]
Generally understood that Bournemouth is the Monte Carlo, or Nice,
or Monaco, or Riviera of England. May be it is; if so, Monte Carlo,
and the rest can't be so hot in summer as they are painted, for
Bournemouth just now is (I speak of the last week in July) at a
delightfully mean temperature,--if I may be allowed to use the word
"mean" without implying any sort of disrespect for the Bournemouthers.
Bournemouth apparently crowded. Do not remember it on any previous
occasional visit, in autumn or spring, so crowded as at this present
moment. Odd!
"Not at all," explains flyman; "British Medical Association here. All
sorts of festivities. Hotels all crowded. Lodgings too."
If the worst come to the worst, I shall have to spend a night in a
bathing-machine. Not bad: if fine. Can be called early; then sea-bath;
also man to bring hot water and towels. While speculating on this
probability, we arrive at
_Royal Bath Hotel_.--Flag flying, showing that British Medical
Association Family are at home. Other flags elsewhere express same
idea. B.M.A. at home everywhere, of course. Array of servants in
brown liveries and gilt buttons in outer hall, preparing to receive
visitors. Pleasant and courteous Manager--evidently Manager--with
foreign accent receives me smilingly.
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