Wednesday 4th February 2026

A certain William Shakespeare was born in Stratford, and so it is understandable that the town and businesses make a bit of a deal about it. The Royal Shakespeare Company also have two theatres in the town, and it is why I came.

King Lear was partly set in Dover, and he wrote about Early Purple Orchids, so its a bit of a slam dunk for me to go to Stratford.

I woke up early, outside it was raining, but the forecast had perked up and it was supposed to clear and maybe even have sunshine.

I decided to pay for breakfast in the Premier Inn, so went down, or up, to the restaurant to fill me up.

Maybe it was because it was early, but the selection was poor. I had cereal, then sausages and hash browns, but the rest already looked like they had been in their dishes for hours and appeared tired.

But there was coffee.

Which was good.

Once I had eaten and put on my walking shoes, I left the hotel at eight to explore.

I already knew the town layout from the walk to the pub the night before, so after cutting across the main road, I headed up Wood Street, past Marks and Spencer with its porticoed entrance to the roundabout, where historic streets lead off in all directions.

I walked down each, taking shots of the timber-framed budlings, old inns and shops, past the school Shakespeare himself went to and the adjoining Guild Chapel, I walked on seeing more interesting buildings along the street.

I finally made my way to what is called Shakespeare's Birthplace, another timber-framed building, but set pretty much in isolation, and surrounded by tat shops, including as seems to be mandatory now, a place selling Harry Potter related tat.

I was to meet one, perhaps two friends. I had an hour to kill, so thought a coffee would be good, so I walked to the roundabout, to a small independent place. As I approached it, there was a voice behind me:

"Ian?"

I did have a camera swinging from my neck, so Colin had made the correct assumption it was me. We had never met before, but are both members of the GWUK group.

We shook hands and went in to have a coffee and talk.

We moved off after half an hour, walking down towards the river as another GWUK friend, Aidan, was soon to arrive, but had missed a tight bus connection in Coventry, so would be half an hour late.

It was dull and grey still, but no breeze, so reflections of the RSC Theatre were like in a mirror. Swans patrolled the water, flecked with scum from, well, best not to ask.

There was only a few folks about, but the sky was looking brighter.

Aidan called to say he had arrived, so we told him we were by one of the many Shakespeare statues or memorials, this one by the river.

We could see him walking over the bridge: he waved, we waved, we all waved.

It was suggested that me might like to go to the RSC to the bar on the third floor, which had five views over the river, canal and town.

We took a table and had a drink while we talked, and explored, ad we took turns to sit in the "Insult Chair": Col was a polecat I think, I was something similar, but Aidan got several sentences.

Next was the desire on my part to go to the parish church and see Shakespeare's grave. It's always open I was assured.

We walked along a narrow street, past the dual-named pub The Black Swan / The Mucky Duck, and along to the church, where the door was found to be very locked indeed, and not to open until Saturday.

Oh well.

We ended up outside the ancient pub, The Garrick: was it a real ale pub? I checked my list and it was, said to have four different real ales.

We went in.

We took a table in the bar, while Aidan and myself had a pint of Hung, Drawn and Portered, which went down a right treat, so we sent at least two, if not three more pints after it.

Outside the day grew old and dusk fell. But buses soon stop, so Col and Aidan said they didn't want to catch the last bus in case they missed a connection, and be stuck in Coventry or somewhere worse. So, they bid me farewell, and I stayed and ordered a fine plate of steak and ale pies with veggies and chips.

I walked back to the hotel in the dry for a change. I had been invited to a pub quiz at the Alehouse at half seven. But the truth is once I was back in the hotel room, I wasn't going to go out again, as I had already topped 14,000 steps and was pooped.