A Wellcome respite

Boroughs Henry Wellcome & Co, 1893

Skint and bored we headed into town, to discover a torture chair from the 1700s, truly gruesome, with blades where you sit, rest your feet and arms and along the back, I squirmed as I contemplated how much suffering had occurred on the device. Also on offer Darwin's cane fashioned from ivory complete with a skull head, an oil painting from 1800s portraying birth in all its bloody glory, and numerous other curiosities to enthral, phallic amulets, Florence Nightingales slippers, masturbation inhibitors, all sorts. The Wellcome Collection is essentially a medical collection, yet it's bounty extends far beyond; the exhibition in question was Medicine Man, an avid collector this small selection features some of Henry Wellcome's bibelots acquired over a lifetime (reportedly one million artefacts at the time of his death). Henry made his money from Pharmaceuticals, pioneering the use of tablets; he formed one of the largest private biomedical charities in the world.


Mummified male body, Peru, c1200-1400

What it says on the tin


Tattooed skin, French, 1850-1900

Male anti-masturbation devices, 1880-1920

Sore Saddles... The Bristol to Bath Cycle Route

The sun was shining and it felt like the perfect opportunity to tick another Bristol experience off the list. The much talked about and undertaken (although a few of the talkers, did the talking and not the action) Bristol to Bath cycle route, or Bath to Bristol cycle route, whichever way round you want to play it... incidentally there is also an offshoot route which goes over to Chew Valley lake and adds another six miles onto your journey, but hey, who's counting. With two female mates in tow, we prepped our rather flat wheels and saddled up. Attired in notably contrasting outfitting of varying practicality (compardres Rhiannon - leggings, layers and backpack containing waterproofs, water and banana, Jess - tights, denim shorts, black tee and sunnies, me, dressed like i'm in the sound of music, long flowing dress, white brogues, scarf, cardie and satchel). The journey to the cycle path was a simple enough one, which led us through the working class area of Easton, traffic and shouting reminded me of being in Dalston, past St Marks Road (a rather delectable street, containing restaurants and food stores of exotic persuasions), past The Chelsea, (a dubious pub where upon the only time I've entered, had my crotch enthusiastically sniffed by an overzealous greyhound mongrel, whilst the burly male occupants hungrily looked on), up towards Easton Community Centre / The Plough (ECC is the venue for the Easton Cowboys fundraisers, good excuse for a party / Plough a late night drinking establishment which plays host to psy trance/techno/reggae/dub/anything goes dj's), taking a left onto the cycle path.

The route was once a railway path, which steam trains would run along, certain sections are still in use, with a leisurely steam train that takes enthusiasts along the track in old carriages, I think there may even be a Thomas the Tank Engine for the children. As you cycle along the seemingly flat route out the landscape changes gradually and opens up into beautiful countryside. The birds were singing, the sun was out, the blossom on the trees hung heavy, there was an air of 'The Darling Buds of May'. You are raised high which provides premium viewing for the fields, horses, farm stock and water routes. Pubs are dotted along the track with picturesque picnic spots presenting themselves intermittently, there are plenty of places to break up the journey. Once in Bath we hit the canal path, feeling slightly heady we immediately abandoned our bicycles at the nearest railings and headed to Marks (and Spencer) for some well earned lunch. After paying a £1 to enter the park, we plonked ourselves in a heap on the grass. The journey back was hampered by the differences in pace from the riders, two members disbanded and continued at an optimum speed. We missed the Easton turning whilst pacing and had to turn back, it was pretty grueling, arriving home we clambered off our bikes with the realisation that our feet felt disconnected. Walking like cowgirls we slowly eased our bodies back into movement. It was fun yet next time I may consider joining the majority of leisure cyclists and getting the train back (which incidently takes 15 minutes, not two hours). Definitely worth a go again, I wonder if there is a train station from Chew Valley lake...

Lone adventurer... Camera Obscura

There was once a time and even now and then I still get it when despite the independent upbringing, I struggle to venture out on independent day trips, it's not that I dislike my own company, merely that I prefer to share an experience. Perhaps its human nature to want to bounce off someone, it's more fun with two, or three, or more! Although too many and you spend to long waiting for people. However, being new to a city, with days at my disposal and modest amounts of friends has forced me to shake off this behavior, and strike out on my own.

My visit to the Camera Obscura was testament to this, after failed co-ordinations to meet up with a mate, I ventured up the hill to Clifton village alone. The weather was glorious and I reminded myself how lovely it is to walk around at my own pace listening to music. I paused to take photographs and diddly as and when, it was indeed a relaxed affair. Upon reaching the summit of the Obscure I was dashed out a charge of £3.50 entrance, this covered me for caves and camera... The venue is currently being renovated, soon to open as a roof top restaurant, a bid to eek more money out of the glorious building.

If like me you've never been in an obscura, don't be too disappointed, its like a giant spying device, you rotate its lens and you can see everything in detail all around, people chilling on the grass, cars passing over the suspension bridge etc. The biggest buzz I received was from the voyeuristic sensation I encountered in a blackened room, watching sunbathers below.
The building was erected as a wind mill (Snuff Mill) in 1766, however in 1777 it was destroyed internally by fire, abandoned until 1828, artist William West began to rent it. The artist used the camera to draw pictures of the surroundings including Leigh woods and the bridge itself, examples of which can be found in the Bristol Museum.
Buried deep below the hill top is St Vincent's Cave nee Giants Cave or Ghyston's Cave, which sits 250ft above Avon Gorge. Access is granted by a passageway constructed by West, its precarious route is damp, narrow and requires ducking. The cave is steeped in history and dates as far back as 305 AD with evidence that it was used a place of religious worship. The attendee informed me that a structure once existed that came out of the rock and access via external steps was possible. I spent a good deal of time down there reflecting and taking in the view, this was before I knew the history, perhaps I was under its spell, definitely a highlight of my adventure, and perhaps I may have taken less time to loiter were I with a companion.
My journey from the bridge to home took approximately 45 minutes downhill, that's the beauty of Bristol you can pretty much walk anywhere.