Tonight it’s 1907 and our horse drawn coach is on the road from London to Bath.  The suspension is top-notch for the time, but we are still jostled about as we encounter rut and rock on the dirt highway.  Our layered, high-collared clothing seems odd to us as we’ve never wore anything like them before, but it’s a good thing because it’s a cold afternoon and there’s no heat in our wood clad conveyance.  Our ride pulls into Bath just as the lamplighter is performing his nightly task.  We check into the inn where we’ve reserved our room, after which we stroll the seaside thoroughfare arm in arm.  We stop at a vendor’s cart and buy fish and chips rolled up in newsprint.  The fish and potatoes are hot and crispy and the sprinkling of vinegar and salt enhance their wonderful flavor.  We head back to our night’s residence, wash, and don clean flannel nightshirts before crawling under layers of quilts and blankets.  The freshening wind rattles the window panes, but we are warm and happy in each other’s arms.