Bath time

We are in a truly ghastly hotel in Bath.

I am not sure that hotel is the right word. It is a large Bed and Breakfast establishment and it would look embarrassingly awful rated beside Fawlty Towers.

At least Sybil made sure Fawlty Towers was clean and tidy. This place has got mould in the corners of the bathroom, and dust lining the bedside lampshades.

I do not mind. There are plenty of people who would think this was luxurious, indeed, plenty of people who thought exactly that if the Trip Advisor reviews are anything to go by, but it is not lovely. There was a scowling man on Reception, if you could dignify the cupboard in the hall with such a name, and I can feel every spring in the bed.

It would be glorious if only somebody had a million quid to invest in it, which the current owner clearly doesn’t.

Fortunately we are far too tired to care. We have driven all the way from Windermere, with a detour to Lucy’s to humanely dispose of the dogs, and a second detour to Birmingham to purchase Oliver’s fine new school shoes.

They are very fine. He has bought a matching belt. He will have the nicest feet in Norland.

I had to bath the dogs before we set off. Wicked Roger Poopy rolled in some badger poo on our walk this morning, and Rosie jumped in the muddy tarn.

It was a very hasty walk anyway. We rushed round to get dressed, and I belted off up the fell as fast as I could possibly manage. I even ran some of the bits, although admittedly those were all downhill. Then I dashed home with the very pongy dogs and we had to start hurling luggage into the car.

We made it out at eleven twenty seven, so my prediction of yesterday turned out to be accurate in the end.

After that there was just a very, very lot of driving. We did not drive together, but met up at the shoe shop. I can drive faster than Oliver because he has got a black box, but he has the advantage over me in that he understands how to work the Maps bit of his telephone so that it talks to him. I could not get mine to work unless Oliver was actually holding it, and so had to balance it on the dashboard and try and keep glancing at it, and it kept falling off and landing under my seat.

This was a terrific nuisance and involved some exciting high-speed frantic groping about, because I did not know where I was going without it.

We found everything in the end, and the shoe shop was very lovely.

We got stuck in Birmingham traffic after that, and I had a startling flashback when I recognised where I was, because once, many years ago, we had to come to Birmingham to stand in a long queue to get visas from the Indian Embassy. This was the only way to visit India back in those days of primitive computing. We had to bring the children with us, Oliver being two months old at the time, because the clerks wanted to see that they actually matched their passports. Oliver didn’t match his much, because he was asleep on the photograph and howling in the Indian Embassy.

After that we came to Bath, and to our current abode. We don’t get Oliver’s house keys until tomorrow morning.

We enlivened out evening with an excellent, if spicy curry, followed by a late-night call upon my cousin and her husband, who live in Bath, and we had such a splendid time that I was sorry we had not had longer. They have got an enthusiastically affectionate sort of dog, the soft and fluffy kind that has not been rolling in badger poo, and she bounced all over us, which was cheering. Oliver said that he would like to volunteer to take it for walks if Norland gives him any spare time ever.

I came away feeling profoundly relieved. It is very good to have some actual real relatives not very far away from him. It is all very well being independent but it is good to have some proper grown-ups within yelling distance.

Tomorrow we will get the keys.

He will have left home.