I am indeed back on the taxi rank, and was not in the least surprised to discover that in our absence, here in the Lake District, what has been happening is rain.
Quite a lot of rain, actually, it is still lying about the roads waiting to be cleared up.
It is still raining even now.
Everybody in Bath was warbling about bad weather. We talked to some stallholders on the Christmas market who were indulging in some sad pessimism about the weekend to come, but in Bath the weather was very much better than it seems to have been here. We could see the sun this morning, if not brilliantly, at least sufficiently to confirm that it is still there, but we have not seen it here.
Partly that is because it is night, but even if it were noon there would be no sunshine. The skies are heavy with cloud, and it is raining hard.
I do not mind this. It is what happens when we are at home.
It is very nice indeed to be at home, even though we were only there for about twenty minutes whilst we got the fire lit and hurled some dinner into our taxi bags. All this sophisticated living is all very well, and I do like it, but I like my house best of all, and somebody who loves me had left it beautifully clean and tidy, so it was lovely to come home.
We started the day in Bath, of course. The hotel where we were staying clearly has a manager whose previous job was managing soldiers in the Army or something, because you couldn’t just turn up for things whenever you felt like. There was a strict time at which we were allowed to turn up for dinner last night, being half past seven, and another for breakfast, which was eight o’clock. Any later and we were warned we might not be allowed to have any breakfast, so we got up especially early on purpose. We thought that it was a bit peculiar, because both times the restaurant was almost empty, so probably the restaurant manager had a dentist appointment or something and did not want to be late.
It was the same with the spa.
The hotel actually had a real spa, being genuine hot water in the cellar. There is no novelty to this in our hedonistic modern era, of course, where we even have a jacuzzi bath in our house, but I am sure that in Jane Austen’s time it must have been very exciting and novel indeed.
We were only allowed to get in it until ten o’clock, after which time they come round and pull you out with hooks I suppose, so we dashed down to it after breakfast and sploshed in.
It is not as much fun these days.
Mineral water really feels pretty much like every other sort of water when you are in it, although it was a great deal warmer than the sort that is splashing around the Lake District at the moment. It was quite nice to sit in, and there was a rather splendid hot jet, but it was too small to be a swimming pool. It was a sitting about pool, and it was full of young couples who had got so bored with sitting about that they had remembered that they quite fancied one another.
I do not at all approve of that sort of swimming pool. We sat in it for about ten minutes and even though nobody had come round with a hook we got out anyway, and went into Bath to purchase some moisturiser because I had run out.
After that we went to see Oliver in his flat.
He was being cross.
His flat mates had been so worried about the gas bill that they had turned the heating off.
Oliver has got a job and so can afford to be warm if he likes, and was not at all pleased about this development, but he is in the minority. We have bought him an electric heater to put in his bedroom so that he does not have to argue with them about the boiler. He is just going to pay for any extra electricity that it uses.
The flat was freezing. I mean really cold. We had to go out because it was too cold to stay in there. We went to a cafe and had hot sandwiches.
He is now looking for somewhere else to live.
He will be home in a week so it is not the end of the world.
We will just have to hope that the weather does not get too cold.
