1) Anxiety threaded its way through my train travel from Coventry to Bath this morning, a thread that began forming just before bed the night before when I realized that my tickets were dated for the day I bought them, two months ago, and not for today. Cursing my idiocy, the octopus of British train companies, and also their bewildering, inconsistent, and non-intuitive online ticketing systems, I rebooked.
1a) The good news is, I was able to keep roughly to my original timetable.
1b) But it did mean changing trains twice instead of once, and I made my first connection with about 45 seconds to spare.
2) En route I finished 1939: The Last Season, which felt like a thumbnail overview seasoned with memoirs I’d already read. What I did not really know about that added to my understanding of this period was the sinking of the Thetis submarine, the Eton vs. Harrow cricket match (which Harrow won for the first time in 30 years), and that one of the films Queen Elizabeth chose to show on the ship on the way over to Canada was Charlie Chan in Monte Carlo.
3) Finalmente, I arrived in Bath, and my last anxiety — that my ticket would not work at the turnstile because it hadn’t in Coventry — melted away when I saw the turnstiles already open.
At the Huntsman for lunch. Not the coronation lapel pin Paul and Christian gave me.
4) My hotel was a five minute walk away, and since my room wasn’t quite ready yet, I went next door to the Huntsman pub for a bit of lunch. The day had turned sunny, but it was so cold I finally had to wear my overcoat for the first time since I landed.
5) My friend James lives near Bath; we haven’t seen each other since January of ‘20. He arrived about half an hour after I checked in. We had a good cup of tea at the hotel, and then a good old fashioned at the Huntsman to fuel our catch-up.
6) Once he headed home, I realized I needed some dinner before places closed. On my neighborhood journey for sustenance I acquired the admiration of a homeless man camping on the steps of a church.
6a) Bath is an authentically old-looking town, so I was surprised after turning a couple corners to find myself in an open air mall of gleamingly clean sandstone and glass fronting a lot of stores to be found everywhere in the world. So perhaps Bath is less Provincetown than Martha’s Vineyard?
7) Eventually I lighted on a place called Square, where I enjoyed a beautiful prosciutto and chicken terrine (garnished with a large section of braised leek) and chicken supreme with superb buttery potatoes. I enjoyed it all with the opening chapters of The King Is Dead, Long Life the King! by Martin Williams.
8) Returning, I realized I’d made a wide circle in the wrong direction; a great deal I’m already planning to do is mere steps from my hotel! I passed the Roman Baths and the Pump Room, both of which I’m scheduled to enjoy tomorrow.
9) Bath is going to be a delight, and I am so glad I’m here.