I took a trip to Chester at the weekend. I used the train and went what for me is the long way round. Into Liverpool by the fast train from one of my local stations and then out again down through the Wirral and into the walled capital of Cheshire.
Walking those walls it still fascinates a little as to how close the city is to the Welsh border. Stand by the Water Tower which used to stand guard over Chester’s harbour before the River Dee silted up and moved its course and Wales is only a few streets away.
I had no proper agenda for the day other than a change of scene and some fresh air. The weather was what you might call indecisive. Cycling through warm, cool, still, windy, dry and wet with ease. I did coffee and cake in the Storyhouse, the cinema and theatre complex on Northgate Street, then made my way down through the city to the river at The Groves. I don’t just go to places for the coffee and cake by the way, it just seems like I do. I also take in camera shops, that is probably the more serious addiction, or at least my bank account thinks so.
When I got down to the river, the Dee, the waters were high. The weir which crosses the river by the old bridge had disappeared beneath the slowly swirling tide of water that was creeping relentlessly in from the Irish Sea. Not that any of this natural drama bothered the families sitting under the shelter of the trees, eating ice cream and watching the world go by. Music was being busked, ice creams were being licked and chips were being shared with different levels of willingness with the local duck population.
All in all a fine few hours change of scene out in the sunshine.
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