The day I went to Chester

Last week, I spent an afternoon wandering aimlessly around the historic city of Chester.

Since the start of 2012, I have begun wandering aimlessly around every city in which I happen to find myself. Having given up my gym membership last year, I am now going for walks around Leeds every day I am at work. The effects so far have been (i) half a stone lost in a month and (ii) I have a much better knowledge of the place where I have been working every day for the last four years.

So, when I found myself at a loose end on the Welsh border, I naturally thought “I must find a town to wander around” – and there Chester was.

Chester dates back to Roman times. It has an amphitheatre and everything. But the city centre is mostly medieval, full of wonky doorways, tiny passageways and long drops. Of the places I have been to, it reminds me most of Edinburgh – only warmer.  Or Godalming in Surrey.

It is one of those beautiful English towns where normal people like you and I have precisely zero chance of ever owning a reasonably-sized house. 

The only way people who are not either professional footballers or oil billionaires – two groups of people hardly renowned for their appreciation of historical architecture – could afford to live in Chester is by inheriting their parents’ property.

When is this property market insanity going to end? Well, in 318 days I suppose - same as everything else.  

Indeed, housing is starting to look like Albania in 1996, so it will probably end with us all machine gunning each other to steal bricks.

I walked a full circuit of the city walls. Sensibly, they are at their highest facing Wales. Ravening Celts would be obliged to cross the River Dee, the racecourse, a 30-foot wall AND the inner ring road before managing to sack the cathedral.

Chester cathedral is home to some of the finest medieval carvings in Europe. It also costs £6 to get in, unless you are going “for an act of worship” – in which case it’s free. So I didn’t go in. Until they find a way of charging to look at the outside of things, I will content myself with this sort of view.

I did go into the Newgate Street multi storey car park, though.

Honestly, who knows the height of their car? When it says max height 6’ 9”, do you expect me to get out and measure? Or to drive in, and start backing out when the roof box scuffs the ceiling? Hopefully I will be able to get out later on.

Postscript – Shortly after finishing the above, I found that I had lost my parking ticket. I expected to get fined £10, but the attendant let me out for the normal price. Sometimes, having the face of an idiot is a huge advantage.