From Chawton, deep in Jane Austen-land, our plucky band travelled to Hampton Court Palace. Truly, I wish we had saved this to be the very last thing we visited it because I am in love with HCP. Like, If I were a small, rural manor house run along economical lines but needing a new roof overhaul, HCP would be my pin-up. I would drop my handkerchief and faint into its arms in the hopes of being ruined and wed.
|Hampton Court Palace, you great, gorgeous pile.|
|Pledge Two learning about British Escandelo!|
|Only one of several massive open fireplaces. This one was converted into a toilet room and then back. The wonders of home renovation!|
|They left Lady Baden-Powell's stove. Looks like an Aga.|
|A seven on the street. A ten when you know he crossed hundred of miles in an open boat with rudimentary navigation tools.|
The last thing we did at HCP was run through the maze giggling as though we were being chased by sexy sea-captain privateers with designs upon our petticoats. We only had fifteen minutes. It was the only way.
|Do you want to send your children to college or do you want to make them look cute?|
|This is a surprisingly old-fashioned column. I have read newspapers from the mid-1800s with the same stuff. I wonder if it ever works. What a tale to tell.|
My last assorted thoughts on this leg of the trip, before we move on, are about food. The hardest part of travel is finding food you love and can't get back home. For instance:
|The whole of the Harrod's food hall. It's like outrageous mating plumage but on a salmon mousse...|
Until next time, Betties!