Our Excellent Trip to Chepstow

Clare and myself at Tintern Abbey

Chepstow: A Brief Getaway

A dialogue between Nigel and Clare about their short trip away on Sunday and Monday, October 12–13, 2025.

Nigel: So Sunday, the 12th of October, we embarked upon our planned one-night getaway to the enchanting town of Chepstow. It’s just across the Severn from Bristol, has the River Wye running through it, its own castle, and Tintern Abbey six miles up the road. We even had a bargain hotel - the Castle View - right opposite the castle and next to the museum. What more could we want?

We set off about eleven o’clock and stopped at the Severn View services on the M48. That was our first hint that the day might not go exactly as planned. The M4 now takes the new bridge, of course, and the old route is the M48. The service station looked rather unloved.

Clare: I wouldn’t say dilapidated, but it wasn’t exactly thriving. Not many people about.

Nigel: No. And when we tried to leave, there were no signs marked “Exit” anywhere. We drove in circles for a while. Very poor traffic engineering.

Clare: Yes.

Nigel: Anyway, we pushed on, though there were delays around the racecourse. You spotted something unusual there.

Clare: Yes! Crowds of young women, all wearing hot pants or tiny skirts, as if it were midsummer. They were streaming toward the racecourse. When we got closer, there were rows of coaches, thirty or more. The car park was absolutely packed. It turned out there was racing and a music event - “Body & Mind” or something like that. Not a single girl in trousers.

Nigel: I didn’t notice; I was driving. Anyway, later on we discovered that it was just a high-profile race-meet in fact.

Clare: Of course you didn’t. Anyway, once we passed the racecourse, traffic was fine.

Nigel: Until we reached Tintern Abbey, where parking proved another ordeal. I parked in a space that wasn’t exactly a space, and when I went to buy a ticket, the machine was a nightmare - no one could make it work without minutes of close study. I was ten minutes in the queue.

Clare: And while you were gone, a woman in a little Fiat parked about a foot from our car. I couldn’t see how she was going to get out, but somehow she did, twisting herself out of the door like a contortionist.

Nigel: That was the sort of chaos you get when user interfaces are designed by idiots. Anyway, we eventually got our ticket and went into the café.

Clare: Every table was marked “Reserved,” yet the place was half-empty. So we just sat at one, and nobody challenged us.

Nigel: A very poor use of resources. Still, the Abbey itself was magnificent.

Clare: Absolutely. Those towering windows and arches - how they managed that stonework without modern machinery amazes me. They must have used wooden scaffolding.

Nigel: And probably lost a few workers in the process.

Clare: No doubt. But that great window in the transept - it’s more impressive than anything in Wells Cathedral, I think.

Nigel: I agree. Until, of course, Henry VIII had the roof torn off in 1536.

Clare: He didn’t do it personally.

Nigel: No, his agents did. And then the iconoclasts came later. Anyway, after Tintern, we drove back to Chepstow and found the Castle View Hotel after driving past it.

The check-in was completely automated. No staff, just a black glass panel where you had to wake the screen and type in a code. It took me five tries as I hadn't noticed the terminal asterisk in the code.

Clare: I thought the room was grim. Absolutely soulless.

Nigel: It was clean and functional.

Clare: Like an abandoned caravan. And the window had a notice saying, “Do not touch—measured for repair” so we couldn’t open it. It was chokingly hot overnight.

Nigel: Then came the evening meal expedition. You’d been looking forward to the Chinese restaurant for ages.

Clare: The Red Lantern. Just up the hill. Except when we got there, it was closed for refurbishment until the 24th of October. That news hadn't made it online.

Nigel: So we were twelve days too soon.

Clare: Exactly. So we ended up at the “Fosso Lounge” type place across the road for a drink, and then selected the Italian place - Il Fiore.

Nigel: Which means The Flower - its logo was a red rose. Actually, that was one of the high points: you had more wine, I had more lager, and we both relaxed.

Clare at our second choice restaurant

Clare: We ordered a shared antipasto. An enormous plate of cured meats and rich cheeses. Delicious, but it ruined our appetites.

Nigel: Then you had salmon, I had chicken, both in suspiciously similar red spicy sauces.

Clare: I expected a delicate lemon cream sauce. What arrived was orange sludge. But the salmon itself was fine.

Nigel: Yes, the food was heavy but edible. What caught your eye, though, was that extraordinary family at the next table.

Clare: Unbelievable. A man dominating the whole table - loud, gesticulating, constantly barking at everyone. There were two women, maybe a daughter and daughter-in-law, a baby, and a toddler. He shouted, stood up, chased the crawling baby round the floor - it was like a parody of masculinity. Then he made the waiter hold the older child, who clearly hated it. It was awful to watch.

Nigel: He did seem to embody “the guest from hell.”

Clare: He wasn’t British. Possibly Italian or Eastern European. Whatever he was, he radiated aggression. I felt sorry for the women. You could tell he ruled that family by sheer force. If you crossed him, he’d hit you.

Nigel: As we said later, once violence is on the table it trumps everything else, the conversation’s over.

Clare: Exactly. I couldn’t have sat through one meal with him, let alone a lifetime.

Nigel: So, full of food and drink, we staggered back to our 'grim' room. The television was somewhat marred by its tendency to pixelate.

Clare: Freeview in the valleys, you said. But it was useless. I read for an hour and gave up.

Nigel: And it was too hot to sleep, with the window sealed. So, morning found us groggy and vaguely unsettled by last night’s dinner.

Clare: Yes, my stomach felt dreadful. Breakfast had to be minimal: coffee for you, toast for me. I wanted a “pot of tea” but had to settle for a teabag in a small china cup.

Nigel: We left before nine to get to the machine and avoid a parking fine. As I was working my way through the convoluted payment process (now enter your car's registration...) I heard you shouting from the car.

Clare: Yes, I shouted, “Nigel! Have you paid yet? The castle’s closed!”

Nigel: And indeed it was - drawbridge down, gates barred. So we abandoned our only Chepstow plan for the morning - given as that the Museum wasn't opening until eleven.

Clare: We cut our losses and left for the motorway - drove to the M&S at Cribbs Causeway.

Nigel: Yes, the final stop of our grand tour.

Clare: Lovely quiet shop at that hour, just after nine am. But when I went to use the toilets, they were locked for cleaning.

Nigel: Another defeat at the hands of recalcitrant reality?

Clare: Exactly. So, in summary: no Chinese meal, no castle, no open window, no clean loos.

Nigel: Would you say it was a good little trip away?

Clare: No. Rubbish. I’m staying home next time. At least until I get bored.