By the time we leave, we’re quite partial to Bath.

Nonetheless, for a town that’s named for it’s renowned Roman baths, you certainly wouldn’t want to bathe in them. Not only are they just tepid pools of someone else’s ancient filth, they’re also lined with lead, which was possibly not one of the Romans’ most forward thinking technologies.

One local we meet obligingly explains the pricing system to us: ‘If you’re a foreigner, see, you ‘ave to pay eighteen quid to get in, which is a bit extortionate, see, cos if you’re local you get in for free, so I did, see, and it was JUST ABOUT worth it…’

However, Bath the city is just luverly daaarling, very Jane Austen with its doddery old ladies with their pearls and parasols, and beautiful old limestone architecture. Luckily Kylie’s friend Nick has arranged the weather for us in advance, so when we aren’t watching men in tights prance around in Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing (£30 tickets which Nick manages to procure for free), we’re lazing around in the sun near the park (but not actually IN the park, since it costs money to enter).
We even have such a luverly time that we’re willing to overlook the one night Nick drags us out to a bar which is literally swimming in vomit. Didn’t have our good shoes on, after all.