SammyTheSnake

I'm with my parents and a smattering of other family members in Shrewsbury, visiting grandparents. We're going on a day trip in the car to Ypres. I say to Dad, isn't Ypres in Belgium of something, and he says no, it's just down the road. Who knew? Apparently it's a giant war museum these days because it was all but destroyed in the second world war.

In the way we stop at some traffic lights and Dad hops out to pee in a bush (world's smallest bladder) and the lights go through several changes but it's not our turn for a while, but when it gets to our turn I'm shooting out the window for dad to stop faffing about (by this time he's standing in the middle of the road looking at clouds or something. There are several cars behind us waiting for us to get on with it!

Eventually, we pull up at the end of an inauspicious country land onto a grassy parking area. There's a massive, grandiose but partially ruined Gothic edifice that appears to be the official entrance, it's somewhat reminiscent of the hollow shell of Coventry's old cathedral but made of a very blackened limestone.

We go inside and look at the entrance fee and rules. It's only a couple of quid, but we're only allowed to spend two hours there which we all agree is a stupid rule. We go in and are on a coach driving through abandoned houses and other buildings, most have bricked up windows presumably to preserve them. I think that the rule about only spending 2 hours here sends even sillier given the obvious size of the place.

The coach stops and we all pile out into a slightly fake looking street full of period shops with mannequins depicting typical historical activities. There's a tour guide who starts telling stories about the various buildings and other features. Somehow we've ended up with a Dutch speaking group so u don't understand much of the tour guide's stories, only catching that apparently the rule for washing was that you must use exactly 37 wipes of your flannel.

I investigate a couple of the shops, the signage is all in English and I furrow my Bros trying to decide whether that is surprising or not. One of the shops seems to be a working but historically themes gift shop with the people behind the counter in character as people of a bygone era. Another is apparently undergoing some kind of fitting out and is essentially empty but for a woman moving boxes and such around.

To one side of the street is a broad stream which on closer inspection turns out to have large alligators in it. There's a boy standing right by the edge of the water and I'm concerned that he might get attacked by an alligator. As I'm trying to decide if I should do sobering about that, I realise he's now walking along the back of one of the alligators and reaches down to rub the back of its head! The alligator seems to be happy enough with that and even rolls over for a belly rub! As I look closer, I realise that all the alligators have badly deformed snouts, most of them look like they've suffered some kind of fairly severe and partially healed crush injury. I figure with some confusion that these crocs have been selected (or maybe even deliberately inured) in order to be "safe" in this place.

Harriet is here and reaches up to hold my hand, which I accept with a smile and we walk off into a gentle waking up...