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Where Was I S. Times Today
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Name of village please?
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From the Times Where was I comp...
I can’t help myself. “Well, here’s another nice mess you’ve gotten me into!” I cry as we pull up in the wrong village. I was hoping for lunch in a hall that dates back to the 14th century. Now a hotel, it won its first Michelin star last month. But, thanks to Friend’s “skills” with a map, it looks as though we’ll be inspecting the remains of a 19th-century iron-ore mining boom instead. Or maybe hunting for natterjack toads along the adjacent estuary.
In fairness, the names of the two villages are similar. (This one lacks an “h”.) Both are in the same county, too, created by an Act of 1972. But still. “Surely the suffix was a giveaway?” I ask friend. “And the fact that it’s not in the national park?”
Friend shrugs. “How about some meditation to calm us down?” he suggests. Apparently, there’s a Buddhist temple 5½ miles east-southeast of here. “Or would some laughter help?” he asks. Close to the temple is a market town where one half of a comic duo was born. It’s now home to a museum dedicated to their double act.
No, thanks. I’ve noticed a nature reserve on the map. It’s just off the southern tip of this peninsula, at the end of a manmade causeway. Set on a small car-free island, it’s run by the county’s Wildlife Trust. Each winter, it hosts thousands of wading birds.
A couple of hours later, I’m watching some oystercatchers when Friend taps me on the shoulder. “Did you check the tide tables before we left the car?” he asks. He points to the causeway behind us — disappearing beneath the rising sea.
D’oh.
I can’t help myself. “Well, here’s another nice mess you’ve gotten me into!” I cry as we pull up in the wrong village. I was hoping for lunch in a hall that dates back to the 14th century. Now a hotel, it won its first Michelin star last month. But, thanks to Friend’s “skills” with a map, it looks as though we’ll be inspecting the remains of a 19th-century iron-ore mining boom instead. Or maybe hunting for natterjack toads along the adjacent estuary.
In fairness, the names of the two villages are similar. (This one lacks an “h”.) Both are in the same county, too, created by an Act of 1972. But still. “Surely the suffix was a giveaway?” I ask friend. “And the fact that it’s not in the national park?”
Friend shrugs. “How about some meditation to calm us down?” he suggests. Apparently, there’s a Buddhist temple 5½ miles east-southeast of here. “Or would some laughter help?” he asks. Close to the temple is a market town where one half of a comic duo was born. It’s now home to a museum dedicated to their double act.
No, thanks. I’ve noticed a nature reserve on the map. It’s just off the southern tip of this peninsula, at the end of a manmade causeway. Set on a small car-free island, it’s run by the county’s Wildlife Trust. Each winter, it hosts thousands of wading birds.
A couple of hours later, I’m watching some oystercatchers when Friend taps me on the shoulder. “Did you check the tide tables before we left the car?” he asks. He points to the causeway behind us — disappearing beneath the rising sea.
D’oh.
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