And so the adventure begins, Since learning of this annual show – a weekend of bands curated by Madness with two performances by the band themselves, I have wanted to come. Of course life (and things like planning a wedding) got in the way. When the posts about the 2019 show started flooding in, and then the announcement that 2020 would be the last show, I secured Dan’s agreement to postpone our planned 2020 trip to Japan to replace it with a UK and Ireland trip with the House of Fun Weekender as its centrepiece. I bought the tix as soon as they went on sale in November 2019. In late2020, the show was postponed until November 2021 and by the second half of 2021, with Australia’s borders still firmly shut, I was convinced my cursed relationship with seeing this band live would once again be realised – the show would go ahead in spite of COVID  but without me. A wave of emotions came over me in mid-October when the Australian Government announced the border would reopen and international travel to and from the UK would resume just two weeks before my scheduled departure date.

So there I was standing at the entrance to Butlin’s ready for the weekend I had been looking forward to for two years. And only my third experience of seeing Madness live despite many more failed attempts. Butlin’s is a holiday camp in Minehead on the South-west coast of England. When you look closely, the buildings look like they were probably once army barracks. That is because they were. Butlin’s were used as army barracks in the second world war. The resort at Minehead was designed in the 1960s but still looks the part – the chalets – largely two or three story fibro dwellings with outdoor stairs and basically equipped. Some of the flasher chalets have balconies added and are quite plush inside. Mine wasn’t one of these.

Once I found my way in to the check in table, I queued up and was asked the name of the lead guest. That was me, And I am pretty sure the person assisting me was a bit shocked that it was just me. Butlins is very clearly a family resort and/or a place to party. There were some couples about the place but largely the guests were larger groups of friends. I saw a lot of cases of beer being loaded onto luggage trolleys on their way to chalets. It had been a long time since I had been to a music festival by myself and I don’t think I have ever been to a weekend festival alone. I have to admit it was a bit intimidating but I was determined. My stubbornness usually wins out in the end so I just thought stuff it. Who cares if anyone looks at me strangely. I am here – just like them. To have a good time and enjoy the band we all love. I needn’t have worried. While it would have been easier to be here with Dan and so much more fun to be here with a posse of ska loving mates – Vanessa, Christina, Lisa – you would have had a ball, I was here and I was going to enjoy it.

Given the three flights of outdoor stairs to climb, labelled slippery when wet, I decided to pack a smaller bag from the car to get me through the weekend. Settled in and heat turned on and up, I ventured out to try out the premium dining plan. Premium my arse. The massive dining room and series of bain-maries reminded me more of school camp fare from when we were kids than a premium buffet. This was no Burns club all you can eat deal. It was all you can eat but with less options and less quality. I had decided that wrapping in a meal plan that covered breakfast and dinner for about $50 a day was worthwhile. It was from a volume perspective. Much like a licensed club at home, the carvery was probably the safest bet. For some reason the UK, at least in large volume cookeries, hasn’t cottoned on the fact that veges (other than peas) are much better when they aren’t mushy. It has taken a couple of generations to get that right at home but it seems something the UK is yet to learn. That aside, the roast dinner was Ok – the pasta, Indian and Chinese options less appealing. The salads were OK and if you are intro that kind of thing there were plenty of dessert options.

After dinner it was ready for the main event. Time for madness. I walked into the arena to be greeted by the biggest array of ska styled fashion I had seen since skalapolooza more than 20 years ago. And as with my last Madness show, the majority of the crowd were those who had seen Madness in pubs around the UK in their heyday. I love going to a show where I feel like half the crowd is older than me – There were a number of my obvious contemporaries, as well as a smattering of youngsters – some the sons and daughters of lifelong fans and in some cases, the next generation of ska fans and rude boys. There were pork pie hats as far as the eye could see – some accompanied by suits, others polo shirts, jeans and bomber jackets. There were also more than a few 80s skinhead girl inspired cuts. And everyone (except me) was wearing docs. I may not look it as much as them, but these were my peeps. I also love that they didn’t care whether people thought they were dressed “too young” – hard to tell if the outfits (and haircuts) were for the weekend or their day to day but full points for commitment and attitude. And I have to say – a crew cut, polo, bomber jacket, and pork pie hat work nicely as fashion for the middle aged man. [The Prince – Madness – Their first hit, off the first record (released about three years before I discovered them) is a fantastic track that had all the hallmarks of the two tone vibe of 1979. An homage to Jamaican ska legend Prince Buster, it was their only release on the two tone label]

I caught the end of a DJ set from and stood amongst the crowd people watching. Then Madness hit the stage. And then all the questioning of whether I should have come, all the anxiety of being there on my own subsided. And I lost myself in the music. I was too busy dancing to take a selfie but I swear I was grinning from ear to ear. There is a line out of a Rancid song that describes my feeling of elation in the middle of a crowd of strangers listening to live music – “When the music hits, I’ve got a place to go”. Live music is my happy place and while I love experiencing new artists and new perspectives, there are a core of songs and artists that just make me feel like I’m home. Madness is one of those bands. The set felt a bit like a group of fans jamming in some ways. The band were, as ever, totally professional but there was a familiarity with crowd borne of shared experiences – partly at previous House of Fun Weekenders and a casual approach of just rolling out some hits and some lesser known tunes (not to this crowd though) and just generally having a bit of a dance, a singalong and a rollicking good time. The hit were there from The Prince to  and everything in between – House of Fun, Our House and It Must be Love were all there but also other gems off their first record like Madness, Bed and Breakfast Man and One Step Beyond as well as a range of tracks from across their catalogue. Perhaps as a herald to the general age of the attendees and as acknowledgement that ska is all about dancing, there was no circle pit. But there was a lot of dancing – including a group of young guys in front of me dressed in suits and pork pie hats. Despite my brewing cold, I danced my heart out.

I resisted the temptation to get drunk and party the night away with a bunch of people I didn’t know so I was ready for a second run on night two. It was freezing, I was tired and I couldn’t work out how to turn the heat on in the bedroom. The heat was working in the loungeroom but for reasons passing understanding, there was a springloaded door between the loungeroom and bedrooms and try as I might, I couldn’t get it to stay open so I rugged up and tried to keep warm during the night.

The English concept of up hill and down dale really comes to life when you follow the GPS directions in the south west of England. My trip from Bath to Butlin’s at Minehead for the House of Fun weekender saw me drive on more backroads than motorways, sometimes being relegated to laneways that only just fit the trusty Hyundai, and where on occasion I had to pull over to the side to let other cars pass in the other direction. Even in villages, where there are two lanes each way, you still need to be ready to wait on the side as people just park pretty much anywhere. There are lots of minis and other small cars in this part of the country. While the country lifestyle might lend itself to Landrovers, you wouldn’t be able to make it up many of the roads here.

I decided to take the pitstop on my trip in Glastonbury – home to the infamous yearly music festival, the village is a total hippy enclave – a bit like Byron before the celebrities took over or Nimbin before people started selling you drugs on the street.  I am sure there is money in the region but one of the things about British wealth, particularly in rural settings is it is largely tied up in the renovation of existing ancient buildings rather than the sprawling beach side mansions that have sprawled throughout Byron and its hinterland. And it is a rural village, far from the sea, picked for the initial hippy music festival because of it mystical roots sitting within the region that is home not only to Stonehenge but also the bigger stone circle of Avesbury and the myths and legends related to its own Glastonbury Tor. Also home to the ruins of one of Britain’s earliest Christian churches – the Glastonbury Abbey. I opted not to take the tour of the ruins but I did take a stroll halfway up to the Tor. It was getting late and my last day in Bath I had started getting a cough. I wanted to be able to enjoy the Madness show so I decided to be a bit conservative with my bushwalking, it was pretty muddy and slippery on the way up to the Tor. Yep – I had managed not to get COVID before the concert but I had managed to catch a cold. So annoying. And people look at you like a pariah if you cough these days.

After my little jaunt I wandered back down the main shopping strip in search of a coffee and some lunch. The street was much as you would expect, filled with shops selling hippy wares, festival outfits and cafes. There were of course vegan cafes aplenty and buskers. In a sure sign  that the left and right fringes of our society have become drawn together in one single cause during COVID, there was an anti-vax protest set up at the bottom of town which had a very hippy vibe to it. [Enter Sandman – Metallica – I was introduced to Metallica back in the Master of Puppets days. And while that album is still my fave and satisfies my punk sensibilities, this track, with its great storytelling, riffs and pretty close to orchestral sounds always makes me smile when I hear it. Coincidentally – any changes to COVID restrictions pending, I will be seeing the George Ellis Symphony Orchestra play Metallica at the Canberra Theatre.]

Eventually I found a café that looked busy enough to be good. I ordered a toastie (which came with salad) and a flat white. And here’s the telling question about my coffee – “is that with cow’s milk?” Yes – or as I refer to it, coming from an (extended) dairy farming family – real milk. I am not in any way anti-vegan or vegetarian and am acutely aware that a lot of people have allergies to milk products. But let’s be honest, calling the reduced liquid starch from soaking then grinding soya beans or oats, milk is just a better way to market it than soy juice, soy starch or soy water. It’s not really milk. The sandwich was tasty enough and the coffee was just what I needed.

I thought I would end up at Butlin’s earlier than my allotted 4pm check in slot but as I got closer to Minehead that turned out to be quite a misjudgement. The traffic got much heavier and they all seemed to be going to the same place I was – I think I underestimated quite how many people would attend this event and the level of dedication of some – I was staring to see Madness bumper stickers and other paraphernalia suggesting an unbridled dedication to ska and Madness in particular. The combination of the heavier traffic and roadworks just outside of Minehead (plus the wrong turn I took in one of the towns on the way) meant I arrived about half an hour after my check in rather than an hour before. The drive through check in process described on the website seemed to have been abandoned so it was just drive in and find a parking spot (with no idea where my accommodation was located). I did just that, ready to start my House of Fun Weekender journey.

Done with the history of Bath, I decided to catch the train to Bristol for the day It is a 15 minute trip from Bath and given I had free parking in bath, the three or four pounbds for the off-peak return ticket seemed like a bargain. The train station in Bath is just at the foot of the hill leading inti town – it is a feeder line for the main route at Bristol and although you can go direct from Bath to Paddington without changing, it is only two platforms with a line each way – much like a suburban station in Australia. And it had that kind of feel too – a commuter station rather than a country station.  Bristol station on the other hand was more akin to Sydney’s central station with a maze of platforms. Exiting the station you soon realise iut isn’t really in the middle of town. You are greeted by buses advertising a 10 minute trip into the city centre and for a second I wished I  had caught the bus from bath. I looked up Google Maps and it didn’t seem far into town, even if it did at first look like the route was across wasteland. I followed the masses and was soon heading in the direction of the waterfront. Our last fleeting visit to Bristol was mostly spent wandering the old town looking for Banksy works i eating dinner at a pub. While I was determined to see a bit more of Bristol, I was also on the hunt for some of Banksy’s works we hadn’t found on our previous visit.

My stroll from the train station took me along a path past a revitalised industrial area now filled with offices, containers turned into studios and upmarket eateries. At the end of the block once I crossed the river, the timescale on the buildings changed dramatically – in front of me was a weatherboard building that was a seafood restaurant and a few steps further on surrounding a square were a row of brick terraces, with a cobblestone road in front – some one had sensible installed a modern stone footpath and cycleway between the terraces and the cobblestone road.  After about five minutes I came to the revitalised (if not also sterilised) waterfront complete with an array of international eateries including  a Cuban Rum bar with the infamous silhouette of Che Guevara giant sized on its window. Castro doesn’t cut such an interesting silhouette and the act of revolution rather than the running of a country always has a bit more romanticism about it I guess. The waterfront is the home of the attraction almost every city in the world seems to have now – the Bristol Eye, I am thankful my home town still relies on people to climb or drive up the surrounding hills for a view of the city.

Across the road from the waterfront is the Bristol Cathedral. Impressive enough as so many cathedrals in this part of the world are but it was the inclusion of a choir school on the grounds and the college, another semi-circular building with a green out front that were more interesting. And what I found most interesting is that the brass statues on top of the college roof (turrets?) were in fact unicorns. This is a city awash with creativity – apparently dating back hundreds of years., But I was also here on the Banksy trail. These days its less of a clandestine mission – you can get a spotters’ map from the tourist information centre (or in my case, perhaps with only marginally more credibility, the lonely planet guide. I traversed the back lanes behind the cathedral (being careful not to wander into the choir school grounds or someone’s back garden to find the Castles stencil at the back of the local library where the skips are. The stencil itself is just a semicircular written phrase “You don’t need planning permission to build castles in the sky”. From here it was back to the water front in search of another of the stencil artist’s best known works – Girl with a Peirced Eardrum. The work is located on the other side of the riven to where I was. Fortunately there is a cross river ferry – from where I was standing directly across to where the SS Great Britain is located. The trip across takes all of five minutes and costs a pound. You can walk for about 10-15 minutes and cross the river by a bridge but I gave the ferry a go. In these COVID times contactless passage is delivered by a mechanical drop of the back on the small craft – could seat about four to six people all outside –  and you tap your card against a hand held eftpos machine sitting behind the glass. I left the ship for a different visit and wandered the back lanes of what is essentially an arts precinct in search of the girl – I circled round a few times and eventually found it. And just in case you didn’t think the Banksy trail was commercialised enough, a hipster coffee van has set up directly across from the stencil. The coffee was good though and it seemed to be there just as much to service the local artistic community working in the converted sheds. It will be interesting to see how the stencil, which is on the side of a  what looks to be fairly dilapidated group of flats, survives the encroaching gentrification. Walking back towards the boat, I dodged a cement truck heading onto a building site of some new swanky riverside apartments. I have to say, some of the housing architecture on the waterfront is great – some not so great of course – but it will be interesting to see just how the local council manage the stencil. Two of them are already in museum spaces in Bristol but there is something appealing about seeing stencil art (or any kind of graffiti actually, in the environment it was created. Often times these works are as much about place as they are about the stencil itself and this is definitely true of many of Banksy’s pieces.

Having said that, my next stop was M shed, a local cultural museum that is also home to Banksy’s Grim Reaper – which was painted on the side of Brsitols nightclub boat – the Thekla (yes that really is a thing). Apparently Bansy had two attempts at the stencil – the first one being removed from the hull. The second time the piece of hull was removed and eventually put on display in the Mshed museum. This is a classic case of place and context mattering – the stencil which depicts death in a rowboat sat just on the waterline when the hulklk was attached to the boat. Now you need to read the museum exhibit notes to understand that context. And the Thekla? It is still operating, presumably with a new hull. The museum wasn’t just about Banksy though – it was an interesting culkrtural history of Brsitol from its neighbourhoods to its famous and not so famous residents. Maybe it is a sign I am getting old but I’m still not quite used to seeing curated museum displays of some of the cultural icons of my own generation. Along with Banksy, Bristol can lay claim to Aardman animations, the creators of Wallace and Gromit, Massive Attack and Tricky. There is also an interesting contemporary display about the history of slave trading in Bristol – a statue of a slave trader lauded for his philanthropy was torn down during the Black Lives Matter protests last year. The exhibition explores the history of the statue, the protests and asks the question what now. The actual paint covered statue lies down in the museum exhibit. [Aloha Steve and Danno – Radio Birdman – I was privileged to be able to see Radio Birdman play live at the Uni Bar with just a few other people in the late 90s just before  their Big Day Out. This track which also satisfies my retro TV itch is the first of theirs I remember. Also covered by 90s ska band The Porkers.]

Just outside the museum, Bristol’s edgy roots show themselves in the form of a street food container village. By now it was around 3pm and the little sunlight was starting to fade – I didn’t get the impression that the place was well frequented on a late autumn afternoon. Unfortunately I wasn’t quite feeling up to the trek to Stakes Croft, site of the 2011 riots here, which spawned a wealth of stencil art and graffiti, including Banksy’s Wild Wild West which depicts a teddy bear throwing a Molotov cocktail. Maybe next time. I did have the energy for a trip back to see well hung lover, which we had managed to find late at night on our last trip here.in January 2014.

From there, I headed back to the waterfront to find something to eat. Lo and behold, what did I find but a Christmas market. In mid0November. Dan would be appalled but I didn’t go for the traditional German fare. I looked towards something much more quintessentially British (and incredibly weird) – a Yorkshire pudding wrap. Essentially a great big Yorkshire pudding, flattened in a sandwich press filled with a baked dinner – roast meat of your choice, gravy and any other accompaniments you desire including stuffing, roast potatoes, beans and carrots and sauces (cranberry, apple, mint or horseradish depending on your choice of roast – obviously I went for beef. It also comes with a fork in case you want to deconstruct it – I did this partially with the potato. Potatoes of any kind don’t belong on sandwiches or burgers except if you are making a chip butty or sandwich where they are the only filling. I did mix my cultures though and washed it down with mulled wine (it was called mulled wine rather than gluhwein but same same. Perhaps mulled wine counts as British?

After my late lunch/early dinner – it was around 4:30pm – 5pm by now, I headed back to the station for the short jaunt to Barth and back to the guest house to chill before my drive to Minehead the next morning. Madness here I come.

I awoke at 4:30am but the great thing about British guest houses and B&Bs, is that they are frequented mainly by old people doing the equivalent of the grey nomad thing in Australia or young couples on a romantic getaway. With antiquities and creaky old stairs, they are not generally a welcoming place for those travelling with children and their setup doesn’t sit so well with groups of partygoers. Generally what that means is that they are a relaxing place for a single traveller like me to get over jetlag without the expense of a spa retreat. And they come with breakfast. Not the packet of weeties, some milk and maybe a bread roll that you find in a hostel breakfast but a proper English breakfast. At Oldfields House you can also have weeties and the toast comes in an old school toast rack. One of the curious differences between an English breakfast and the Australian version – the Big Breakfast is the toast. For some reason the English don’t put anything actually on the toast – it comes on the side. Options for eggs are generally scrambled and fried – you only get them poached in a Benedict. I went for the scrambled with my full English which also came with a Cumberland sausage, bacon, mushrooms, baked tomatoes and, of course, baked beans. I also had some fruit – there was the usual tropical fruit salad but you also had the option of more traditional British and/or old person fare – grapefruit and stewed prunes. And tea or coffee – I really needed coffee so interrupted my thoroughly British approach for a pot of what I am pretty sure was percolated coffee.

With a hearty breakfast to give me energy, I headed off into Bath to take a look around. It is a pretty place – particularly at this time of year with autumn colour on the trees against the dull dusty yellow and grey of the buildings. The Roman baths that give the town its name notwithstanding, Bath is a Georgian town full of rows and rows of terraces with traditional smoke stack style chimneys poking out from the top. It is a very walkable city, although it us built up from the valley into the surrounding hills.  My journey down from the guest house lands me in the university quarter but from here it is about a 10 minute stroll to the main attractions of Bath Abbey, Putney Bridge and the Roman Baths. Rather than start with a tour, I wandered the shores of the river that passes through Bath – with the odd houseboat moored along the sides on what looks like a canal.

As you head towards Puteney Bridge, there is a park down below on the banks of the river, all manicured lawns and bright foliage with a rotunda in the middle. I thought it might be a good place for a walk. Only trouble is it cost two pounds to get in. I decided my money was better spent on other things and just surveyed the park from above. This was no central park – it was about the size of a school oval. I continued along the road above the river bank until I reached Puteney bridge. A little like the car version of the Rialto Bridge. You’d never know you were on it while crossing it. From the outside the bridge has the classic sandstone arches familiar to these parts but it has an enclosed weatherboard build on top of it so when you cross the two lane road all you can see is a row of shops – mostly tea rooms and souvenir shops joined to those on either side with no view of the river whatsoever. I walked across it and down the other side where you got a good view of the river canal underneath. The canal is at a point on the river system where there is a lock to allow the boats to stop and be lowered down to continue their journey. You find these throughout Britain’s waterways – a mini version of the more sophisticated systems in the Panama and Suez canals. I have always been fascinated by this concept (and the idea of people living permanently on river boats as so many here do. Where I am from riverboats are tourist attractions or a novel holiday idea but not very prevalent. There are many craft moored in our harbours but not really a place that people live.)

From the Bridge I wandered down to the Bath Abbey. I made the decision on coming to the UK to avoid long public transport routes where possible and limit my time in situations where I will be crammed together with a lot of people I don’t know in order to minimise the risk of contracting COVID. It seemed like a tour to the top of the Abbey tower fitted that bill. The church was quite striking but really had nothing on some of the more grand churches of Europe, The Roman Baths on the other hand, were just next door and beckoning me for a visit. The one plus of the current UK situation is that attractions like the Baths where you usually need to book tix in advance to get a tour slot, were virtually empty. Well not quite empty but I could go in without having to queue and once inside, with a bit of patience, it was easy to socially distance from others. I was also pleased to see the strict adherence to mask wearing on the tour. (Not something I have seen outside the airport in England,)  I collected an audio guide – not really sure why because I generally prefer to just walk around and read the placards next to the exhibits or just soak the place in by osmosis. The tour takes you out to a view of the Baths from above which is an excellent way to see the baths below but also to see the Bath skyline capturing the nearby Abbey, the surrounding autumnal hills and the modern commercial businesses that surround the Baths. The top level walk also shows an image you don’t normally see in bools – there are Roman era statues of Caesars and the likes overlooking the baths. From here you head through a cacophony of exhibits. From artefacts found in the excavation to the story of the hot spring. Some interesting facts I discovered – a separate floor was put over the existing Roman Baths when this became the Queen’s Bathhouse centuries later. It was removed in an excavation so the original Roman pool could be seen. There was a whole Roman square built next to the baths – you get to walk through the subterranean ruins as part of the tour and like most catacombs, it smells a bit lime a sewer. The hot mineral springs are still running – they service a modern spa just up the road – you also get a couple of windows into them (and the steam coming from them – at a couple of points on the tour. As usual you exit through the gift shop. I resisted the temptation to grab a fake lego version of the Baths which I would need to carry around for the next three weeks. Pre- Covid you were offered the opportunity to sample a drink of the mineral spring water. Sensibly I think that is off the cards at the moment. [Rollercoaster – Machine Gun Fellatio – in honour of Australia Music t-shirt day and off my t-shirt adventure playlist from Ausmusic t-shirt day 2020. My sparkly machine gunnilingus t-shirt remains one of my prized ts. Sadly my t collection for this trip doesn’t contain any Aussie bands – I would never take the MGF t on a trip for fear of losing it. Today’s t for the record is Mighty Mighty Bosstones from their new album When God was Great.)

From the Roman Baths, I wandered up the main shopping walk to grab a coffee. Soho Coffee Co did the best flat white I have had since touching down in England and I was primed for the rest of the day. From here it was off on a sojourn to The Crescent, an imposing row of four storey mansion row houses with a wide sweeping street and green out front.  It was quite magnificent but I wanted to see what it looked like out the back. There were garage entry way on a square block. All crowded together but at the back of what I can only assume were gardens. The garages were a couple of stories high so it was impossible to see. From the square block at the back one can only assume that the houses in the middle of the crescent had bigger gardens (A number of these were joined together to form a hotel now that not everyone can afford to live in the crescent mansions.)  As you wander back towards town, there is another group of slightly less grand (yet no doubt expensive) terraces around what these days amounts to a very large roundabout with a park in the middle. There is absolutely nothing modern looking about Bath. In fact when they decided to build a mall in town, not only did they build it in the same sandstone style of the surrounding buildings, rather than making it a monolithic out-of-place structure, the made it open air. It has lights strung above (at least for Christmas anyway – and street furniture within what would ordinarily be the central atrium of the mall. It reminded me of some of the open air malls in Queensland but with a lot more style and only underground parking to preserve the historical, walkable feel of Bath. After walking around for about six hours continuously, I headed back to the guest house to chill for a while before dinner.

While looking through trip advisor for meal ideas I had come across a popular Vietnamese place called Noya’s Kitchen. While I enjoy good food immensely, while travelling alone, high end dining makes you feel a bit conspicuous so this – a popular Vietnamese that did Curry and Pho nights during the week – sounded like a good choice. So popular in fact that I had to book the day before. About an hour before I realised I hadn’t received email or text confirmation of my booking. I called the restaurant to check but there was no answer. I decided to head down anyway. If I couldn’t get in I would find somewhere else to go. Noya’s Kitchen is in the uni precinct. The clientele were mostly mid 20s and 30s – not so much students who probably couldn’t afford to eat here (the preces weren’t ridiculous but I wouldn’t call it cheap and cheerful either) but locals. At the front door there was a QR code for the NHS check in app. I hadn’t see this anywhere else I had been but decided to download it and use it wherever I could. When I went inside, it didn’t appear that there was a booking at first but was advised it had gone through only about half an hour before (probably after the message I left).

The menu was limited but I had come for the Pho anyway. I also ordered some fried pork dumplings. These were pot sticker type dumplings but instead of being pan fried, they were deep fried and crispy. They came with what appeared to be homemade sweet chilli sauce and they were delicious. Then the main event. There was no rare beef Pho option so I went for the slow cooked beef. It was melt in your mouth – not grisly like this option so often is. The broth was different to what I was used to – thicker, richer, more aromatic and slightly sweeter. But it was fantastic. I don’t often finish the broth but I slurped every last skerrick The noodles appeared to be handmade too – not quite as good as my fave Ramen Daddy homemade noodles but very close. A fabulous meal and top of my list if I ever find myself in Bath again.