‘If you say one more word I’m going to turn the car around, and then me and Milo will spend the day without you.’
We’re on the motorway, heading to Bolton. A red mist hangs low over the dashboard.
‘I’d like to see you do a u-turn on the motorway,’ I say, not a little petulantly.
‘Susie, I mean it.’
‘And anyway, you’d still be spending the day with me even if we did go home. I’d still be there, wouldn’t I? You can’t magic me into thin air.’
To his credit, Simon carries on, although I notice his knuckles turning white as he grips the steering wheel. We continue in silence, the windows steaming up, an industrial landscape hurtling by. Eventually, as we enter the outskirts of Bolton, I decide to lighten the atmosphere.
‘I’m looking forward to seeing the fish.’
Nothing.
‘This is a very well ordered car park, isn’t it? It’s very…’
I search for the right word.
‘… Spacious.’
Simon remains mute. He throws the car into one of the spacious spaces, yanks the pushchair out of the boot and waits.
‘At least I’m trying,’ I whine.
He still says nothing and we stomp silently through Bolton’s freezing town centre. It had seemed like such a good plan: spending the day exploring the northern reaches of Greater Manchester, stopping off at the grandly titled Bolton Aquarium to gawp at the fish, and maybe finding a nice café to shovel down tea and cake for afters. Except on the way I had managed to construct an elaborate argument out of one flimsy throwaway comment, and here we were, lost, cold and just not the ruddy cheeked, laughing family-of-three-on-a-day-trip I had envisaged.
We wheel Milo round the neo-Classic grandeur of the Town Hall. There is something peculiarly impressive about the towns that stud the Greater Manchester map: something to do with the fact that, back in the Industrial Revolution, they had ideas way above their station. The evidence of this lofty ambition is still here in the shape of halls, museums and libraries that wouldn’t look out of place in a sprawling, global metropolis: each one a neo-Classic two fingered salute to London or, even, Manchester.
Simon spots a sign for the museum and aquarium; we’re soon gratefully inside, warming ourselves by a lift that, when it opens, smells of fish.
‘We must be nearly there then,’ I say, as the doors open and a warm marine gust envelops us.
I think Simon smiles but I can’t be sure. We descend to the basement. The smell comes with us. As the doors open, I start to have my doubts about Bolton Aquarium. We appear to be in a small, cramped municipal dungeon. Fluorescent strips flicker overhead; there’s no natural light and not much in the way of signage. We wheel the buggy around a long, lino-covered corridor, heft it up a set of stairs and then, in the next corridor, find a few sad tanks lining the walls.
‘Do you think this is it?’
‘Can’t be,’ I say, forging ahead. ‘Look, there’s another room here.’
In the other room, we find some bigger, sad tanks lining the walls. I walk around, looking in vain for a door that leads to the Aquarium. Years ago, my ex worked at the Blue Planet. In my mind’s eye, I have visions of floor-to-ceiling tanks populated by sharks and enormous puffer fish, of Milo banging on the glass walls with a fat fist, giggling. Instead, I am faced with some rather unhappy looking fish swimming gloomily from one end of their tank to the other.
I catch Simon’s eye. He smiles and then, as Milo runs across the room, oblivious to the fish that swim above his line of sight but still with a giant grin plastered across his face, he laughs.
‘Cake?’ says Simon.
‘Cake,’ says I.
Ratings. Babychanging facilities: Yes. Cafe: No. Buggy-friendly? Yes, although there is an awkward flight of steps right in front of the Aquarium. The museum and art gallery are fully accessible. Cost: Free. Worth it? Actually, yes. The museum and gallery are small but very good, with lots of hands-on stuff for kids (and dinosaurs!). I wouldn’t recommend a trip here solely on the basis of seeing the Aquarium, though.
I’m sorry I have to disagree that the fish in Bolton Aquarium are in ‘cramped tanks’. The facility is run by professionals in their field who take great care of the animals on a small budget, and although of course it’s not in the same league as the Blue Planet, it’s being funded by the council tax payers of Bolton, so perhaps that’s a good thing! DEFRA regularly inspect aquariums, and the last one at Bolton didn’t raise any concerns about tank size.
The aquarium specialises in fresh water fish, rather than marine ones, which is why they’re not quite as exciting to look at as those elsewhere, but there are piranhas and the giant knife fish and the funny bright yellow ones who hide in the rock and whose names I can’t remember. We went two weeks ago, for the 10th time or so, and there were two different groups of school children entranced by stories about where in the world the different fish had come from, and loving watching them pick up grapes to eat (the fish, not the children!!)
I’m glad you enjoyed the museum and gallery more, and I’d definitely agree that they’re worth a visit, but we love the aquarium!
Oh blimey, sorry! I’m sure the tanks are big enough for the fish, and I’m sure the staff work really hard. I wouldn’t want to diss them for doing a good job – I work in the cultural sector and know what it’s like to have do your best on budgets cut to the bone. It’s just that the marketing materials talked it up so when we got there it was a bit, um, disappointing. The word ‘cramped’ will be removed… !! x