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Legend has it that once a year the British had their bath. Perhaps though, this legend has been confused with the town of Bath. Once a year the British visited Bath? Well, it has been more than a couple of years for me, so I thought a visit to Bath was in order. A couple of our friends were visiting from New Zealand, so we decided to make it a weekend outing, all five of us. Five? Yes, their six month old was also travelling with them.
Blessfully, the drive to Bath was uneventful and the traffic was bumper to bumper (which is the British equivalent of flowing freely), so we made excellent time and were soon outside our hotel. We had been promised that there was off street parking - and there was, in the pay and disply carpark. Feeling that perhaps we should have been given the fine print - so that we could have read it, we parked the car and trooped to the hotel. We were also told that our rooms were on the ground floor - which they were, except that the ground floor was up a flight of stairs. Again with the fine print.
But at least when we got inside the manager was a scary piece of work. Imagine Basil Fawlty, but not funny, and Welsh, and slow. He had the same demeanor of Igor from Frankenstein. Except he wasn't given to laughing manically (or at all), so he was even gloomier than Igor. For future reference, lets call him Iggy.
At breakfast the next morning we met Iggy's wife. This must surely have been a case of opposites attracting. Everything Iggy was, she was not and vice versa. She doesn't feature too much in this diary, but if she did, we'd call her Sunny.
A short stroll into the town centre brought us to the Roman baths. The architecture of Bath is a remarkable feat of sculpture. Almost every building is made of a honey coloured sandstone into which a lot of intricate decoration has been carved. Of particular interest is the catherdral which features angels climbing a ladder to heaven. This is not what I was regarding though. It is still winter here, I am not know for feeling the cold intensely, however, I was wearing thick socks, and a fairly heavy jumper. It was therefore with some amazement
that I was watching some street performers who were wearing:
• A g-string
• A sparkler
Before you get too excited I should mention that they were both male. I should also mention that though they were holding a sparkler each, they were not using their hands to do so. Nor their feet. Or their mouth. Let me put it like this: when they were doing handstand's (with their legs doing the splits) the sparkler was upright.
Truly amazing as this sight was, we passed it by in search of more palatable entertainment. The object of our quest this morning was Sally Lunn's tea rooms. Sally, being the inventor of the famous Sally Lunn bun. For a fiver each, we were able to get a Sally Lunn bun and tea - kind of the Bath equivalent of a devonshire tea. Pictures of famous patrons (Charles Dickens) and their quotes (They make good buns - Dr Who) adorn the walls. I tried the cinnamon butter topped bun (on Charles Dickens recommendation).
That evening we set forth to conquer what were the best fish and chips in all of Bath (and possibly Britain also). This was Sunny's suggestion. She didn't
really suggest how to find the place though. Chaos ensued as we tried to drive around Bath without a map and based upon a half remembered glance at the one in the hotel that morning. In the end we found it, only after trooping back to the hotel for a better look at the map, and finding out that it was actually only 100m down the road.
Before we could even order our fish and chips though, we were struck by a rather unusual item on the special's menu "Faggot and Chips". After a polite enquiry and some explanation of cultral dialect, it turns out that "Faggot" in this case means meatloaf. We didn't ask why. I for one feared the answer.
No trip to Bath can be complete without a trip to the Roman Bath's. Our trip therefore, was not completed. However, we did have tea in the Pump Room. This is the restaurant next to the baths. It's original purpose was to provide a room to drink the bath water in, otherwise known as "taking the waters at Bath". You can still do that. There is a fountain at the edge of the room, through which
the Bath spring water flows directly from the source. Some of our group were keen to have a go. Usually I'm up for this sort of thing, not this time however. I had read the warning on the side of some of the bottled stuff: "it has a sulphur taste and will help to exercise your bowels". Yummy. What could be worse than that? How about, we all tried it in the end (yes I usually bow to peer pressure), and then we drove home - for 3 hours with sulphur taste and exercised bowels.
Bath is a place to visit often, so we will. In fact, we now have the chance and opportunity to do just that - Cheri has won her HSMP visa, and I have managed to prove that I'm married to her - and not for convienience (which was quite easy, we just sent them a photo of me with a caption "how covienient is that?"). What does this mean? We can now work and live here for the next two years at least. After that, we can apply for another three years, without too much hassle. What does this really mean? You probably won't
be seeing us for a while.
Thank you to all those that helped us get our Visa.
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