Gloucs over it

I dreamt about the Memorandum of Understanding that we’re struggling to get finalised with the Mozambican government. Always the wildest of times here. Why can’t I have a good old-fashioned hedonism dream?

By 8.30 I was on the train, heading eventually towards Cheltenham to meet Hannah, for some walking this weekend. As Han pointed out, we make a habit of spending August bank holiday weekends together, biennially. Usually, they don’t feel like winter and I’m not wearing a puffer jacket.

On the Cambridge to London leg a man boarded at Royston, pulled a disinfectant spray from his bag and wiped down the seat before sitting down. He had deemed this to be a critical action yet wasn’t wearing a mask. Why is there such inconsistency in the collective response to coronavirus?

The rolling hills of western England were a welcome sight after the badlands of East Anglia. As well as seeing dear Hannah, views are the main thing I am looking forward to experiencing this long weekend. Cheltenham is an unexpected find, with grand architecture and a surprisingly upmarket feel. Apparently Gloucester is the chavvier of the two. I read that of UK towns Cheltenham has the fourth highest rate of multi-millionaires per capita. Who knew!

Never ones to let the grass grow, we had a stomp up Crickley Hill, a local beauty spot. This is very close to where people fling themselves annually down Cooper’s Hill after cheese. The hills are indeed very steep and they afforded us wonderful views. There is also a town nearby called Bishop’s Cleeve, which for some reason appeared in the 1998 GCSE geography syllabus. This is not the name to introduce to a gaggle of 15-year old lads, who will seek innuendo in literally anything. Teenage boys add very little in terms of sensible dialogue, do they.

We retreated to the less salubrious parts of Cheltenham to check in at our Travelodge, and visit Home Bargains to buy up hiking snacks. Whilst there I upgraded my face mask from disposable to a more classy black. Han says it makes me look like a gimp.

In the evening we wanted to explore Cheltenham’s Regency-era character but were dissuaded by the November-era weather. Truly abysmal.