Wet and a bus ride to Wells

Friday 18th October

Waking this morning, one of the first things I did was to look at the weather. Mm, Met Office says cool with the possibility of showers...... more like very cold showers containing shards of sleet only just defrosting from ice. It stung the face and turned my nose blue....winter was a coming. But more of that later, let's wake up first.

After some early morning coffee I came to the conclusion it was time to, one, get dressed and two get some breakfast. But before I could eat, there was a walk that needed doing.

The cooked breakfast here at the hotel is £10 per day, so I decided to pop round to Morrisons and have one of theirs at £5.75 including a refillable pot of tea. Sorted.

I wandered round to the main bus stop in Glastonbury and waited for the bus. Most people were hoping the 376 would come fairly quickly, it was cold standing here and it had started raining again; the bus shelter doesn't offer much protection for all of us.
One thing did make me smile. There were a group of women, I could only call 'aging hippes', each with their bus passes, standing there in gypsy tops and long layered skirts, off to play 'granny' as they put it. They may have grown older but their clothing was just as it had been for the past 40+ years. Inwardly I giggled. As long as they feel comfortable then that's fine. I suspect they'd have more of a problem my side of the country.
Great thing about bus passes, it's all free as long as it's a local service. So, bus pass in hand I too waited for the 376 and travelled the 9 miles free of charge with no parking to worry about. 😊 bliss; there are some advantages to getting old.

I'm now sitting in Costa, with a really lovely coffee and dodging the worst of the rain. Once the 'showers' subside I'll move on once more. I am so glad this raincoat is virtually to the ground and warm as well as water tight!

Its Friday and I'm free to do as I please. I feel for those who still have to work. What prompted that thought? A man sitting a couple of tables away, laptop out, and on the phone having a difficult conversation with someone over when and where a meeting would be scheduled and whether he could get to Bristol in the next 10 minutes. Tee, hee, a candidate for an early heart attack if he doesn't slow down.

So I took myself into Wells Cathedral and if you're ever in Wells, without children, this is an amazing place to visit. It's free to enter but a donation is readily accepted (it's a big place to keep going and well worth all you are willing to give).

 You walk along the most amazing arched, covered transit and then turn into the church itself.

Look up at the ceiling, the painting of the patterns there are amazing.

Everywhere you go there's something else, including a rare example of a clock!

I've included some pictures here, in the hope you'll be inspired.

 When I walked into the church itself I was greeted with the most beautiful singing. A girls school from somewhere, I didn't catch the place, were rehearsing for an evening recital. If I'd known I would have been tempted to stay at the Premier in Wells and go to it. I had sat through one of these recitals before and the quality of singing is excellent.
Never mind, I was lucky enough to hear them rehearsing and after a break for prayers at the top altar (keeping the cathedral a place of worship not just a tourist attraction) the soloists returned. Wow, they were good. Mentally, I kicked myself for not going on the website and finding out what was going on that evening.

One thing I do when I am out is continually ask myself, "I wonder what's round that corner? I wonder what's up that side street?" It's how I get to see places which most tourists fail to see.

In the cathedral there were doors open; I looked out for "No Entry" signs and as they were not present, wandered through. This door intrigued me. It had been shut the last time I came here, now it was open, I wanted to look......The stairs you see above showed just how many feet had gone up and down over the years. It took you up to a meeting room where those who ran the cathedral itself would meet. It was a huge room with a central pillar supporting the roof and on each of the walls, there was a nameplate and coat of arms of the person who stood there (or maybe sat there originally, but there was no furniture in there at all when I was there). The staircase continued up to this observation window. You could see across the courtyards in front of the main entrance towards the original route of the monks and nuns as they came to pray. You could easily see anyone coming that's for certain.......from what I read, during the time of Henry 8th, that became very important because the cathedral was ransacked and put into ruin by orders of the King.

Next? After I'd listened to the girls choir rehearsal I went back to the bus station. It was early enough so I decided to stick on the 376 into Street. I'd not been there for some time (last time I was in a sun dress and wearing flip flops) so decided to be nosey. 
Yet again it was that, I wonder where this bus stops? Is it close to Clarke's Shopping Village?

Well, if you're into retail therapy then knock yourself out! This place has major high end brands galore most supporting factory prices. Handbags I'd seen on the ship at supposed tax free prices paled into insignificance by these. Mind you, there's no £20 bag sale, prices start at £89. I did say high end.
My nose caused me to wander over to a large house which said, Free Entry to an exhibition; mm, free, open, wonder what's.........yes, I was off. I happily left the retail hell to those who enjoy parting with their money for labels and kudos and headed towards this house. 
I talk to anyone ( it gets me both into lots of trouble occasionally, but most of the time, loads of information and a nice interaction with someone). By the looks of it I was the only person in the building (save those working there), so mouth engaged, I strike up a conversation with the lady on the door. Fascinating. Even more intrigued by what she has told me, I go into the exhibition ready for some hard reading off display boards.
The exhibition centred around a lady called Emily Hobhouse.

She was seen as a traitor in this country but as a heroine in South Africa because she exposed the truly dreadful conditions of and for the Boars in the prisoner of war camps. What she found were women and children being incarcerated in conditions without proper access to water or food.
Angry and frustrated by the British officers attitudes towards the prisoners, she set up feeding centres for these women and once the war was over brought them out to places where she taught them skills to make money for themselves and their families. A co-operative as it were.
In the first world war, which made her even more 'an enemy of the people', she highlighted the same plight of German women and children in the Allied prisoner of war camps and cited that unless these women and children were given help and support there could be serious consequences for the future. She wasn't far wrong there.
I was there some hour and a half, having had a further conversation with the woman on the door, chewed over the fat from what I had gleaned about this lady, and decided I wanted to find out more. She was certainly an activist in the very early days.

Having exhausted my appetite to shops ( low desire at the best of times) I headed back to the bus stop only to watch it pulling off the stand. Aaaargh! It only leaves every half an hour, I walked.

I'm back at the hotel now with feet aching, back complaining and hunger pangs growing. It's gone 4:30pm and I've not eaten since the small cooked breakfast I had at Morrisons at about 9:00am.
Time to leave my room for the final time today and grab some food and water, then its veg out in front of the TV. 💤