Fawlty Towers sans Basil

There is a certain type of English hotel that was best exemplified by Fawlty Towers. We are staying in a Fawlty Towers hotel in Great Yarmouth, minus Basil and Sybil, thank God. It is a wonderful hodgepodge of two tacked-together venerable houses, boasts no lift, and has nothing resembling glitz. It is quaint, old and homey, and also spotlessly clean and quite charming once you get past the challenge of hauling a goodly lot of luggage up three flights of stairs. And, it also offers a full English breakfast in the cost of your room. Full EB, by the way, consists of bacon, eggs, sausages, hashbrowns, fried bread, baked beans (not sure why), grilled tomato and toast. There is also cereal available, grapefruit, juices, and possibly more that I’m forgetting Have the brekkie and you don’t need to think about lunch, and even mustering an appetite for dinner can be a challenge. Considering the carb, cholesterol and fat load, it’s surprising that anybody in this country makes it past age 40.

By the way, I said to Wendy this morning that after we get home I don’t want to eat at a restaurant for at least six months. Some of the charm of dining out seems to have left me.

Yesterday as a special treat we took the half hour train trip to Norwich. Beautiful smaller city that boasts one of the finest cathedrals in England. We spent a good couple of hours there. For me it was a trip back, not only to when I lived in England, but also to the three days I spent in Norwich in 1997. It was a somewhat bleak time in my life. I had just come out of a bad marriage and was feeling very, very alone in the world. I took a trip to England to try and get my head together. A big mistake at one level, and not at another. While in Norwich I was feeling excruciatingly isolated and abandoned by all whom I had thought loved me. While not despondent, I was far from happy and by the time I got to Norwich I was longing to go home, even if it was just to my bachelor apartment.

One afternoon I decided to wander over to the incredibly striking 12th Century cathedral to look around. I had been there before, and it seemed like it might be a good way to spend a couple of hours. Once inside its vastness I strolled around for a time. I then took a seat. And I thought, and I meditated quietly. I am not a particularly religious person in a churchgoing sense, but it seemed to feel right to be there at that moment in time. Interestingly (and I am ascribing nothing mystical to it, but I am ascribing a change in attitude away from ‘poor me’) my life began to change for so much the better. And here I was yesterday, with my current wife, nearlng the end of a European sojourn, and it only seemed right that I should pay a call to ‘my’ cathedral.

Tomorrow we are off to the Jane Austen realm of the town of Bath, so more later if I have access.