Loo With A View

A couple of Sundays ago, I found myself with an hour or two to spare in Ilminster, in darkest Somerset. 

This wasn’t quite enough time to manage the circuitous 28-mile round trip to Othery – the village, since the uncovering of my great-great-great-great-greatgrandfather’s will, I’m keenest to revisit – but Ilminster itself has lots to love …

 … including these signs of a summer long gone.

I was pleased to see that the local department store is still open and apparently thriving, though it looks a lot more exclusive, dahling, than the last time I passed this way. 

Sundays aren’t always the best days to lap up the atmosphere of an ancient church, and I had been to Il’s rather business-like minster before, so I took to the lanes instead and soon came across the local cemetery. Perfect.

It has everything: preposterous tombs in a stunning setting …

… an Anderson shelter converted into a hovel …

… yew trees and masses and masses of mistletoe …

… sadnesses …

… signs of a spring yet to come …

 … and just the best toilet ever. I mean, look at it.

Obviously, I had to use it. (No, I really did. Even though there was a sitting tenant.)

But as experiences of this type go, it was wholly charming. And since it wasn’t overlooked, I didn’t even have to shut the door. A loo with a view. The perfect pee.

To make my day complete, one of the bunches of mistletoe was just about low enough for me to reach on tiptoe and break off. I’ve always wanted to pick my own and now I have and am hopeful of a fair bit of kissing in our house this Christmas.