Things to do in Swindon when you're dead

...or half dead of the cold!

Jena and I met at Swindon station. She lives in Salisbury, and I in Stroud, and we've already met in London and Bath, so thought we'd try the Great Western railway town instead. We worked together in Zlin, Czech Republic, 20 years ago, and have got into the habit of meeting once in a while, to catch up and have slight adventures. Today it was the Sat Nav that gave us the giggles and sent us to a few unlikely places.

Our first destination was Lydiard Park, a stately home in the Palladian style, built for the St John family, aka 'Sinjun', who owned it from 16-something until the 1940s, when the heir ran out of money and was forced to sell it to the council. By this time it had become so dilapidated that it wasn't even used during WWII, though it was requisitioned, and a hospital built in the grounds. There was a display of 'medicines' by Lady Joanna, the lady of the house. In particular, the cure for gout caught my attention.

The affected toe is to be bandaged in a mixture of the patient's own urine, mixed with salt, and applied with a strip of red cloth which is to be left on overnight.

Hmmm. Like cures like, maybe? Urine to uric acid crystals...

There were also some buttons to press, which turned out to be audio guides delivered in a homely Wiltshire burr. Reminds me of the time CleanSteve and I went to Hailes Abbey, and could not understand why everyone wandering around the ruins seemed so very interested in their phones, having them clamped to their ears the whole time! There's probably an app for the Abbey now.

After that, we 'did' the gardens. Teashop: closed; Walled garden: bare and snowy, save for a lone garden roller and some highly decorative benches; Church: great tombstones teetering in the graveyard, but building closed. We peered through the windows, and talked about a mad fun-run called the Tough Mudder, and visiting Go Ape another time!

Luckily, we found this ancient ice house before we left the park, and I was enchanted by the shape. though I have to say it reminded me of a bunker. There was one in the grounds of the school I went to. We were not supposed to go anywhere near it, which is precisely why we hung around it so frequently. I always imagined a dead body or two lurking in there, amid the sackcloth and ice sheets, which would keep for up to two years.

Research on where to eat and drink not having been done, we ended up at a modern hotel called De Vere village, on a retail park. I got the giggles again when I saw a flight crew checking in. Where's the airport? And what's with the special deal on food that isn't so special when the "Computer says no?" I swear this is the very last time I will joke with FrankS about checking out instore cafes in Swindon, or any other new town for that matter!

Sat Nav notwithstanding, we got back to the centre with seconds to spare before my train. If and when we meet in Swindon again, we will go to STEAM, the railway museum, which I love for its social history and the many train parts that move.

Happy Easter, Jena! Alternative image in my blipfolio. The elegant person is of course Jena, not me!

Song: Things to do in Swindon Denver when you're dead