Categories: uncategorized
Date: 25 October 2007 19:56:22
We went to Bath last weekend. I first fell for Bath years ago when I passed through it on the train and saw it laid out, on different levels on the hill, all built of uniformly pale-gold stone (hence the cunning colour-themed title). The first time I visited it, I think my head was too full of Jane Austen and Georgette Heyer, and I was surprised by the traffic and the grime. The twentieth-centuryness of the place, in fact. However, a few years back I helped on several 'camps' (staying in a boarding school just outside Bath) for teenagers. These would always feature a couple of afternoons in the city, and I got fond of it again. My memories are perhaps enhanced by the fact that one of the activities would involve the leaders wandering around Bath in fancy dress, pretending to blend in. Bath, like Cambridge where I grew up (making it a bit weird really that I would be surprised at the way a historic, tourist-beloved city blends the old with the new), is the kind of place where all manner of strange folk wearing togas or playing xylophones are regularly come across. I never really scaled the heights of fancy dress brilliance (combination of lack of planning, and limited suitcase space necessitated by public transport), but honourable mention should go to our leader, an Anglican priest, who once strolled casually about in cassock and surplice. However, rather than a his usual Evo black scarf, he accessorised his robes with a bright orange feather boa, and just for good measure a matching orange frightwig. The 'Genius! Wish I'd thought of that' prize, however, went to the two guys who patrolled the shops dressed as Father Christmas and one of his elves. In August.
Well, this time round Spike was singing in the Abbey, and while he was at rehearsal I visited the delightful Thermae Bath Spa. Here you pay twenty of our earth pounds for two hours' admission to a complex containing four steam rooms, a rooftop pool and a swimming pool with a jacuzzi section and a sort of chicane where the jets carry you round, giving you a rather nice weightless feeling. Twas all very relaxing. I wish I could tell you that afterwards I continued mellow to Zen proportions as I fruitlessly explored the city's bustling retail zone, but I'm afraid I was still the same stressed, snarky mare I always am when confronted with Shops.
Reader, I HATE Clothes Shopping. And I have to go do some tomorrow. I think I feel my next post coming on, in fact probably my next series of posts. I warn you now, this could run and run.