July 16, 2011

Hanging at the pile


Posting from here. We're staying overnight on the way to a graduation ceremony. It's not too bad, although it is a bit of a lesson on the realities of post-War Britain.

The house has seen better days (we're staying in a modern annex). It used to be a religious school, and they've not fully converted it, but it has avoided the usual fate of having the original rooms cut down into offices, or chopped up into condos. The library is still the library. I could spend a month or two there.

I wouldn't get any work done, however, because I'd be looking out the window. The grounds' natural beauty just never quits, rain or shine. The front yard is a few hundred acres of manicured grass running down to a beautiful pond.

A shame it's just one day - it would be pretty easy to spend a week or two here, if a rich uncle were paying.

3 Comments:

Blogger Undersecretary to the Deputy Commissariat said...

Surely you have the uncle. You have only to ask him about the War, and then nod politely. Given the state of the house and its grounds, I would make this a priority.

July 16, 2011 at 1:14 PM  
Blogger The Other Front said...

The downside of this rustic location is that there are no nutritional alternatives nearby. With great food (such as we had a lunch) this place is heaven on earth. Without it, it's a bad camping trip.

Based on the poor excuse for a pizza margerita that was just delivered (half-frozen) to our room, a long-term stay might be ill-advised. One now understands why the Lords of these places spent half their time stealing one another's chefs.

Also now fully comprehended is the magnitude of Bertie's crime in this book. I had always thought the ensuing punishment excessive or even sadistic, but now realize death would have been too good for him.

July 16, 2011 at 1:29 PM  
Blogger First Sea Lord said...

I am really hoping that through a delicate matter of some urgency regarding currying the favor of your elderly aunt who controls the inheritance, you are compelled through no fault of your own to enter the drawing room and purloin a creamer.

July 17, 2011 at 9:27 AM  

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