psmv5: Faketown

As part of our visit to Chippenham, we paid a visit to Lacock, a place which BH had visited previously, maybe 15 years ago, in the margins of one of my visits to a small hotel in what is now called Royal Wootton Bassett, last noticed in connection with Wellingtonia 81 at reference 2.

Lacock being something of a time capsule, a collection of mainly old houses, and often, I dare say, used as a set for things like adaptations of Jane Austen novels. Reference 1 does not explain how it came to be a time capsule, beyond saying that it has belonged to the National Trust since 1944. Something to be run to earth another time.

Then there is the question of the villagers, presumably tenants of the National Trust. They don't have to dress up, as is the custom in North American villages of this sort, they are allowed motor vehicles and broadband, but I dare say there are lots of things that they are not allowed. I dare say also that all the buildings are smoke free zones - perhaps using the excuse of fire hazard in these old buildings. But what about affordable housing? Has the Trust got into that sort of thing yet?

Our day started with bacon sandwiches in the town side of the large breakfast room in the Angel of Chippenham, sandwiches which were consumed by mouth while the rest of me was consumed in admiration of the artwork above, set in what might once have been a chimney breast, adjacent to the real sash windows of the original frontage, complete with painted in internal shutters, retention of which had probably been insisted on as part of the price of the heritage people signing up for the refurbishment.

The sort of thing last noticed back in May at reference 2, with the difference that those shutters had not been painted in, at least not all of them.

One of the better cars in the car park out back, a Maserati no less. The owner of which was busily mending his bicycle when we came in the night before. Clearly the sort of chap who works hard and plays hard. A trait which I believe was considered commendable in the 1980's.

The new building out back where we were located. A large room, wifi pretty good for a hotel, the whole package entirely satisfactory, in fact rather good value.

The large arch to the left give access to a considerable atrium, an atrium which burned up a fair amount of space. Handsome, but a little extravagant, even if they settled for render rather than stone on the right hand wall. All part of the deal with the heritage people?

But did they drop the ball when it came to this ancient wall? Slightly puzzled now by what appears to be ivy growing at the base of the fall. Exactly how long ago was the fall?

And so to Lacock, where we were pleased to find a carex pendula on the path connecting the car park to the village. Very home from home.

Not so pleased to find that the village baker was shut on the (week) day of visit. Not so very artisanal after all. And I don't recall seeing a butcher or a greengrocer, so maybe running small shops of that sort is a bit strong, even for the Trust's pocket.

We came across the odd horse, but no carts, not even dog carts.

There was a convenient bench for me to sit on, opposite one of the shopping opportunities which was provided for the ladies.

Took a light lunch in one of the hostelries, the Red Lion, a large and imposing house, operated by Wadworths of Devizes. A good deal larger and probably a good deal newer than most of the other buildings in the village.

I shall have to look up what Pevsner has to say about the place, taking bets in the meantime about whether he pans or praises. I can imagine him being very rude about it all, but you never know.

The bread was quite good, despite probably being sour dough, and certainly soaked in something involving garlic. However, the usually reliable chicken salad was drowned in salad cream, probably from Heinz, which I like well enough in other contexts. For some reason, probably rooted in my childhood, I quite like salad cream, perhaps for flavouring tuna fish or sardines, in moderate quantities, but quite dislike mayonnaise, this last looking rather pale and sickly to my mind.

Should I visit the establishment again, I must ask for goo on the side. You don't have to ask in Wetherspoon's, where the gravy for one's pie is always supplied in a little jug.