We took the moving-on option. It was about 4 inches on the map to Bath and looked quite daunting, so jg got in the driver’s seat once again and negotiated miles and miles of once-again amorphous freeway. Wales blew by in a not-inconsiderable number of hours. The place names lived up to their reputation of being beyond incomprehensible, and within hilarious. What’s with the non-use of vowels, for goodness sakes? We had bought a cd of Welsh songs but decided it was too miserable to listen to, couldn’t find our Scottish one or the auto harp from York Minster, so listened to local radio instead.
Bath is alive with the annual Jane Austen festival, and we were damn lucky to get a room at 7.00pm. But luckily I found a squirrel’s tail at the door of the pub whence I went to use their wifi to book said room. Robert has yet to see the rest of a squirrel, but I thought I did well to find that much of one for him.
At least, I think it was a squirrel’s tail. I hope it wasn’t diseased as I handled it rather a lot.
It turned out that we are within a small leap of the River Avon at tonight’s motel, the last room available in Bath – at the Old Mill in Batheaster. I dined on sardines, giant ones, a one-off experience that I can tick off the list (bones, bones, bones) and Eton Mess, which has featured on every menu since we’ve been in the UK and I felt I should try once, under the sanctimonious gaze of the resident diabetic who is so disorganised that he has run out of diabetic’s medicine and is therefore being careful about what he eats.
And dropped into bed. We were many hours in the car, me at the wheel. Only 2 days left in the UK. Robert feels most of his wishes have been met – a game of golf and a race meeting would have completed his experience, but otherwise he is replete with the experience.
I think it’s been absolutely fantastic, and am not ready to go home. Sorry, home. I’ve been on the hook for so many years though! It’s nice to slip the traces.