Instead, it made this whooshing sound that sounded EXACTLY like the sound my late dad would make when he tried to walk from A to B and the cats would try to tackle him and he was trying to brush them off.
Anyways, that morning as I was lying half asleep I heard the sound and I remember thinking to myself that this was no way to run a hotel, with cats going in and out all the time. Thoughts from a fevered mind.
And yes, I was getting a type of what I've earlier dubbed "old ruins fever". Or maybe a slump in my mojo, a spraining of the ole' travel leg, I dunno. Could be that the corona virus and the masks and all that insanity was taking its toll too.
In the early afternoon I went to Stonehenge and was seconds away from leaving altogether because of a huge traffic jam the last few miles. It was pissing down sideways when I parked, but it abated somewhat before I took the shuttle bus out to the stones.
I stuffed face on soggy sandwiches (due to the sideways rain) and I think the whole experience can be summed up quite nicely by the expression on my face.
If there was one good thing about the whole Corvid-19 thing, it was that Europe was no longer overrun with Asian tourists waiving their fucking cameras around. However, when I arrived at the temple, I found the place as barren and boring as on the two previous occasions. As it was, I took some pics from afar and left after five minutes.
There were some new info boards put up.
Barren and boring.
I did go a little bananas in the gift shop afterwards and that lifted my mood a little and the Indian food I ordered for dinner and had brought to my hotel for free, was very good. So there's that.
The remainder of the evening was spent in the hotel bar overhearing a bartender giving a young 'un the run-down of the place and the routines and boy, did I get a wake-up call as to how much work there is to that profession; the serving of drinks is just a tiny part of it all.
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