As I write this, the news is filled with reports of floods, cold snaps and even snow in the UK. However, my heart is warmed by the thought of returning to Bath, one of my favourite cities. Bath stone, Georgian architecture and Regency reminders on virtually every street. As you may know, my Husband is a reluctant tourist. Our most recent discussion about the Bath portion of our trip went something like this:
Him – We don’t have to be doing something every minute of every day.
Me – Mmmmmmm.
Him – What’s there to do in Bath, anyway?
Me – Well . . . . there are the Roman baths and the Assembly Rooms and the Holburne Museum and the ice rink and the Royal Crescent. And, er, the Fashion Museum.
Him – (Groan, eye roll, deep sigh) Remember that I’m old and have a bad back, will ya? I can’t keep going and going every day like you.
Me – You’re not that old. You’re only four years older than me.
Him – Yeah, but you’re actually interested in British history and you don’t have a bad back.
Point taken. But it’s Bath. Our hotel is in walking distance of Pulteney Bridge (above) and the Abbey and I must admit to having splurged on this portion of our trip – we are booked into the Wellington Suite for the duration – sitting room, bedroom and bathroom with a tub big enough for a right proper soaking. So far, in addition to those items listed above, our itinerary for the three days in Bath includes a bus tour of the City, a stroll of the streets of Bath, a trip to Longleat House for the Christmas extravaganza, some shopping, some pub hopping, a horse and carriage ride, New Year’s Eve dinner followed by fireworks over the Abbey and finally a New Year’s day trip to a nearby spa for two hours of couples pampering. I mean, one must spa when in a spa town, non?
The only dark spot on the Bath horizon (aside from a grumbling husband) is that the City won’t be filled with people dressed in period costume. Note to self: attend Jane Austen Festival one year soon. When I think of Bath, I think of Mrs. Delaney and Jane Austen, Beau Nash and liveried footmen. It’s a bit of shock to arrive to find the streets populated instead with 21st century people dressed in down jackets, button down shirts and jeans and not a single gleaming brass button in sight.
Upon taking a really good look at our itinerary, I admit it may seem a tad crowded. Ish. And Hubby might have cause to gripe at having to take the train, and then a taxi, to Longleat. And having been at Longleat all day long visiting the house, Christmas displays and perhaps even the safari park, Hubby might not be in the mood to return to the hotel, get all spruced up in order to go out for dinner and then stay up until midnight to watch the fireworks display. The phrase “going and going” comes to mind, but, hey, things could be worse for the Husband. At least I’m not expecting him to dress like Colin Firth.