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Unappreciative
Jun. 13th, 2007 09:34 pmCharlecote was wasted on us; we were fractious when we arrived, and we were still almost as fractious when we left. In theory the plan was a good one: to break the long drive from Wales to London with a late lunch in pleasant surroundings, and maybe a little look round, congratulating ourselves on being members of the National Trust and therefore able to sample their properties without paying an entrance fee which would have made us feel obliged to get our money's worth. It's worked for us in the past, but it didn't work this time.
Charlecote looked wonderful. And the drive didn't take that much longer than we'd intended, with only two real hold-ups (one of them so near our destination that we did a U-turn, and drove there down the back lanes). But it was hot, and busy. The café was in the Orangery, whose acoustics magnified every sound, every clatter of cutlery. We had assumed that "Hot meals 12 - 2.30" meant that we could get a sandwich whenever we arrived: wrong, the only option other than cake was soup - lentil soup, very tasty lentil soup which would have been welcomed on a chill winter day (did I mention that it was hot?).
We went for a stroll in the gardens, but there didn't seem to be any gardens - grounds, yes, but not floral-type gardens. There was one large bed of earth, with a message from the Head Gardener saying that because of bindweed infestation, they had had to grub up all the plants - and indeed there was nothing growing there but a few shoots of bindweed. The short walk around the grounds - all we had time for - took us along the river, which was pleasant, but not exciting, and the cascade was distinctly underwhelming. We headed back to the car park through a garden centre display which could have restocked the garden three times over.
In a better mood, on a better day, no doubt I would have loved Charlecote; maybe one day we'll have time for a proper visit. As it was, I knew that all the things that were brushing me up the wrong way were trivial - which just made me feel disgusted with myself, and even more out of sorts. The thing that most cheered me up, of the entire visit, was the caveat in the instructions for our walk: "Please note the gate into the graveyard is one way." That's so often the case, alas...
Charlecote looked wonderful. And the drive didn't take that much longer than we'd intended, with only two real hold-ups (one of them so near our destination that we did a U-turn, and drove there down the back lanes). But it was hot, and busy. The café was in the Orangery, whose acoustics magnified every sound, every clatter of cutlery. We had assumed that "Hot meals 12 - 2.30" meant that we could get a sandwich whenever we arrived: wrong, the only option other than cake was soup - lentil soup, very tasty lentil soup which would have been welcomed on a chill winter day (did I mention that it was hot?).We went for a stroll in the gardens, but there didn't seem to be any gardens - grounds, yes, but not floral-type gardens. There was one large bed of earth, with a message from the Head Gardener saying that because of bindweed infestation, they had had to grub up all the plants - and indeed there was nothing growing there but a few shoots of bindweed. The short walk around the grounds - all we had time for - took us along the river, which was pleasant, but not exciting, and the cascade was distinctly underwhelming. We headed back to the car park through a garden centre display which could have restocked the garden three times over.
In a better mood, on a better day, no doubt I would have loved Charlecote; maybe one day we'll have time for a proper visit. As it was, I knew that all the things that were brushing me up the wrong way were trivial - which just made me feel disgusted with myself, and even more out of sorts. The thing that most cheered me up, of the entire visit, was the caveat in the instructions for our walk: "Please note the gate into the graveyard is one way." That's so often the case, alas...
