Linda and I watched a series on BritBox called “The Café.” It takes place in Weston-super-Mare, a city located in the historic county of Somerset, on a sandy bay of the Bristol Channel, southwestern England. Although I have heard quite the opposite, in the show it appears to be a lovely and welcoming seaside village. Our plan for next year includes a return trip to Blighty to have lunch at Cyril’s Cafe. You can imagine our crushing disappointment when we learned that the cafe is only a wooden structure built as a set in which to film the show! That really throws a spanner in the works. Can you fathom the temerity of a show on the telly using a phony set to film a location program? What a load of Codswallop! I was willing to overlook polluted beaches and a high crime rate in exchange for posh coffee and chips at the legendary Cyril’s. But this unexpected development turned our seemingly tickety-boo travel plans into a dog’s dinner. A POX UPON THEM!
(You may have noticed I am attempting an affectation of a written British accent. If you think I come by it naturally due to my time in England and or possibly my high regard for our dear friends across the pond, please be assured that is not the case. I am simply being a pretentious arse, a skill I have honed over these past 70 years. For more on pretentious arses see Madonna; the pseudo-British singer, formerly the wife of English film director Guy Ritchie, not the Virgin Mother).
But resilient we are, so make new travel plans we will! (Whoops, sorry. That’s Yoda-ish not British)