The disappointment when I arrived at the visitor center and found it closed was measurable, but only just. I'd long ago come to expect that a lot of things were closed in these troubling times and it's not like I was that desperate to see the blasted thing in the first place.
The next thing on my list was, however, something I really wanted to see again: Cheddar Gorge. It is one of the very, very few places in Britain that can honestly lay claim to being a "gorge" or a "canyon" and it is quite lovely, although British people's pride in it seems somewhat ludicrous when one's already tired of the sight of the Grand Canyon.
At some of the numerous little hamlets between the motorway and Cheddar, there was roadwork and a diversion had been signposted. I can't claim familiarity with the area, so I don't know for sure, but something tells me there were faster ways than driving many miles past where I was supposed to be going in the first place. But the sign said "diversion", so I diverted.
At long last I reached Cheddar and at the area just before the road rises with steep hills on both sides, I put on my phone camera on "video" and I now have almost seven minutes of mahself driving the gorge to, well gorge on any time I want to. Sorry, a little dad joke there...:
Afterwards, I drove through pleasant landscapes up to the city of Bath. Little did I know that I was driving into hell. But hell it was, at least for someone with a car (this was confirmed to me by my Uber driver the next day).
The city center is filled to the brim with one way streets and Bob help you if you miss an exit. Add into the mix a hefty number of pedestrianized or partially pedestrianized streets due to the corona situation and the increased need for social distancing, and you're ready for the funny farm.
I drove around and around for what seemed like an eternity, then ducked inside the first and best car park I could find. From there, it was supposed to be a seven-minute walk to my hotel, but with my poor legs (and fat-covered body), it took around 20 minutes of me sweating profusely the whole way.
At one point I actually considered just giving up and going back to the car park and say "fuck this" to the whole city of Bath, but I'd sunk quite a bit of money (two nights) into accommodation and the tickets to see the Roman Baths, so I thought I'd better carry on. Stiff upper lip, musn't grumble, etc.
When I got to my hotel, The Z, I found a "room" so tiny I could barely turn around in it and no windows. Even most prisoners are allowed to see the sun. Additionally, the bathroom was created by an interior designer born with a deep hatred of the human condition.
The controls for the lights and the air-conditioner were in that pretentious style of buttons which are employed by designers who think they're better people than you, simply because you, you unwashed laborer, fancy function over form. Fascist, I tell you!
The flushing device on the toilet was a willed disaster; something created out of pure spite. The buttons were hid behind the lid at the back, so if you were sitting on the throne, you had to at once lean forward to allow some space between the lid and the wall AND contort one of your arms behind you to push the blasted thing.
But the piece de la resistance was the showerhead. It looked like something out of a cheap sci-fi movie and consisted of a slightly oval ring with a big hole where the actual showerhead usually is. The water came out of the sides of the ring, making it difficult to actually point the damn thing at any given part of one's body. It was a creation of either bottomless evil or stupidity.
However, by now I was too tired to fuck off in a huff, as I was inclined to do and there was still the question of seeing the Roman baths the next day. So, I went next door to a Five Guys burger (I believe this was my first time at such an establishment) and stuffed a double bacon & cheeseburger and a banana milkshake in my face. It was good, but somewhat overpriced.
Then I went back to my room to sulk and to plan the next day.
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