An Overdue Rant

As I think I mentioned, the other week we spent the weekend with Mad Medea and Husband. It was great. We had a lovely time and it was wonderful to see them after so long. Except. (What follows is a rant fully sanctioned by all those involved.)
On the Saturday, MM made a wonderful picnic and we chose a pretty little Cotswold village to eat it in. A pretty village by the name of Bibury. Bibury boasts the "prettiest row of cottages" in the Cotswolds (or something like that, I can't remember the exact phrasing) according to William Morris in 18-blah-de-blah.
Said cottages are now National Trust land although they do seem to be lived in as well. Bibury also has a river running through it and, according to the map, lots of green space. A wonderful setting for an afternoon of picnicking and perhaps a little strolling to look at all the beautiful places like the Saxon church, St Mary's.
On arrival, we discovered Bibury to be rather...full. This wasn't a huge surprise as it was a very sunny Saturday in the Cotswolds. We were not expecting a place to ourselves. We managed to squeeze the car into a space and set off to find a picnic spot.
It turned out that the large green area was ALL taken over by a trout farm. There was no where to sit without paying £3.50 for the privilege. Given the amount of water and the number of midges that seemed to be about the place, it didn't seem much of a privilege. We walked a little in the hopes of finding some countryside. We failed. We thought we'd just plonk down on any old patch of green but there was only one - and it suffered from the midges. Any bits of land not owned by the trout farm were private property of the big swanky hotel.
We thought in the end that we would go and sit outside the row of beautiful cottages. There was only a small strip of green and there were a lot of people but it was pretty - and much less midgy.
But oh no. Mr I Own Everything appeared and said no! No picnics here! It was National Trust land. There was no sign about the lack of picnicking opportunities. But we were not in the mood for an argument (shortly afterwards, I think we were but we let him away with it!).
There was no where left in Bibury, not a single place to sit - except on a stone wall on the edge of a busy foot path. We decided to move on.
Before doing so though, Bibury added one final nail to its coffin. I went to use the loo. I had to pay. I could only pay with a 20p piece. There was no change machine. I don't mind paying for the loo if it is a nice loo, if I can see why I'm paying for it because it is well maintained etc etc. It wasn't pleasant. It was dark and metallic and ugly and had one of those automated hand washer things. Hands here for soap, here for water, here for air. 1-2-3. I hate them.
So just as a recommendation, when you think you might go to Bibury, don't. Find a nice field with a pretty view instead.