Bathing

Lynda, Chef, Mike and I scooted down to Bath on Friday for a weekend visiting Sarah, Ades, Jo and Alice.

Lynda and I left Cambridge in glorious sunshine; by the time we reached Bath – and orbited parts of it a couple of times trying to zero in on our hotel – it was raining. Once finally located the Paradise House hotel was most agreeable, verging on the posh. Free use of a net-connected laptop was a bonus, and it even had Firefox installed.

Unfortunately Lynda must have mortal enemies in Bath taxi firms. I think we tried three different companies and the only occasions we were picked up on time were post-midnight. We bailed out on one after 45 minutes and two “where is it then?” calls; it was faster to walk down the hill to get one from the railway station instead.

Friday night was spent at the Hop Pole, where the chef was persuaded via our waitress to serve food other than just mushrooms to vegetarians. Mike, Chef and I went back to Sarah’s for more booze afterwards; it was a 3am finish. Despite engaging in the cardinal sin of beer, white wine and red wine in the same evening I felt fine on Saturday.

We lunched by a swollen Avon (must’ve been Servalan, ah HA HA HA HA HA); the Jolly Sailor, I think, a ten-minute drive out of town. It was sunny and just warm enough to eat outside. The beer garden there is, amusingly, on an island reachable only by clambering over a lock gate; I can only guess at the shade of purple turned by the Health and Safety droid.

In the afternoon the climbers climbed and Lynda and I perused the shops. We also popped into the Bath Tap to peruse the locals. That evening we braved the world of taxis again to head to Sarah’s for home-made pizza, wine and the lunar eclipse.

On Sunday morning, after a very nice breakfast that we unaccountably skipped the day before (see the 3am finish), we checked out and headed home. It rained all the way until Cambridge, more or less.

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