After an early flight yesterday, I arrived in Nottingham around about lunchtime, after hopping a bus from East Midlands Airport. It was a pleasant enough journey, made all the better for a detour through Gotham (not, as I had previously believed, a crime-ridden hive of scum and villainy policed by a man in armoured tights, but pleasant English country village, with enticing English pubs, and a pretty church). Being unable to check into my hotel until later in the day, I ditched my bags and went wandering.
It’s a pretty city, for certain. After a walk through the city centre, where I was harrassed by an unfortunate girl in a Friends of the Peak District tabard who wanted my money (“Can you imagine what it would be like if there was no countryside?” “Yes. All the cities would be closer together.”), I went in search of Nottingham Castle, picturing majestic battlements where green-clad outlaws had once swung from hemp ropes.
I was a little disappointed then, to discover that Nottingham Castle was razed to the ground in 1651, and a mansion erected shortly after. It’s very pretty, but just not the same.
Afterwards, I stumbled across the oldest inn in England, Ye Olde Trip To Jerusalem, which gave rise to an immediate and impromptu liquid lunch. I’m not entirely convinced that the name of the pub is as it once was. Did people really call things ‘Ye Olde’ when they were still brand new? Anyway, the pub has been standing since 1189, and makes a virtue of real ale, so that was all right.
A couple more pints followed in the evening, but Fantasycon isn’t due to start until later today, when everybody gets registered and then… well… hits the bar, if rumour is to believed. I’ll let you know, if I’m sober enough…
Oh, and the shot above is from the hotel bedroom on the eighth floor. The view is the nicest thing about it. That’s all I have to say about that.