The volunteer steward of the museum was bored to death, so when I went in to the museum she thought I must be there for some ulterior motive than to look round. I seriously wonder how many museum visitors are 40 year old (but look younger) males. There are probably government stats somewhere and I just can't be bothered to look for them. Still, it made a change from cat sitting. Nice as Fluffy is, his conversation leaves a lot to be desired.
So I went to Ware, a place I visited on my New River path but only briefly. Ware is a town that once was a coaching stage and its main claim to fame is the gazebos overlooking the river. There are about six or seven of these and they are the remnants of coaching inns. These gazebos were provided for customers to have tea in, away from the bars.
The church is large and partially covered in scaffolding. A wedding was in progress when I called so could not legitimately go in, and by the time the wedding had finished the church was locked up again. I heard eight bells ringing from the steeple. The priory is now a conference centre and its grounds make up a public riverside park. A wedding fayre was in progress. I wonder what the market would be for a non marriage wedding? So many people (girls mostly) want a wedding - the church ceremony, the posh frock, probably white, the enormous party, the cake (I'd just want the cake) and to have this without the inconvenience of getting lumbered with an underwhelming male companion. Perhaps I should explore the market? The non marriage wedding. Now there's a thought!
This picture shows the former bluecoat school, now a public hall.
Ware suffers from the provincial disease: people only are hungry between 1200 and 1430. I have written against this elswhere on the blog but Ware seemed particularly inhospitable on this point. I did not want a kebab, I did not want a pizza but these were the only two options at three o'clock. I have also written about local shops for local people. Will strangers come? No they blooming well won't if they're all as bad as the ones in Ware. Alexi Sayle has always said 'Local' is another word for 'crap'! And it's true. No local shop could sell me a pie, so I went to Tescos for a pie and a bottle of (posh) lemonade. If you're going there, beware.