"Don't Be a Twat"

On Saturday my study group had a field trip up to Bath. As with all the other field trips, it was optional but free. Being what I choose to call frugal but what others may choose to call cheap, I plan to go on most of them. By 9 Saturday morning, a handful of my classmates and I had gathered by platform 3 at Paddington Station, waiting for our professor to arrive.

Once in Bath, (which I keep wanting to leave uncapitalized, because most of my baths are not proper - proper nouns, that is) we wandered around and made our way to Sally Lunn's. Apparently one must have a Sally Lunn bun while in Bath. Perhaps because it rhymes?

I had the most delicious trencher, which is also apparently an old school way to eat. It's a bread plate rather than a bread bowl, in this case the bread being a Sally Lunn bun. I also can't think of the word bun without thinking of buns as butts. It made the meal vaguely more awkward, if only in my head. It also explains why the mug my parents have with a bear and a muffin tray that says "Love my buns!" is so unsettling to me.

After lunch we went to the Roman Baths. They had a self guided audio tour with several different listening options. My professor encouraged us to pick up the audio guides, since parts of the tour we could opt to have Bill Bryson's commentary during instead of some random expert. Bill Bryson was not as funny on the audio tour as he was in print, so I often opted for the kids audio tour which featured several different characters. In the caldarium, I got treated to a slave's explanation of how they needed to have different rooms for the men and women because coed nudity was frowned upon. The slave's commentary concluded with her telling me she had to go because her mistress was ready to have her armpits plucked. This was followed by a half minuted of gasps, ouches, and the occasional scream.

While we were visiting the baths, the snow that had been threatening to fall all morning, finally started to tumble towards us. The square stones of the street outside became slick with slush, and, gentleman that I am, I offered an arm to one of my friends whose boots had smooth soles. We slipped the way up the hill to Royal Crescent, which is where the pompous rich people lived in the 1800s. I resisted the temptation to say, "Hurumph, hurumph!" while we walked through the rooms of their old ass stuff.

After the Royal Crescent a few of us went swimming in the spa. I am not much of a spa goer, by which I mean I've never been to one before. My friends and I made our way up to the roof top pool for a swim, where we ran through the falling snow in our swim suits and clambered quickly into the water. From the roof, we could see the sky turning red at sunset and the top of the illuminated abbey nearby as snow collected in our hair.

On the train journey back, we were in a car with a group of drunks. Sitting with my friend Amy, I took great pleasure in trying to imitate them - quietly, of course. A favorite quote from the group? "He's been looking for a job since the industrial revolution!" I am not sure what being able to make historical references while drunk says about a person, but here we are. Luckily, we went largely unnoticed by the drunks until I stood up with my green monster hood on and was mistaken for Kermit.

"Hey, it's Kermit!"

"Kermit? Where's Kermit?"

"Behind you!"

"I don't see him!"

"Behind you! Kermit's behind you!"

"Hey, hey! Kermit come back. Where is he?"

I stayed tucked behind my seat, head bent to Amy, not wanting to interact with the drunks that had made a pair of bobbies board the train a few stations back. Why was it that these drunks had not taken their own shouted advice to each other from before? Don't be a twat.