Victorian Ball, Bath, and the Butterfly: part I

Before I start this pretty self explanatory series of posts, I'd like to dedicate it to Izabela at Prior Attire, who hosted such an amazing event which everyone in attendance thoroughly enjoyed.  In my opinion she should have spent the days proceeding the ball relaxing, but no, tirelessly she has begun to investigate next year's event.  She is by far the closest thing I can think of to a hero, and has my utmost respect (and envy.....you'll understand when you see her dress).  She has been pretty idol-esque to me these last few years, and it was a privilege to meet her in person, as it was the other guests.

I think with such an unusual hobby (in my world anyway) it's quite easy to feel isolated, so the ball was great for finally meeting with other like-minded people, whom I hope will become fellow sufferers for our obsession with historic fashions.

I'm going to begin this story where they are traditionally started...the beginning.  I left home on Friday morning, after dropping the beastie at the sitters (where he proceeded to make a new canine friend).  Aided by my satnav, and accompanied in the passenger seat by enough sweets to make me diabetic, I set off down the M6.  Why is that road always busy, can someone tell me?

I intended to take a detour ever since I discovered that there was a Farm shop somewhere off the M5.  Unfortunately to get to it I would need to turn off at Gloucester, and instead of following the M5 and then M4 to Bath I could just take this local A road straight to Bath.  Poor naive me, this was a mistake.

The Pound Farm Shop sold local produce, and to be honest I'm pretty sure I only went for the cake.  I wish I could say the detour was worth it, but it wasn't as big as I was expecting, and it's more of a garden centre and small local produce shop.  I'm glad it was a nice day though because the views of the Gloucestershire countryside were gorgeous.  What I saw of them anyway.

I began to drive down the A road, the A4173 to be honest, and holy hell was it a nightmare.  I know I complain about the motorway being too busy but at least it's relatively straight with wide lanes....no such luxury on this road.  Bending, winding, twisting, turning, trying not to put my car in the gutters at the edges of the road since I have terrible awareness of how much room my car takes up.  The cherry on top was when my satnav told me to go down this single width lane which was as steep as the side of a cliff.  I spent the entire way stepping on the break and praying to whatever force of nature that would listen that no one would come up the other way because my car may be small, but it isn't shrinkable and there were no passing places.

By the time I went through Stroud I had made myself car sick (that's right, I'm one of those...I blame my family).  Usually when I'm driving I'm too focused to feel it, but not when you've just snaffled half a bag of popcorn, some a lot of chocolate buttons and a few honey and oat biscuits you ended up buying at the farm shop the winding country roads turn into a prank made on you by Satan.

I also figured out that I have really bad lane navigation because I was in the wrong lane on a roundabout going into Bath and got beeped at (despite the fact I had began to signal I wanted in the other lane when the traffic lights were red).  To further my anxiety my satnav took me up these single track side roads in Bath that are not one way.....they should be!!  Twice I had to reverse into whatever small lane and tiny corner to let someone pass.  It was traumatic.

Upon arriving at my accommodation on the street connecting the Circus with the Royal Crescent, I had to park my little car in front of no 1 royal crescent, so my wee four wheeled baby is no doubt in many tourist's pictures.....she's chuffed.

I checked in, and waited until night time until I got the crinoline and boxes my dress was in out of the car and along the street, to save people's stares.  Not sure why I bothered really since the next night I wouldn't be carrying them.

My first issue was with food.  I go on holiday solo a lot, but have only once eaten on my own at a restaurant.  I must have grown up because I did it twice at the weekend....albeit in the same restaurant.  The restaurants in Bath had a dinner menu that didn't start until 6pm, sometimes later, so you couldn't eat dinner until then.  What if I'm hungry at 5pm?  What if I've been travelling all day and just want some nice food at 5.30pm?  Bath says tough.

Eventually they let me eat, and then it was home to relax and prepare for the next day.

I had a spa booking at 10am at Thermae Bath Spa, no link necessary, it's one of the only spas in bath, and the most famous. I went on my own and folks.....don't do this.  It's awkward as hell because there's nothing to do apart from people watch, and apparently that's not socially acceptable.  For 2 hours I was bobbing around in the water trying to think of things to do, and I really wish they'd invented waterproof books, or kindles.  My facial wasn't until 12pm, so there was 2 hours of awkward bobbing and jumping back an forth between the outdoor pool and the indoor one.

12pm couldn't come quickly enough.  This is definitely not an activity to do if you're on your own.  The facial was also a strange experience.  Multiple times I just had to stop myself from laughing because it was so strange (I've never had any spa treatments in my life).  It was good though, and my skin was happy.

Next was the fashion museum, which was awesome.  No pictures I'm afraid (I was too afraid to), but this was definitely an amazing experience.  Looking at extant examples in person is better then scouring pictures.  They had two on display not behind glass and I don't think I've ever had to try so hard not to touch something in a museum.

Next on the agenda was the dance workshop.  Not much to explain here, I met everyone and tried to learn the steps.  A tip to people, don't wear brogues on a wooden floor, there's no grip.  They were, however, one of the only pairs of shoes I had brought with me.

We learned most of the dances on the program for that night, and one I was pleasantly surprised not to have to learn, The Dashing White Sergeant (thanks Scottish curriculum), although I have to admit, the English really did take a ceilidh dance and make it much more civilised.....that's not typical or anything.

It was quite a warm day, I hear whisperings of the hottest weekend so far in 2016, and the dance practice wasn't really warm because I only had a top and skirt on, but boy did it get warm quickly in Victorian garb, I don't understand how woman managed.

I'll leave the Victorian Ball till the next part:
Part II