[A detail of an art exhibition in the nave of Bath Abbey. Photo is mine.]

A premature victim of the Exertions of an ardent and fuperier mind.

~~From an epitaph inscribed on white marble, on the north wall of the nave of Bath Abbey. who passed on to his reward in 27 January, 1792. Aged 32 years. He also was A truly Honeft Man.

Back in the late 18th century, they often used ‘f‘ in place of ‘s‘. They did things different back then. A lot of things different. Like constructed buildings, the architecture of which is breath-taking, put in stained-glass windows that make your soul cry. Dug canals and built bridges that function today. They knew people needed open spaces to stand and think. Today those open spaces are gathering places for people to sit and listen to buskers, read or just look at the clouds pass slowly by.

I’m writing this sitting in a room on the top floor of the Grosvenor Arms Hotel in Shaftesbury. Sadly, on Friday, 12 September, we will be having our last meal here. I will make an attempt to recap all that has happened since we picked up our rent car in Battersea, London and began a long and tiring drive to Bath. It took what seemed like ages to get away from the urban sprawl of London and into the green lands of rural England.

Greenery is the best sceneary.

~~Arti Sharma

That verdant scenery passed by the window of our rented Peugeot. Our SatNav was encoded with the postcode of the Apex Hotel on St. James Street. The drive was easy but the last leg, away from the M4 and over the hill and down into the town was slow, an endless line of lorries and cars all seemed to be heading to the very place we were. But they didn’t have tickets to the Royal Theatre to see As You Like It. Maybe someone did, but I needed a lie down (read nap) before the curtain rose. I had thirty minutes to pull my weary bones together and walk the block to the venue and climb the stairs to our seat.

The next day I needed even more time to feel rested. We ended up arriving at the square in front of the Abbey at 3:20. The doors closed at 3:30. We would have to return. The whole delay was my fault. I simply had to stop and watch a batch of fudge being made at Fudge Kitchen. Bath, by the way, is probably the fudge capital of England.

It was over too soon, despite how uncomfortable I was feeling by 10 PM.

Bath, England. Jane Austen country. Site of the Roman Baths and other very very old ruins. We were set to leave the next day. And that set up a whole review of how the end game would be played out. The last portion, final leg, last chapter of our long awaited trip was getting close. But we still had Canterbury, way out in Kent. Way out in Kent! Approximately 200 miles out in Kent. I felt I couldn’t handle that drive. And still enjoy something along the way. So we mused, discussed, looked over the Atlas one more time. Finally we decided. Canterbury will be cut and we will return to Bath before we make the very last drive to the New Forest and Southampton…and then homeward.

I was reluctant but it had to be done. We needed someplace to replace Canterbury. Mariam had the foresight to book hotels that had a no-fee cancellation. The hotel was cancelled and we added another five days back in Bath. Perfect solution. We didn’t have enough time to fully explore the city this time.

Now we would.

It was an easy drive here, Shaftesbury, only thirty odd miles. Through beautiful landscapes of Wiltshire and Dorset.

Yesterday, we drove to Nether Wallop in Hampshire to visit a former student of mine when I was an exchange teacher in Dorset in the mid 1980s. Sally and her husband, Matt, operate a livery stable and small sheep farm. Matt was going to spend the morning prepping a few rams for sale on 11 September.

[These are Hampshire Down Rams. I shot a short video of Matt trimming and cleaning one in an adjacent stall. But, alas, WordPress will not allow me to upload a video. These boys were already done a few days earlier. Looking good, guys. Good luck at the auction. Photo is mine.]

[A Hampshire lane near Sally and Matt’s farm. Photo is mine.]

Back in Shaftesbury I took a well-deserved nap before we took a 4-minute walk to the King’s Arms Pub for a Pork & Leek Pie.

[A cozy fire warms the heart and soul of the dining area. The King’s Arms Pub.] Photo is mine.

The air was crisp when we returned to The Grosvenor Arms hotel. The moon caught my eye as we made for the front door.

[At 9;41 PM, the streets of Shaftesbury are quiet. The waning gibbous moon rises over the old buildings. Photo is mine.]

This morning we strolled along High Street to Coffee 1 for an Americano and a mixed-berry scone. I made my long-awaited stop at the Folde Bookstore at the top of Gold Hill. Gold Hill seen in movies, (Far From The Madding Crowd) and a thousand calendars of England.

[The famous descending street and cobbles of Gold Hill. Photo is mine.]

Last night I lay in bed reading a book detailing the true story of the No. 10 Rillington Place murders in 1950s London. An event far removed from the town where I was to fall asleep. Far distant in time as well. 1953. I was six years old. Now, I’m 78, tired and sore of leg and back. But never tired of a special landscape of Dorset and the old villages. London crime to sheep trimming. So far apart but so much a part of this country.

I took a sip of my bedside ice water. The town clock’s bell began to sound the hour. One, two…twelve deep tones. It was midnight. A nanosecond later it was the start of a new day. Another adventure and also another day closer to the time when we board the boat and begin our trip across the Atlantic. To New York City…to home.