Viva Las Sulis

You'll be delighted to know that Mr WithaY and I are both still full of cold.  We seem to be taking part in an unofficial sneezing contest - a sneezathon, if you will - with both of us taking turns to scare the shit out of the other one with several explosive sneezes, followed by weak half-hearted nose-blowing and gasping for air.  Sometimes there will also be an apology, but it never sounds very genuine. 

I have added a painful sore throat to my repertoire, Mr WithaY is suffering with what looks like the latter stages of scurvy. 

We are pasty and grumpy.  More so than usual, I mean.

In an attempt to Snap Out Of It, as we are certain our respective parents would have advised, we went to Bath on Saturday.  We had been planning the trip for a while.  Well, it's a big deal, going to the Big City.  Originally we had intended to go by train, but on the day we decided to drive; well, as we were heading off nice and early, parking would not be a problem.

Or so we thought.

There's a handy car park in Manvers Street, next to the police station, where, local urban myth has it, some naughty scamp planted cannabis in the dead of night in the big concrete flowerpots out the front of the cop shop, only to have it grow and flourish there for months.  I have no idea if it's true, but I do like the story. 

Anyhoo.  We got to the car park by 10.30.  The top level was full, so we headed down the ramp to the spacious and charming* lower level.   Gah!  Half of the lower level was fenced off, with no apparent reason.  There was a space, but it was a bit tight to cram Mr WithaY's huuuuuuge LandRover into it.  He managed, avoiding all the parked cars around him AND the concrete pillar. 

The agenda for the day was as follows:

1)  Scour all the charity shops in Bath for appropriate 1940s-style menswear that would fit Mr WithaY.  Don't ask. 

2)  Have lunch out somewhere nice, possibly after meeting our mate Ed, to whom Mr WithaY needed to pay some money**. 

3)  More charity shop scouring.  There are a lot of charity shops in Bath.

4)  Visit Long Tall Sally (the clothes shop, not the person) and see if there was anything nice in their sale.

5)  Take a peek in the guitar shop just out of interest, not to buy anything, no honestly, I'll only be in there a minute.

6)  Go to Habitat, to try and Get With The Trends. 

7)  Finally wend our weary way back to the car, laden with the fruits of our shopping expedition, exhausted and happy, and hopefully thoroughly snapped out of our colds.

The reality was somewhat different. 

Once the car was safely parked and the EXTORTIONATE parking ticket bought, we headed into town.  The very first charity shop, almost the very first shop, that we found, delivered everything we needed and more.  Mr WithaY acquired two pairs of sturdy woollen trousers, suitably voluminous and pleated, and a dark green corduroy jacket which he is seriously considering wearing to work "because it's really nice."   All for under £25. 

They go with his new patterned tank top that he had already bought (online without my knowledge, honestly that man's a constant fount of startlement) a treat. 

I found a copy of Bill Bryson's "A Short History of Nearly Everything" which I have been meaning to buy for ages, and only had to pay £2.50 for it.  Result. 

So, we were two hours from meeting our mate, and had already completed the bulk of the day's mission.  What to do...what to do?

Aha!  There's a Patisserie Valerie in Bath.  Where they sell Eggs Benedict.  Nom nom nom.  We had a late breakfast, and admired our bargains. 

Suitably sustained, we headed back out to see what adventures Bath held.

In the covered market, I found this.  Elvis.  But in Lion form! 

I honestly thought my heart would stop - it is so perfect.  Look at the sneer on him!

And the attention to detail...well...

I had to be led away by Mr WithaY.

Remember the Bath Pigs, a while ago?  I was really hoping this would be the first of many leonine interpretations of rock legends, but he seemed to be a one-off. 

Also, this man wins the There Must Be Easier Ways To Make A Living Award:

It was raining!   So...on a tightrope, playing the fiddle, in the rain.  For (I looked*** in his hat) about 8 quid. 

Lunch.  Ah yes, lunch.  We went to the Hall and Woodhouse.  It's a strange place, almost a pub, almost a giant waiting room, almost a bistro, not quite anything entirely.  It was very busy, but we found somewhere to sit, and I ordered an egg mayonnaise sandwich. 

It arrived, presented disarmingly in what looks like a swabs dish from a Stalinist military hospital.

Mmmmm.  Appetising.

To be fair, it wasn't a bad sandwich, despite having lettuce in it when the menu had only mentioned cress, and arriving with a portion of chips on the side which, again, the menu failed to mention. 

I should write restaurant reviews.

Lunch completed, we scooted back out into the rain to complete the remaining missions on our list.  Long Tall Sally had moved, so we walked up and down a while till we found the new shop, where I bought a couple of tops in the sale.  It's great being slightly less obese.  You have so much more choice in clothes shops.

Then, as we were in the area, we called into the guitar shop.

What a sack of arse that was.

It is staffed - as most guitar shops in my experience seem to be - by aloof young men with complicated hair and achingly hip rock-god clothing styles.  In this place, though, there is no elder guitar statesman to manage them, and rein in their sneering when a middle-aged woman wanders in off the street.  I shan't be buying anything from them, even if I do decide to sell my Rickenbacker and invest in something else in the future.

Bastards.

I was tempted to steal a quote from Ab Fab's Patsy - "You can drop the attitude, you only work in a shop you know."








*Dank, piss-smelling dungeon.  With pay machines. 

**The money payment is related to the clothes purchasing at point (1) above.  It's all very bizarre complicated, but if things pan out, I promise to provide a full report later in the year. 

***Yes, yes, I gave him some money.  Well, it's traditional.

Dedicated follower of fashion

Went to see my lovely Mum today, and she is much, much better. Hurrah!

Mr WithaY and I went into town for a wander about and to pick up a few things, as it was such a beautiful day.

There were loads of buskers out, including a lad with a truly fine singing voice, albeit rather quiet, a man playing a harp, and a chap playing some mean slide guitar. We watched the slide guitarist for a bit, and I said "I wish I could do that."

Mr WithaY, instead of riposting with "Give him a biscuit and he might let you," instead opined that I ought to buy a slide* and thus improve my picking no end.

"Why would having a slide improve my guitar picking?" I asked him, interested.

"Well, it just would," he replied, in his 'I can't believe you're questioning me when I am so obviously correct' voice.

When pressed, he had no logical reason for this position, but instead reverted to his fallback argument of "Well, it would just make you funkier." Which, frankly, he uses far too much, and I have no answer to.

We walked down to the motorcycle shop and he drooled over a huge Kawasaki tourer, only five grand, ooh, let's get three.

We wandered into the teeny arcade opposite the bike shop and saw a disturbing slideshow in the window of the nail bar place. All the hands and feet in it looked horribly deformed, like an advert for arthritis relief medication or hammer toe surgery. They all had gorgeous painted nails, though.

We had a damn fine lunch in the Chinese. £6.50 each for three courses. Bargain.

We saw two old women with pushchairs, each containing a big fat dog, cushions and an assortment of toys. Small expensive dogs in elegant handbags I can sort of understand. Huge scabby-looking tongue-lolling dogs laying in dilapidated pushchairs I can't.

Mind you, when every chic fashionista has one, boy will I feel stupid.

I bought a huge jar of giant chocolate buttons from Montezuma's. Marvellous. We sat and ate some whilst watching "Live at the Apollo", in which Jack Dee was entertaining and the other comedians weren't.

On the way home we stopped off in Salisbury and went to have supper in ASK. I had butterfly king prawns as a starter, probably the nicest I have ever had. Very simple, very tasty.

A small group of teenagers came and sat at the table next to us. One of the girls was celebrating her sixteenth birthday so they were all dressed up to the nines. The boys were plastered in hair gel and Lynx, draped in huge cheap bling, the girls were all giggly and pretty in their best going-out clothes.

It was sweet, but boy did it make me feel old.

Over dinner we** made plans for re-landscaping the front garden, and discussed which European cities were likely to get a visit from us for a long weekend this summer.

All good, positive, life-affirming things. Hurrah.




*for my guitar, not to play on in the back garden. That sounds more fun, frankly.

**Me and Mr WithaY. I wasn't interested in the teenagers' opinions.