Weston-super-Mare and our first C14th feast

We've not been away for a weekend in ages, so a little windfall on our gas bill (the gas company realised they'd overcharged our house by $A650) convinced us to get away for the end of year banquet for our new group, Ye Compaynye of Cheualrye.

They're based down in Somerset, so we hopped a train for our first trip to the seaside town of Weston-super-Mare. 'Weston' (as the locals call it) is not far from the mouth of the massive Severn River, and is famous for having the second largest tidal flow in the world, after the Bay of Fundy in Canada. This sounds cooler than it is - although it's eyepoppoing the first time one sees boats marooned in the sand and a pier that finishes more than a mile short of the waterline at low tide.

Seaside resorts in England are ghost-towns for about 8 months of the year, shiny gaming arcades and rides defiantly flashing lurid neon lights (Melbourne readers - remember what Rosebud was like in the 70s?) as if vainly hoping to attract someone's attention. Not much chance of that on the bleak old day we arrived - freezing cold, squally rain and blowing a gale.
Some wag on the 'net reckons Weston is always like this, on account of the 'mouth of the severn' microclimate and its proximity to the Gulf Stream.

I'll say one thing for Weston though - it has the Taj Mahal of public convenience blocks, truly remarkable in a country that, as a rule, doesn't particularly believe in public lavvies. These were clean, spacious, naturally lit, and apart from the signs warning people not to leave their handbags lying around and reminders to not shove nappies down the loo, could almost have been considered classy.

It's a wee bit sad that I have more to say about the loos than the food, but that's England for you. After lots of wandering, we did eventually find an old fashioned tea-room, with low ceilings and hand-written menu boards, that served fresh and hearty tucker. The proprietors clearly considered their lasagne (served with chips or a baked potato and free garlic bread!) to be pretty avant garde, and they were truly proud of their range of desserts, which included trifle, spotted dick and knickerbocker glory. Honest!!

Further meanderings after lunch (okay, nobody 'meanders' anywhere when the wind is trying to blow your bollocks off) led us to the posh part of town, which really was quite lovely - all Victorian and 1920s art deco buildings. There was even a craft fair...

All too soon, it was time to seek out the biker pub where we were meeting Anthony's mate Nick, who was giving us a lift to the feast. Now HERE was somewhere I could feel at home. High ceilings, very laid back vibe (once we'd been thoroughly checked out by the regulars and evidently considered harmless) - and downright friendly once folk knew we were mates with one of the regulars.

And then our adventure really began.