And this post is a memory too. I started it at the end of my travel to Spain and then UK, a few months ago now. But real life took over and I abandoned the blog.

Back in Bath, where I was born. Where I lived with my grandmother years later, and where I have returned over a number of years.

And here I am again. Grandmother long gone.

Sitting in the Pump Room having the traditional morning tea. The place in which ladies and gentlemen danced, flirted, gossiped and intrigued in 18C England. It was here to the mineral springs of Bath Spa where languishing women, and men I guess, came to take the waters. It was here that Jane Austen’s herioine Elizabeth Bennett met the taciturn Mr Darcy.

No longer can we sip the water from the fountain in the far corner or bathe in the warm baths as I used to do as a child. Some lurgy made its way into the water a while ago,

There in a corner I can see my grandmother holding my baby son so proudly. Her first great grandchild. There’s a photo at home that I’ll have to pull out when I return home, pull out of the mass of photos that have mushroomed and muddled themselves over a number of years.

So a warning, this blog is more for me than the reader (I guess most writers blogs are so ). I need to record those Bath memories now.

As I lift the cup of beautifully served coffee to my lips and grab the traditional bath bun ( a solid doughy sweet bread sprinkled in cinnamon and a little brown sugar and eaten with the real butter sitting neatly on a butter dish on this white tablecloth) I am glad that it’s still happening / the traditional morning tea in the pump room served in the grand manner

Outside the Roman Baths/Assembly Rooms is the Abbey and the churchyard. Full of the usual buskers and tourists. A sunny day at the beginning of winter

I listen and watch for a while and then walk around the corner to the square where musicians perform to tourists and Bathonians alike. Bath has a music school so the buskers/ performers are very accomplished. I can remember from the time I lived and worked in Bath doing exactly what I’m doing now, sitting around in the circle of benches in the ‘no sun’. Actually, I used to buy an ice cream cone from the place over the road. It’s still here, but all repainted, completely refurbished.

Well I can’t hang around here all morning so I make my way up towards Widcombe where I have lived at various times, and visited to see my parents and family.

I walk over the River Avon, peering into Parade Gardens underneath. No, it’s not me and my brothers playing down there next to the music stand. If I close my eyes I can see back 46 years, my grandmother again proudly pushing her first great grandchild, in one of those old fashioned perambulators. The baby is swaddled in white woolies, the tip of his nose poking out from the firmly arranged blankets. It’s a crisp autumn morning.

The Convent school I went to briefly is long gone, but I cross over the road to St John’s . The primary school is no longer, but the church, much restored, is right ahead. I was baptised here. Inside it’s brighter and more attractive than I remember on other visits

Then it’s along … , much the same, past the spruced up train station, through the tunnel and over Hapenny Bridge to Widcombe. This is the bridge I walked over every morning , and back at 4pm to St John’s School, with my little brother. Only for a year or so. Freezing in the winter. The white swans are still swimming around, but I’m not scared of them now.

Past the Ring o Bells and the White Hart to the crossroads. Ring o Bells, Rosie’s place, the bar lady my father and uncle spoke of with such affection: she stood behind the bar and managed everyone with a mix of sternness and humour. Up Widcombe Hill to Perrymead Cemetry. Dad there now with the brother I walked with to school.

Then it’s time to compete the circuit. Back along Church Lane where I walked with my grandmother. I don’t take the small path to the right where we used to go to feed Dobin the horse, on our way through to the exotic sounding Rainbow Woods. I can’t see any arrows on the walls, kids and I played Arrow Chase along here. At the end of the lane is 2 Widcombe Terrace. Spruced up, lots of cars parked in the lane. I squeeze behind the car and pose against the blue smartly painted door.

I turn off Widcombe Hill to the right and head down The Tyning to the canal. I’m now on one of the regular family walks, down and along the canal. When we were older it was a longer walk through Henrietta Gardens and tunnels with a stop at the closest pub.

Today I turn left back towards the city, pausing to enjoy the special canal sights

Soon enough I’m back where I started, past the pretty flower shop (always been there but sprucer now) and a charity shop and turn over Hapenny Bridge towards our very beautiful bedsit in the Royal Crescent.

The next day it’s Bath Spa station snd Goodbye.