Crap Days Out. Gareth Rubin

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      Copyright

       Introduction

      There’s no getting around the fact: we are a nation who love a rubbish day out.

      Other countries might be content to spend their holidays relaxing in the sun with friends and family, but we in Great Britain know that the only way to spend one of our rare bank holidays is to get up early and spend half the day driving to a tourist attraction that is worse than even our most cautious expectations.

      So from childhood we are raised to expect the dire. With every trip to Stonehenge, Madame Tussauds or the York Quilt Museum our parents were saying: ‘Son, this is what your weekends are going to be like from now on – just a bit crap. So don’t get your hopes up.’

      But we don’t learn – because we don’t want to. In adult life we dutifully keep up the tradition of inflicting painful days out on ourselves. From getting naked on our freezing beaches to visiting museums entirely about pencils, we seek them out like truffles in the soil. Maybe it’s just part of our culture, maybe we do it so we look forward to going back to work on Monday – but for whatever reason, rubbish days out are part of who we are.

      So the sites and attractions in this book are the ones you will be going to whether you like it or not. And you might as well go into it with your eyes open – after all, forewarned is forearmed. Join us.

       THE SOUTH WEST

      STONEHENGE

       WILTSHIRE

      A very nice piece of henge-work this – all those huge pieces of rock which were dragged halfway across the country with nothing more than a few sticks and brutal repercussions for anyone who questioned what on earth it was all for.

      It’s no surprise that people from all over the world flock to see this memoir of just how much time Neolithic man had on his hands for DIY and standing rocks on their ends. For anyone who has been there, it is also no surprise to know that the most common visitor’s reaction is: ‘Is that it then? Seriously? Bollocks, we should have gone to Bath after all. Oh, stop nagging.’

      The thing is, there is a gap – a yawning chasm, really – between an amazing effort and amazing results. You can spend your lifetime building, dismantling and then rebuilding a twice-life-size model of Chairman Mao out of Wrigley’s Juicy Fruit but at the end of the day, all you are left with is a massive piece of chewing gum. In the case of Stonehenge, you are left with 20-odd long rocks, some standing on top of the others, others just lazing about doing nothing. The latter group are known as ‘teenage’ stones.

      The whole thing took more than 1,500 years to construct, although the builders had said it would be three weeks at the outside. First they dithered for 200 years because it looked like rain, and then the materials turned up 400 years late because they had to come from the other depot, and by that time they had to leave for another project they had booked on the early Triassic period land mass of Pangea. Well, we’ve all had little building projects that overran.

      Yes, the Druids had a right bunch of cowboys in to do the work by the looks of things. They should have had a word with Neolithic Crypto-Religious Construction Project Trading Standards. (‘Hello, Trading Standards, can I help you? It’s what? Oh not another bloody henge, we’ve had three complaints about henges this Bronze Age already. I’ll be honest with you, mate, I’ve got henges coming out of me ears.’)

      No one really knows what the stone circle was for, although fragments of human bone, woven material and evidence of ropes suggest it could have been either a place for ceremonial cremation or an early all-in wrestling ring. One thing is for certain: whoever built it was very keen on ditches.

      For many it truly is a spiritual experience to walk around the rope around the stone circle. They hear the stones speaking to them. Usually they say: ‘You have wasted your morning.’

      Adding to the experience, the site’s owner, English Heritage, makes everyone change into druidic robes upon arrival and insists you take part in the Ceremony of the Four Winds in order to get into the spirit of things.

      Ha ha! Only joking – that would be mental.

      But it’s definitely the place to be if you are into big static rocks, some vertical, others more horizontal.

      Or you could just look at it all in a book.

      In fact, luckily, you don’t need to tramp through the muddy field that holds the rocks in order to be close enough to throw stuff at them like most bored visiting children. You can do that from the comfort of your car since the busy A303 and the furiously busy A344 intersect within spitting distance of the stones, providing a lively sonic backdrop to the scene. This ensures that you will never get bored by any of that dull silence which could distract you from getting in touch with your inner pagan. Or alien or Thetan or whatever other intergalactic species you believe had nothing better to do with their tractor beams than stand a bunch of rocks upright in a field near Salisbury.

      Above all, Stonehenge is a place steeped in mystery, raising deep questions, such as: ‘Is Inspector Morse on TV tonight?’ ‘Shall we leave?’ and ‘What’s the quickest route to Bristol?’