Up, packed, fed and on the road by 9am. A much easier run out of Bath and the day was bright and sunny. We stopped at an amazing little church in Strefield English (St Leonard’s) just as the bells rang out for Sunday service. Didn’t get to see inside but the building is unusual. Found out on a website that it’s the 2nd church on the site and the current one was built around 1902.

St Leonard's

We had a tea/coffee then, refreshed, drove the rest of the way home.

Went to the Forge and picked up the girls who were their usual ecstatic selves. I took them for a romp up Hammer Hill once we arrived home and they didn’t let me out of their sight! Very unusual as they generally run off like lunatics the minute I unhook their lead.

It was a lovely few days break ruined only by Chelsea dropping out of the FA cup after losing to Newcastle tonight.

After another lovely breaky it was off to the pump room. We managed to walk straight into a table at the front, just as the band was setting up. Although there were no tables in Regency times, the room feels very like it was with piano, cello and violin playing hits of the Regency as we sat with our coffee and cake. Actually they were playing gypsy music but with the sunlight glinting off the trays and the smartly uniformed waiters and waitresses, it was all quite atmospheric. As we sat and enjoyed, the queue grew as more and more tourists appeared. Rather them, I say!

Pump room

After our genteel coffee we made our way up Gay Street to the Jane Austen Centre. Although the house is (apparently) very like Jane’s actual residence at number 25, it hasn’t been decked out all Austen-ish. Rather it is a long series of boards and images about Bath, Jane and her times. The ‘tour’ starts with an introductory talk at the top of the house which was a very good start and then you descend the stairs to the bottom and walk along the narrow corridors. There was a very good video, presented by Amanda Root (Anne Elliot in the latest Persuasion) but the rest was a bit sad. I reckon it would have been better had it been a little more like the Tenement Museum in New York. Still, it didn’t stop Mirinda buying some Austen-ilia in the small gift shop.

Having heard about Jane’s descent of the social ladder to a hovel in Trim Street, we went in search of the slums. Down near the Theatre, about 200 metres from the Gay Street place, in a straight line but downhill is Trim Street. Not sure how this could be slumland. Further down, definitely. Trim Street is opposite Beau Nash’s ‘splendid house’ so at some stage it was trendy spot.

Being near the abbey we decided to take the open topped bus tour. It was freezing! It was also very interesting. Particularly the bits the tour guide got wrong! But such a lovely way to see Bath. Highly recommended when there’s no petit train around.

In order to thaw out it was then off to Caffee Nero where I managed to spill some woman’s tea when she tried to sneak by my outstretched arm. Suitably warmed (not by her tea) we decided a stroll by the river was in order.

In the park we found this lovely statue of Mozart. Mozart in Bath, you ask? Well, not quite. According to the bus guide (so it MAY be true) this was paid for by a mother in memory of her son who died. He loved Mozart and the violin so, realising no-one would want a statue of her son, she commissioned one of Mozart instead. Cool, eh?

Mozart

The park was nice (you have to pay in summer!), the walk was a bit sad. I assume it manages to improve the further you get from the city. Well, further than we walked, anyway. We walked back on the other side and visited Sydney Gardens. Jane would wander about here. I don’t think she would now. Lots of wide bitumen path, not much grass. Took a photo of Mirinda in front of the Austen house at 4 Sydney Place, just to annoy the inhabitants. Then a stroll through Henrietta Park back to the hotel.

I left Mirinda with a cup of tea and went in search of St Swithin’s, where Jane’s parents married and her father is buried. On the way I found the rather sad remains of the original Bathwick Church and it’s Victorian replacement with its rather imposing sign.

St Swithin’s is a rather ugly church from the outside. It’s been destroyed and rebuilt a number of times. It was also locked up tight – even the churchyard – so all I could see was the outside from the steep park across the road.

St Swithin's

A shame really, because apparently there’s some nice tombs in there. Madame dArblay is buried there though most people would know her as Fanny Burney, the English novelist. I didn’t realise that she didn’t receive ANY formal education but read a lot and talked with famous, educated people.

Disheartened, I walked back into town, stopping off at the Victoria Art Gallery.

The were some lovely paintings but the highlight was an amazingly haunting set of sculptures by Ana Maria Pacheco. One of them, The Banquet, is incredibly moving and chilling. Her huge figures dominate the viewer while oppressing each other. Truly wonderful stuff. I recommend her work to anyone interested in art that truly moves.

Back out on the street I shivered to the hotel for a lovely hot shower.

At 6:30 we trekked back up the hill to beyond the Assembly Rooms until we found the Olive Tree, a restaurant hidden beneath the Queensbury Hotel – it has hopes of attaining a Michelin star. Lovely, comfortable chairs and not too crowded, though it was quickly full. The food was very good but…Mirinda said her entree was a bit dull and (gasp) she needed salt on her main! Also they served ‘extras’ like potatoes (Lyonnaise or boring) or veg or salad. The meal should be complete and require no extra seasoning. They have an extensive wine list which is rather oddly arranged – it even has an index! I make it sound awful but it was actually very good and I’d recommend it.

A slow walk back down the hill (apparently it snowed while we ate), through streets gradually filling with Saturday night revels and mini skirts. We were back in the room at about 9:30. I watched the snooker then football and Mirinda read until falling asleep. Home tomorrow.

The smell of frying bacon coming from the kitchen below our room is an amazing alarm clock. Someone should come up with a clock that emits smells rather than noise. It not only wakes you up happy but also sets you up for that most important meal of the day. The bacon was just too much temptation for Mirinda so she indulged in the full English as well. Breakfast chat involved how a fried egg without salt had little going for it but add a little and the taste is exquisite.

First up this morning, Mirinda followed through on her threat and went shopping while I wandered around. My first stop, having spotted Sally Lunn’s House – the oldest in Bath – and realising we went there last visit, was the Catholic Church of St John the Evangelist. The foundation stone was laid in 1861 and the strong Victorian lines are evident everywhere. The architect was Charles Hansom who also designed around 50 other Catholic churches. His brother was Joseph Aloysius Hansom, the designer of the Hansom Cab.

St John's steeple

The church suffered a direct hit in World War II during the second night of a German raid on Bath. The high altar contains the holy relics of St Justina of Padua for some reason. The outside clock (installed in 1868) was (and still is, I guess) noted for its accuracy and it was reputed to have been used to despatch the trains before the station was enlarged. This is obviously a reference to the lousy time keeping of British Rail.

It’s a lovely big church and, while I wandered around, a group of ladies sat in the front pews mumbling rosaries which gave the place the required spirituality often missing in big tourist churches. On my way out one of the little old ladies offered me a cup of coffee down in the crypt. I demurred graciously.

My next stop was the equally impressive St Michael with St Paul, the Anglican parish church. There have been rectors here since 1180. The stained glass is lovely, particularly the big Jesse window which catches the sun brilliantly. While there, a man pointed out to me the reflection in the glass screen. By looking at the reflection you can see both ends of the church at once.

St Michael with St Paul

The walls of the church are thickly coated with memorials. One in particular is that of Mrs Anne Chapman. She was a regular attendee of society card parties, idling her days away with wealthy disregard until one day, when she noticed one of the regular ‘girls’ was missing.
“Where’s Mary got to?” she asked.
“What? Mary? Oh, the nuisance only went and died, didn’t she! Now we’ll have to find someone to take her place. I hear Jane Austen may move here…”

This little episode changed Mrs C’s focus on life overnight and she suddenly gave up her life of personal sloth for one of philanthropy. She helped rebuild the church and also set up a day school for 60 poor girls. I’m not sure what happened when the card party had to fill two places.

The church itself has been built four times! It is situated on a narrow piece of land, squeezed between two roads, Broad and Walcot Streets. Because of this, it runs north south instead of the usual east west. The present church was started in 1835 and designed by C. P. Manners in the Early English style of Gothic architecture.

Not much is known about the first church. For some reason it was built outside the city walls, quite an odd thing to do. Anyway, it seems this church probably fell into decay and the second was built around 1370 with money from the lucrative wool trade of the time – Broad Street is named after the broad cloth woven by the Bath weavers. This one lasted about 350 years, managing to survive the Dissolution and the Civil war, though not without some damage and loss. By 1731 it was pretty dilapidated though and too small for the congregation so it was suggested that a new one be built.

John Wood, a famous Georgian architect put forth a design which was rejected and, instead, the church used the design of a stone-cutter and church warden, John Harvey. This church was consecrated in 1743. Wood claimed the design was so ugly that horses would refuse to walk by it unless they were blindfolded.

Byron’s parents were married in this church and Elizabeth Lonely, who eloped with Sheridan, was baptised in it.

Because of structural problems and, again, the size of the growing congregation, this church was demolished and the final one built in 1835. Phew! It managed to avoid being hit by bombs in WWII and, in fact, the crypt was used as a bomb shelter. The reason it is called St Michael with St Paul, is because in 1951 the parish was amalgamated with St Paul’s Church, Queen’s Square. It seems that after so many centuries of congregation increase, the 20th century saw a downturn!

From here it was a short walk back to meet a plastic bag laden Mirinda where we thought we’d take morning tea in the pump room. “Think again“, I said as the queue started spinning out of the revolving door! So back we traipsed to the hotel where we waited in the lovely drawing room while the maid ‘did’ our room.

After divesting ourselves of numerous clothing bags, we set off for the Circus (I thought it was dull, though the trees in the middle were quite nice – though John Wood would disagree. His original design forbade the use of trees to spoil the lovely clean lines!) and then the Royal Crescent.

No 1 Royal Crescent is now a museum which has been furnished in late 18th century, early 19th century style and all looks very comfortable. Mirinda particularly liked the cheese on toast meter sat glinting in the dining room while I was pretty keen on the whole kitchen which is about the size of our entire house! The table, for instance, is so big that by the time you get to the other end you’d easily have forgotten what you went round for in the first place.

After completion of the Royal Crescent, John Wood the Younger, who carried on and completed his dad’s master plan, moved in with his father-in-law, Thomas Brock. Nothing is said about John’s wife but I assume she lived in no 1 as well. In each room there’s a very ‘ept’ guide-lady to tell you things and fill in a few blank spots in the guide book.

We left the house and walked along the Crescent, amazed at the curve and perfection of it all. Something incredible is the square-ness of the rooms in number 1 when faced with the curve on the outside. The guide book, however set me straight. Wood’s firm hand ensured that the wall thickness, plus cleverly situated cupboards and alcoves created rectilinear rooms throughout. Very clever! I’d read somewhere that as wonderful as the front is, the view from the back is pretty sad. So we attempted to walk round the back. This is not so easy! There is a building behind which cleverly hides the back of the Crescent. One narrow stretch enables a glimpse at the very ordinary, hodge podge of back walls, where all the sameness dissolves beneath the variety of human taste, both good and bad.

Royal Crescent

It was around this time that I supped on the most delicious banana it has EVER been my privilege to taste. It tasted not unlike a banana paddle pop. An explosion of banana flavour. Amazing. It was organic and purchased from an ordinary little greengrocer behind the Royal Crescent. If you’re ever in the neighbourhood, try one.

Next on our list was the Assembly Rooms and Museum of Costume. I have to admit I was dreading this. Anything called ‘Museum of Costume’ sends up warning signals to me as being a dire collection of AmDram chintz tablecloths masquerading as fancy dress in productions of Earnest and Midsummer Nights Dream! Oh, how wrong I was. It was actually quite incredible. Not so much ‘costume’ as just clothes: What ‘they’ were and why. Excellent stuff.

There was also a full collection of anecdotes regarding the making of all Jane’s novels into BBC, Miramax or Granada productions. Interesting how the American producers were concerned that Emma Thompson and Kate Winslet would look too fat in Sense & Sensibility so the wardrobe department had to lose four inches of material from the dresses! I saw the actual dresses and they looked perfectly made to fit a 9 year old! Americans are very weird sometimes.

The whole thing was pretty amazing. According to Mirinda the inclusion of Darcey’s shirt was a highlight.

After roaming around the subterranean world of ‘Costumes’, we then went from room to room through the Assembly ballrooms, games room and tearoom. More amazing stuff. The windows are set very high so the ‘poor’ couldn’t see in! The octagonal ‘Gambling Room’ had to be moved because at teatime the tide of dancers through the tables were too much for the card players.

While we mused inside, it rained but, fortunately, the sun reappeared for our walk back to the hotel. The weather was very kind all day. Started quite dull but the skies soon turned blue and the sun shone bright.

A few hours rest back at the room (Mirinda rested while I sat and scribbled), then it was off to The Moody Goose, a Michelin star restaurant. Fab Food! Delish! At the table behind us was a very old, polenta hating gentleman (obviously a major) who spent a good amount of our dessert evacuating various bodily orifices. As I left, he asked me if I’d enjoyed it. I assumed he meant the meal and so replied “It was brilliant“. The old gent was pleased. The sour woman at the other table was devastated.

We staggered back to our room and eventually fell into bed. An excellent day.

Oh, glorious England. Woke at 8 and made a cup of coffee to have in bed then we went down to breakfast in the beautiful front room which overlooks Henrietta Park. Full English for me, croissants for Mirinda.

Fully full, we walked up to Walcot Street so Mirinda could look in some shops. What is this thing with women? You’re in a city and the first thing they want to do is look in shops. Ok, Mirinda wanted to go into a specific shop to look at a specific chair but that doesn’t explain the other shops she went into. As we were there, she also popped into the Bath Glass Shop for a pair of lovely glass drop earrings.

We, having window shopped sufficiently (or as much as I could stand without resorting to wall butting), then found a Caffee Nero where caffeine was digested. From here it was across the road to Bath Abbey.

Bath Abbey

Not the loveliest or most interesting abbey/cathedral/church I’ve ever seen but it had it’s moments. Unfortunately a lot of building work was going on inside so I couldn’t see the Crowning of King Edgar window, still, there’s lots of lovely memorials.

From the abbey we popped next door to the Roman Baths. And then the crowds began. Half term is a curse! Millions of families with kids who’d rather be somewhere else – ghastly. Still, we managed to see lots of archaeological stuff, including the working Roman drain – still running after 2,000 years. Can only hope our bathroom manages to see out our lifetimes.

Tourists with their wands

In the gift shop, the woman serving guessed I was Australian by my Akubra. Nothing like wearing the national pride on your head.

We bought pasties for lunch then popped into the smallest pub in Bath for a beer/cider. The Coeur de Lion is about the size of our living room and very friendly. A recommended watering hole indeed.

Pub

From the pub (and after two pints of Cumberland Ale) we found a chemist for some necessary supplies then back to our room for the usual late afternoon rest. I wrote up a couple of postcards then left Mirinda to snooze as I went in search of the Pulteney Arms, the pub with the gas light. I found it easily as it’s just the other side of the park, however, it was closed, so could only take some photos. I, instead, wandered back into Bath for a wander.

I found the Theatre Royal and the ladders up the side of the Abbey, then on to the Pulteney Bridge pub. Now here’s a funny thing. This pub is NOT friendly. It’s also very smokey. Still, snooker was on the TV and the beer was nice (Bombadier), so I sat for a pint then wandered back to the hotel, reeking.

After a bit of crap telly, we changed and set off for the theatre, stopping for fish cakes and chips on the way. Only there were no fish cakes left so it was just chips.

The Theatre Royal is a lovely little venue and it was pretty much packed for Osborne’s Look Back in Anger. An excellent performance, highlighted nicely I thought, by the very well enunciated rudeness in the bar, where the art of queuing appears to have given way to the excellent ‘pigs at the trough’ approach. Anyway…the play was fantastic. David Tennant as Jimmy was full of an energy that refused to flag, his bile knowing no bounds. Playing Alison, his ‘poor wife’, Melissa Gilbert look-a-like Kelly Reilly gave a wonderfully measured performance. The two supports (Steven McNicoll and Alexandra Moen) were equally strong and balanced Jimmy’s mania well.

The surprise of the evening came in the guise of Roj Blake, once counter revolutionary in the not too distant future, now fully paid up member of the establishment as long serving Colonel Redfern. The voice was still strong, the body defiant, though well rounded, but where was that fire that Servalan wanted so badly to extinguish? If you have no idea what I’m talking about, click here.

After the 2.5 hour play, we managed to walk the wrong way back, wandering along forgotten streets of fast food shops and high street chains – the non-tourist world of Bath. It was tricky but eventually we made it back on track and were in our rooms by 11. A lovely day. Mirinda has threatened to go shopping tomorrow…

We left for Bath at 3:15, my having worked half a day. Mirinda said the puppies HATED going to the Forge. Poor things.

The trip up was ok. For a change we didn’t go via the A303! Instead I decided the A36 was a good option as it goes all the way to Bath. Unfortunately when we reached the end of the M27, a big sign declared that the A36 was closed! How can they just close an entire road? Anyway, whoever organised the detours decided to use a triangle for one way and a square for the other. Nice idea. Unfortunately you get one chance to work out which is which and what it all means. Knowing I could only be so wrong, I chose the triangle. I realised my mistake very quickly as we retraced our path back over the M27 and started heading southish. Mirinda, on the other hand, became extremely single minded about following the little black triangles whence ever they led!

After a struggle of wills, we eventually managed to rejoin the A36 just beyond a place called Brook – presumably named for the character in Melrose Place. We stopped as the suns final rays sank behind the hills and ‘enjoyed’ a cup of tea/coffee in a layby.

After this it was a nice easy run up to the outskirts of Bath. Then we hit peak hour. We arrived on the outskirts and just crawled. Then stopped. The final mile was excruciatingly slow. After a few days we pulled into the overflowing car park at the gorgeous Villa Magdala and checked in.

Roy Thwaites, hotel owner/manager (I assume it was he) is brilliant. Talk about giving you just enough info and making you feel at home without suffocating you with facts about his sister’s haemorrhoids or the state of local politics. The man is fantastic. And the hotel! Ok, it’s expensive but it’s worth every penny (make that pound). A lovely big bed, a lovely big room, and, of course, a lovely big shower! I know that one day this just won’t matter so much but at the moment it is bliss.

After unpacking and booking Friday and Saturday nights dinners, we strolled out looking for sustenance. Unfortunately I gave Mirinda the map. She was directing us to a pub that still has gas lights and great pub food but we ended up at an Indian restaurant almost on Pulteney Bridge. Of course I had a very hot lamb vindaloo and, as usual, wondered why, when there’s no-one around to ‘impress’.

Pulteney Bridge, by night

We strolled up to the Abbey then back to the room to plan for tomorrow. I had a lovely long shower, watched some telly then quickly fell asleep. Ahhh, bliss.