The Tasburgh House

When we found out that we were going to be spending thre days in Bath, we didn't have a lot of time to plan the trip. Matt and I don't know the area at all, all of the hotels we checked with seemed to be totally booked up for the Easter holiday. By some stroke of crazy luck, we ended up booking the last two rooms at at fantastic bed and breafast called the Tasburgh House.

I'm not normally a big fan of bed and breakfasts. I've stayed at them two or three times beore, and it's always a bit of an adventure. You never really know what you're going to get with a B&B. Most I've seen seem to feature teeny-tiny rooms stuffed with lace doilies, old-fashioned Victorian-style furnitue, ancient floral curtains. It always feels odd interating with the owner, and tiptoing past the other rooms like you're sneaking into someone else's house. JoAnn even told me a horrifying story about a time she and Jim booked a night at a bed and breakfast in Brekenridge, only to discover that their room was actually just an upstairs loft with open half-walls that overlooked the owner's living room.

The Tasburgh House erased all of those bad B&B memories. It was an absolutely beautiful place, and the owner Sue was attentive without being overly fussy or intrusive. The house itself was built in the late 1800s, and had been totally redone on the inside to seems very bright and modern. All of the rooms are nmed after famous literary figures, which I loved. (We stayed in the H.G. Wells suite, and Jo stayed in the Oscar Wilde.) There was a gorgeous terrace, a sun room that overlooked the hotel's gardens, and it seems that every time we sat down, Sue would pop by with a tray of tea and brownies.

Sue was a terrific hostess, too. Every time we were headed into town, she would help out with dinner recommendations, and tips for touring Bath. She even arranged taxi services for us when we were too pooped to walk. My favorite touch was when Sue collected the leftover bread from breakfast and gave to Frankie so she could feed the ducks on the canal a the back of the property.

It was really a geat place to stay, and one of the nicest hotels I've ever been to. I hope Matt has more meetings in Bristol soon!

Outside of the Tasburgh House. The hotel was at the bottom of a long, sloping driveway. On checkout day, the parking lot was jam packed. Matt had to make some very impressive backwards driving manuevers to squeeze us out.

The Oscar Wilde room. (Filled with Oscar Wilde books, of course.)

Sun room.

On the terrace with Grandma Jo.

Wishing founain, outside the terrace.

Matt and Frankie on the terrace, with a view of Bath below.

Snazzy couple.

The view from the Tasburgh gardens.

Bath countryside, snapped from the Tasburgh gardens.

Matt and Frankie, walking through an orchard down to the nearby canal. (Can you imagine how gorgeous this place must be in late sping?)

"Narrow boats," the UK aquatic cousin of the RV.

Bridge over the canal.

Frankie feeding the ducks.

There was one super cranky duck bully on the canal. Even though he didn't want any of our bread, he tried to chase away any other duck that came our way by biting their butt. He was a meanie. Everytime he came around, we took to chanting "Duckfight!....Duckfight!...Duckfight...!" We eventually started playing "duckfight" ourselves, chasing Frankie around the gardens and trying to pinch her on the bottom.