Winchester, then. The cathedral city. The gateway to the South Downs. How have I ended up here? Old mates Gavin and Nicola normally live here for some reason. Instead of still living here, they decided to head even further South for the winter. I don’t blame them, they travel with my blessings and recommendations for the W Trek. Being a short walk from work, and not the house where my parents live, made the offer to look after the place an easy sell. I moved in with some horrendous cold and rolled it straight in to sickness. Not the brightest of fresh starts. After a couple of months I began to find my feet, mostly on a circuit around the supposedly royal golf course. I still jump whenever I hear the thwack of metal on whatever it is golf balls are made of. I’ve come to know the length of Lanham Lane and the edges around it’s puddles. The city of Winchester is older than I can reasonably be expected to imagine. An Iron Age fort lay atop of St Catharine’s Hill before St Catharine was even born. The Romans, for whatever reason, decided to move down in to the Itchen valley and formed the base of the city as it is today. I agreed with Rachael we should treat my time here as a holiday; to explore as tourists.

We did our first lap of the city before Christmas. I pointed out the main sights, the Great Hall, my office, the Cathedral; those that we would come back to do another day. After Christmas, once the market crowd has dispersed. We ambled through the Christmas Market, being the first full weekend it wasn’t overwhelming. There was room to move. Space to be caught by the traders. Rachael specialises in being interested in a pitch. I thought for a while we might be leaving with a bottle of Explorers Gin. The packaging is beautiful and the man gave a good speech. Rachael suggested maybe we’d come back. A few sheds later I was convinced we were getting signed up to have your Nonna’s authentic Italian pasta delivered twice a week. Fabio looked shellshocked after his pitch when the best she would give him was “I’ll think about it.” We finished up around the near always flooded Winnall Moors. Rachael’s footwear deeming it impassable, we headed up the hill and out of the city. I told her once more, after the market has been dismantled and packed away, until next year. Then we’ll return. A hot tip to beat the worst of the crowds. If you’re treating where you live as a holiday, you have to get some recommendations. Chloe had fixed me up with a few restaurant tips so I went ahead and booked us a table at the Lucky Lychee for the first weekend after the madness has cleared.

The lady who takes my money gives us the run down. Start there. Head into the.garden, then up the stairs. Easy enough. On each of the info boards is a little quiz for kids, and anyone else who can read. I find that all I have to do is look up and immediately see the answer. Where is the trap door? There on the floor. Where is this crest? There in the window. Where are the fossils in the Porchester marble columns? Excuse me? All I find are black lumps in the grey rock, not the perfect ammonite spirals I’d hoped for. The stained glass windows filled with heraldic shields are genuinely impressive. Whether the king above has any bearing on those below, I’ve no idea. I point out to Rachael the crest that I’m convinced used to be on my secondary school uniform. A quick Google search suggests it’s been modernised to the point that I don’t even recognise it any more. It passes no resemblance to the coat of arms I’m pointing at. The penny flattening machine near the gift shop sets off a debate. I don’t think it actually squeezes the penny you put in. It just spits out a flattened copper disc. Rachael is adamant it isn’t a scam and swaps her fiver for pound coins so we can test it out. The squashed coin comes out printed with Arthur’s or Edward’s or Henry’s round table. The Elizabeth’s face is stretched across the back. I concede maybe it is the coin we put in after all.

We stop in the strange shop, Tillus, at the top of the high street. I walk past often, scared to go in. I’m right to be, in the very back it seems you can get your pet taxidermied and sold to a discerning member of the public. The skeletons of rodents are assembled in chemical flasks. I point out the Buttercross on the high street where Frank Turner could supposedly be found busking before he was cool. We stop in a cafe for a panini and a drink before continuing on to the Cathedral. We get less advice on the way in. We’re informed last entry is at 4:30 which is weird because we’ve already entered. I also find it weird that the cathedral closes at 5:00 because God is supposed to be omnipresent. The Cathedral has always impressed me from the outside, even if it is just a big collection of rock gathered together. Rachael asks the big questions, “How many people died building this?” The answer is never in the single side of A4 they give you on the way in. Choral voices rise and flow through the walls. Practise is happening. I wouldn’t listen to this anywhere else but in God’s house it makes sense and sort of adds to the occasion. Retrochoir tiles from the 13th century still line the floor, not that you can walk on all of them anymore. How many people have stepped already walked across? The crypt is closed, presumably flooded. The side of the Cathedral are lined with the sarcophagus of men in chainmail, plate armour, sometimes just a skeleton. There are plaques on the floor, plaques on the wall. Jane Austen is here. I had no idea she’d died so young, but back then maybe everyone did. The bones of ancient kings are kept in boxes, high on a shelf. I reckon it’s disrespectful, putting them out of the way. Rachael thinks that makes them closer to God.

We head in to the Wykeham Arms for a swift pint before dinner at The Lucky Lychee. They have cancelled my booking but there’s a table free so I don’t kick up a fuss. The staff are all about 12, which makes me nervous even though I imagine wait staff have always looked this age and its never bothered me before.The food insists on being incredible. Rachael knew as soon as the prawn crackers came out. If these are this good, how good can everything else be? Bao buns. Fritters. Rendang. Sweet and sour chicken rice. Blandest beers in an age but maybe that goes well with the food. It’s only later that Rachael tells me she wishes she’d gotten a photo of her, the great Hall, in the Great Hall. Not to worry, I’m embarrassed enough for her.