially gave them their own apartment. Amanda had already bagged the “king suite”, a bedroom with a lounge area and ensuite shower room so I was left with the huge double bedroom and sole use of the main bathroom. The house was immaculate with a huge kitchen and breakfast area leading to a sun room/longe across the back of the house, a sizeable dining room and a cosy snug, which is where we spent most evenings. For our first evening Birgit made us a chicken tray bake which we ate with green salad, followed by cake and lots of wine. Whilst dinner was cooking Birgit and I trimmed up the dining room and table, as planned weeks ago, to have a belated 60th birthday celebration for Amanda as her birthday had fallen in the middle of the lockdown.
We awoke to a fine and sunny Saturday morning. We needed to stock up with provisions so Wells was going to be our first port of call, especially since it was market day. With this in mind we were up and out early, well, it was for Amanda and I, we’re not morning people; my feet don’t usually touch the floor until 11.30! We parked at Waitrose as we wanted to shop there and they also had an area for all day parking. Before going out we decided that if we were in Wells we might as well do the treasure hunt I had previously downloaded. But first, the market, which turned out to be a bit of a disappointment since it was more of a craft cum artisanal market than an actual food market. I did buy some very nice cider from a bloke who has relatives in Doncaster though. Amanda found a good butchers along the high street so we stocked up with meat for the week. Birgit and I took all the shopping back to the car whilst Amanda rested her bad ankle and Janina kept her company.
Whilst we had been away Amanda and Janina had found the first clue so we were quickly on to the second one, which took a little hunting out. At first we were looking in the wrong direction for the wrong thing and it was more luck than judgement that we found it. Suffice it to say, it was not a huge tree as we thought! On our way to the next clue we stopped off at the ice cream van as it was proper whip ice cream, not that awful scoop stuff that falls off the cone at first lick. We wandered along in the sun enjoying our ice cream, chatting about inconsequential things and taking in the view of the quintessential English countryside with it’s lush green fields dotted with white, ball of fluff sheep and grazing cattle. Ice creams devoured it was time to find the next clue. We could see it but we couldn’t solve it. What folks must have thought as they walked by four mature ladies circling a patch of mosaic set in the grass; probably nothing since the area is famous for witches and weirdos! We eventually worked it out and moved on. Our next clue was something to do with two dogs one of which we found easily enough but could we find the other? We wandered up and down the road, into the middle of the road and onto a private driveway. We never did find that elusive dog. On we went to find our next clue took us along the main through road, at which point we decided to call it a day and headed back towards the cathedral. I’m glad we did because we found a very photogenic little mews which we couldn’t resist; the little gargoyle at the top was so cute. Quite serendipitously the top of the mews lead us out to where we would have found our next clue so we picked up the trail again leading us back down towards the market place.
Whilst trying to decipher one of our clues we decided it was high time we had something to eat. We found a really nice restaurant; which we would highly recommend; called Ensemble on the opposite side of the road. The food was good, served in a timely manner, the prices were reasonable and the service was friendly. Due to the covid restrictions still in place we had to exit through the back door, which brought us very nicely to the cathedral. At this point we decided to give the rest of the treasure hunt a miss and visit the cathedral, except the main doors were closed and no-one could get in. Deflated we wandered along the front and found the “one-way system” exit where we joined several other folks entering that way so we managed to find our way into the cathedral. Fortunately we had a good wander round before this obnoxious cleric very rudely started to usher everyone out. Now, I don’t mind being asked to leave in a polite way, with an explanation as to why, but this guy was something else. It was like he was herding cattle whilst intoning the words “you can’t be here” like some bad Gregorian chant. Ourselves and several others were unceremoniously spewed out into the cloister and the great door shut firmly behind us. As Birgit and I wanted to take photos of the cloister; I must have thousands of cloister shots so why I need more is a mystery; we let the other folk get ahead of us by wandering through the cathedral gardens. On our way back to the cloister we came across a fit young cleric carrying a huge cat in his arms, lots of naughty thoughts ran through my mind at this point. I can’t remember the name of the cat but apparently he became the honorary cathedral cat when the official cathedral cat gained his wings. Apparently someone has to search the cathedral every evening to find him and send him home to his owners so he doesn’t get locked in and set all the alarms off. How true this is I don’t know but it was a pleasant few moments listening to the story and fussing over the cleric. Umm…I meant cat.
Back at the cottage we enjoyed a pre dinner drink and tapas on the patio whilst deciding when we were going to do what. Several of our choices involved pre-booking tickets so we would have to decide in time to book. Fortunately, when we looked everything up the whole week just dovetailed into place.
Sunday couldn’t have been more different. It was cold, miserable and not a little damp. As we had nothing booked or planned for that day we readied ourselves and set off for Cheddar Gorge. As we approached, a misty mizzle hung over the gorge. There were several parking areas all the way down the hill but, being mindful of Amanda’s foot and the “just in case” crutches in the boot, I drove down into the village to see if there was a more convenient car park. The only one there was tiny, and full, so I turned around and headed back up to the main parking areas. By the time we had all agreed on which one to park in, found it hadn’t got a ticket machine, gone back to the last area to purchase a ticket, returned to our choice and played musical car parking bays, the light drizzle had turned into heavy rain! Undaunted we donned our waterproofs, pulled our hats over our ears, clutched our brollies and marched; hobbled in Amanda’s case; back down the hill. The village was more like a natural theme park than village; a sad looking string of caverns masquerading as visitor attractions, all closed until half term due to covid; which annoyed us no end, particularly as even in the rain the place was heaving with tourists; lining one side of the road mirrored by the usual tacky gift shops interspersed with “The Only Genuine Cheddar Cheese” shops on the opposite side. At the bottom of the gorge the pale glow of fluorescent lightbulbs diffusing through the steamy windows of greasy spoon cafes competed with the faded shabby chic of trendy eateries as they jostled for custom. Thankfully we had our picnic back at the car. Around the halfway point Birgit and Janina decided they wanted to walk up to the viewpoint but were unsure whether Amanda could make the climb. In the end Amanda sent them off and we found a little shop selling mulled cider. Well, it would be rude not to. From there to the cheese shop where we sampled several variations on a cheddar theme after which copious amounts of cheese were purchased before meeting up with our companions and making our soggy way back to the car, stopping to purchase a dragon along the way. It was around this time that Janina realised that Amanda and I will go nearly all day without eating so decided that in future she would make sure she took enough snacks to keep her going.
On the way out of the gorge we pulled on to a grassy clearing to eat our picnic of rye bread sandwiches followed by fruitcake and our freshly bought cheddar cheese whilst we decided what to do next. Amanda had set her heart on visiting some of the stone circles and hill forts in the area so, since there was a circle only 30 minutes drive from where we were and we were already wet we the decided to make the best of a foul day. We arrived in Stanton Drew, pulled into a muddy car park next to the church, donned our wet weather gear and set off through the village, in the still pouring rain, to find the standing stones. Finding the stone circle was a bit weird, a sign post directed us down a very posh, private looking road; all manicured lawns and gravel turning circles in front of designer houses; before taking us along a short concrete driveway at the end of which was a kissing gate leading onto a huge field where we found the stone circle. Janina decided the long grass would be too wet for her already soaking shoes so she waited patiently whilst the rest of us disappeared in all directions amongst the stones. It was whilst swishing through the ankle high wet grass that I found my beloved, 15 year old, walking boots were less than waterproof. Sadly they have since been disposed of. After Amanda had had her fill of the less than enigmatic stones we trudged back to the car and wended our way home and spent a cosy evening in the snug.
I was woken on Monday by the sun forcing its rays through the chink in the curtains. It was a lovely warm morning and the mood was cheerful and optimistic. Today was the day we were off to visit the first property on our list, Tyntesfield, an ornate Victorian gothic house and gardens. We arrived at our allotted time, 11.30, and took a gentle stroll along the narrow driveway, which took us above the rear of the house, giving us a fine view of the ornate roof. After a short detour to the sawmill we presented ourselves at what we thought was the entrance where I chatted happily to the lovely, flamboyant attendant chappie whilst Amanda availed herself of the facilities. Round at the entrance proper we donned our pesky masks, signed in and cleansed our hands before entering the house. It was very ornate and Amanda and I were very taken with the staircase, and the little frilly dust protectors on the library shelves. Unfortunately, again due to covid, we were only able to see the downstairs, but at least we’ll have an excuse to return. Outside we thoroughly enjoyed strolling around the gardens in the warm sunshine. We even had a few moments of daftness, peeking out from behind topiaried shrubs, rolling down grassy banks (that would be me then) and posing in the rose arch. It was whilst sitting in the rose garden and checking our route home I discovered that another hill fort on Amanda’s list was just 9 miles away. The consensus of opinion was, “why not?”. However, whilst tucking in to our picnic back at the car the heavens opened.
Looking at the sky, however, we thought it might blow over so decided to push ahead with a visit to Cadbury Camp. Although we could see it clearly marked on the map it proved a little hard to find since there was no signage other than a half hidden public footpath sign. Neither was there an official carpark so we hoped for the best and parked in the Village Hall car park next to the aforementioned footpath. By the time we had sorted ourselves out the rain had stopped and the watery sun was trying to poke its way through the rainclouds. We set off up the footpath; steep, muddy and very overgrown. Birgit and Janina forged ahead whilst I sauntered up just ahead of Amanda who was taking it steady on account of her ankle. In turns we all asked her whether she felt up to going on, especially when, at the top of the footpath we discovered we had an even steeper climb ahead of us for which none of us were appropriately dressed; indeed, Amanda was wearing a frock and tights since we were only supposed to be visiting the house. She chose to carry on, Cadbury Camp has been on her bucket list of hill forts for years and she sure wasn’t going to give up this close to her goal. On we went up the slippery slope as a gentle rain started to fall. Even for me it was hard going towards the top so credit to Amanda for doing it on a recovering broken ankle. At the summit we were rewarded with a view across the earthworks, the huge rings of the fortified perimeter with dips where the entrances used to be. By now it was raining more heavily so Birgit and Janina took shelter under the trees whilst Amanda and I wandered around the bleak landscape taking bleak photos.
Then Janina voiced what we’d all been thinking, We had all played our worse case scenarios in our minds and none of us were looking forward to retracing our steps, slipping and sliding our way down the steep incline back to the car park. A quick look at the map showed a more gentle route down following a track. It was a little longer but if it prevented any injuries it was worth the extra walk; at that point we didn’t know how much of an extra walk! As we headed downwards the track gave way to a gated road at the end of which we met a woman around our age waiting for her friend to get out of their car, which was parked in a little area to the side of the road. After exchanging greetings we commented that we didn’t know it was possible to park so close to the track. She was just telling us how we could have reached this spot when her friend bounced up declaring very officiously that not anyone could drive up and park there, it was a private road and They had been given special permission to park there by their friend. Well pardon us for asking! On we went, discussing how rude the woman had been, until we came to the lane leading down to the main road. Janina, who I discovered is a very fast walker, forged on ahead while the rest of us trailed behind. Our conversation had moved on to home education and education in general, particularly what a shame it was that music had been cut out of the school curriculum. Birgit commented that she’d heard that they were “bringing Beethoven and Mozart back into the classroom” which lead to much merriment as I had a vision of music teachers everywhere wheeling a couple of bewigged corpses into their classrooms. Amanda soon joined in as realised what I was thinking and patiently explained to Birgit the funny side of the comment. On reaching the main road it became clear to us just how far out of our way the gentle route had taken us. We had a very long and uninteresting slog back along a busy road lined where statement houses; standing behind perfectly manicured frontages; rubbed shoulders with pseudo cottages, mock Tudor new builds and the odd half derelict ex-farmhouse complete with unkempt garden. There were no shops or pubs, only a garden centre about halfway back; not so much a village as a string of conveniently placed houses for the more affluent commuter. By the time we reached the car it felt as though that last leg of the walk had been harder than the original uphill struggle. We were all weary, it was getting late and the idea of cooking did not appeal so I suggested we call in for a pub meal on the way back to the cottage. I had just the place in mind so got Amanda to call ahead and book a table. I had visited the Queen Victoria in Priddy many moons ago with Paul and remembered it as being a proper old fashioned village pub serving mucky cider. We arrived feeling chilled to the bone and looking quite bedraggled with our damp, windblown hair, rain-smudged mascara and Amanda’s mud spattered white tights; what a picture we must have looked. The pub has been revamped but still retains its quaintness. We enjoyed a warming meal of steak and ale pie after which we wended our way home. The miserable afternoon had turned into a beautiful evening so we sat on the patio with our cocktails and watched the spectacular sunset before retiring to the snug for the rest of the evening.
Once again the morning was glorious with fluffy clouds scudding across blue skies and the sun shining bright. And it was Towel Day. The perfect day for our seaside trip. When we were planning this holiday everyone had said they wanted a day by the sea followed by a fish and chip tea. After breakfast we piled into the car and set off for the coast. Our route took us along some little country lanes and we hadn’t been going for long when we happened upon the delightful little Ashton Windmill. Well of course we had to stop, explore and take photos.
Then on to Brean Down, a promontory of 1½ miles in length; described by the National Trust as Somerset’s greatest natural pier; with evidence of iron age and roman occupation. There is also a WW2 bunker with an exhibition dedicated to the development and testing of the bouncing bomb.
It was more like Brean Up! To get up to the down we had to climb several flights of those uneven stone steps which always seem to be made for people with knees at the level of my thighs. I huffed, puffed and hauled my way to the top where I was almost blown off my feet when the wind hit me. It was breezy up there I can tell you, but I was well prepared with my towel which doubled up as a snood to save my ears from a battering. The only other folk we could see were just a couple of specks in the distance. Once again there was general concern for Amanda’s ankle but she brushed it aside as we set off along the headland. On reaching the trig point we took a few minutes to rest and take our Towel Day photos. Unfortunately, due to the concern over potential damage to Manda’s ankle, we decided to give the narrow, rocky footpath which runs along the side of the promontory a miss and go back the way we’d come, missing the bunker and exhibition completely. It wasn’t until we were passing the NT office and noticed the poster that we realised what we had done. Oh well, another reason to go back.
Whilst researching Brean Down Amanda had also looked up Burnham On Sea since the road from Brean led straight into the town. From what she read it was a traditional English seaside town. Not when we were there it wasn’t. We found a carpark several streets back from the seafront. As we walked between closed shops and cafes towards the Esplanade we became more and more disheartened. Surely there would be something along the Esplanade. Nope. Not a chippy, burger bar, cafe or coffee shop to be found. Oh there were refreshments on the pier if you enjoy trying to juggle a cone of greasy chips and a cup of insipid coffee in a howling gale outside the amusement arcade! We spent another 10-15 minutes wandering the back streets to no avail in the hopes of finding something. Even Cleethorpes is more pleasant and thriving than Burnham On Sea and that’s saying something, in fact it was so bad no-one took any photos! And to make matters worse heavy, grey clouds had rolled in bringing a stinging rain, blown sideways into our faces by the now bitingly cold wind. We were disappointed, cold and hangry and I knew my patience was wearing thin, so the others must have been feeling the same. We piled dismally back into the car, gave our non-expired ticket to another customer and set off back to the cottage. We kept our eyes open for a fish and chip restaurant through very town and village we passed through. In the end; out of sheer desperation and having spotted several pubs; we found a car park in the last town, pulled in, Googled nearby pubs and phoned all the ones listed. It looked like we were out of luck; closed for refurbishment, only open at weekends, evenings only; we eventually found one that was open now so booked a table and headed over. Boy did we feel out of place and under-dressed. It was one of those gastro-pubs, all grey shabby chic, “antique” tables and chairs; as in the kind we inherited from Paul’s granny when we were first married; battery operated candles in vases and a pretentious menu. Not exactly fish and chips lathered in salt and vinegar but we made the best of it. To be fair the food wasn’t too bad if a little pricey and I don’t think they were impressed when all we had to drink was tap water! We left just as the suited and booted clientele started to arrive. We recommenced our drive back to the cottage to find that we had only been one village away. I think that was the evening we lit a fire in the snug and enjoyed more cocktails, music and dancing.
Our penultimate day saw us visiting Great Chalfield Manor; a medieval manor with an Arts and Crafts garden; which is found down a very narrow, twisty-turny lane with parking on the grass verge. Since the manor is occupied by tenants we had to endure a long introduction by a jolly old chap called Dickon followed by a guided talk delivered by a gushing guide in the Great Hall and didn’t actually get to see much of the house. Amanda and I did our usual switch off and wander round the room routine but there wasn’t really that much to see. Once the talk was done we were ushered out of the back door into the “romantic” garden. For me it wasn’t particularly romantic or interesting, flower beds, a few topiaries, a pond, a courtyard and nowhere nice for a picnic. And for some reason I was in a bit of a grumpy mood, possibly too many cocktails the night before? I just felt that the whole thing was a bit of a rip-off, but that’s just me. The others all seemed to enjoy their time there.
Back in the car and feeling a bit cheated out of our picnic lunch we were driving out Bradford On Avon on the road back to Wells when we spotted a ruined castle. We screeched to a halt whilst deciding whether it was worth a visit. The consensus of opinion was, why not? Being as there were still covid restrictions in place we called the office to see if we needed to pre book. No we didn’t, just turn up. So we did. Farleigh Hungerford Castle is an absolute gem. We pulled into a pleasant little car park surrounded by grass, perfect for our picnic. After eating and relaxing in the warm sun for a while we made our way into the the castle ruins, completely bypassing the ticket office, where we spent a very pleasant hour and a half exploring, the crypt and the chapel; where we discovered a distinctly male lion on one of the tombs; until we were chucked out at closing time.
Back at the cottage we found the owner had a good sense of humour. Before we left that morning Amanda had contacted him regarding one of the bathrooms. When he asked if everything else was OK we replied that we were partial to a martini or two in the evenings but couldn’t find any martini glasses. As we walked into the kitchen that evening, there, on the table, was a huge martini glass and a note hoping that this would suffice. We ended our day with nibbles and cocktails on the patio before enjoying a home cooked meal.
Our final day was, technically, Amanda’s choice. We had originally decided to give Bath a miss; well, a city is a city; but during my pre holiday research I found that there was a fashion museum with an exhibition dedicated to shoes so it was a no brainer. And fortunately the only tickets we could get were for the Thursday so a day in Bath it was. And since we were going to Bath I decided I wanted to visit Sally Lunn’s. I had looked up the menu and as it didn’t look overly pricey it seemed a good place for lunch. The bus from the Park and Ride dropped us off at the back of a multi-storey car park and after consulting Google maps we made our way towards the city centre. Within a few hundred yards we found ourselves surrounded by the Georgian grandeur of the buildings housing the hot baths the city is famous for. We did have a bit of a giggle though when we looked up towards the rooftop pool of the Thermal Spa. All I can say is: if you are wearing a very high cut, thong type swimsuit beware of where you bend over to spread your towel, being high up doesn’t mean you can’t be seen, especially when your bum is pressed against the glass!
We continued our wanderings until we arrived at the cathedral. At least this time we didn’t get hustled out. I was particularly taken, as was Amanda, with the tombstone of “The Very Ingenious Mr Harvey” and his sister Mrs French. And I loved the angels climbing up and down to heaven at the front entrance.
By now we were all getting peckish so we mooched our way past the Roman Baths; too expensive for what they are; and a couple of pretty squares until we found Sally Lunn’s. We must have caught it at a bit of a slow time as we were shown straight to a table. Despite having checked the menu the Sally Lunn lunch was not what I was expecting. It is a full blown dinner on the bottom half of a huge breadcake, as we’d say in Yorkshire, served with potatoes and vegetables. The top half of the bun is served with a sweet topping as a pudding. During the course of our lunch we had a short discussion on the correct use of the possessive apostrophe. I will defer to Janina’s greater knowledge in this area since she was correct. We left Sally Lunn’s feeling replete and decidedly sluggish. It was time to head to the Assembly Rooms for the fashion museum via Pulteney Bridge with it’s horseshoe weir. I had checked the NT website to find the Assembly Rooms were closed due to the pandemic so we wouldn’t be able to see them, just the fashion exhibition. Except, when we checked in we were told that our tickets included special entry to the Assembly Rooms. So we did get to see them and, apart from one other couple, we had them all to ourselves. So of course Amanda and I had a bit of a bop in Georgian society’s most fashionable place to be seen. Not that we were any competition for Jane and Elizabeth Bennet! On to the fashion museum where Amanda was in her element. It was quite informative, showing how fashion has changed over the centuries in 100 items, the shoe exhibition was interesting as well. I was particularly taken with a pair of shoes worn by Ginger Rodger’s and amazed to realise how big her feet were, they were enormous for a dancer!
On leaving the Assembly Rooms we did the obligatory stroll across The Circus and round the Royal Crescent, leaving by way of a path through the park which brought us out goodness alone knows where, resulting in us getting thoroughly disoriented. We ended up wandering through what I later found out to be another Bath landmark, Green Park Station, just as it was closing but in time for Janina to buy a couple of apples to keep her fortified until dinner time. A quick check on Google maps and off we trundled again. I don’t know about the others but my feet were throbbing, my knees stiffening and my back aching with all the pavement pounding so when we discovered we had to backtrack through a park because the council had locked the gates we need to exit through I was very disgruntled. So disgruntled that I stonked back across the grass muttering, chuntering and growling at several kids who got in my way. After what seemed an interminable trek along a busy road, lined with multi-storey car parks and bland late 1960s office buildings, we finally rounded a bend to find our bus stop.
Back at the cottage we ate a meal comprised of all the leftovers we’d accumulated over the week before retiring early to pack ready for an early departure the following morning; well, I did, but I discovered Amanda still had to finish her’s the next morning.
After packing up our respective cars, stripping the beds and cleaning the cottage we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways. After consulting Google maps I had decided that it would be nice to follow the old Fosse Way route, as closely as we could, rather than use the motorways. By doing this we could also go via Lacock Abbey. We had just paid to go in when we had an Amanda’s crutch moment when she decided her ankle was aching and she needed her crutch so off I jogged, all the way back to the car park to retrieve it from the back of the car. We had a very pleasant afternoon ambling around the abbey, it’s grounds and the little photography museum. Lacock is one of my favourite places to visit with its connections to William Fox-Talbot and the birth of photography; I just love spotting his little Mousetrap cameras dotted about the place.
Once we’d had our fill of the abbey we took a stroll through Lacock village. As we were beginning to feel a little peckish we bought a couple of huge pasties and some Bakewell tart from a little bakery shop at the bottom of a side road. Just the thing for a picnic when we got back to the car. However, as we reached the main street we checked the menu outside the local pub. They were serving traditional beer battered fish and chips; well….we had missed out a few days before. Amanda remarked, rather pointedly, that not only an hour earlier I vetoed the idea of a pub meal due to not wanting to be too late setting off, which is why we’d spent a fortune on the stuff for a picnic. My response was that I’d had a rethink and decided a proper meal would see us through and we’d at least have something quick and easy for when we got home. Lunch was thoroughly enjoyed, washed down with a weak but welcome shandy.
The journey home was easier than I’d expected and we only had a couple of minor hold-ups at traffic lights in small towns; probably less than we’d have got on the motorway to be frank; and we were pulling up outside Amanda’s in good enough time for me to drop her off and continue my journey home that evening rather than lugging all my stuff out of the car just to put it all back in again in the morning. I do hope everyone had as good a time as I did.