2 days ago, we left Scotland, and undertook another mammoth journey south, Croissant the Peugeot loaded to the rafters with all we currently have in our possession.
Various reasons have driven us away from the 17th century converted cowshed, including issues with our own property down in London, and sadly for now, we will have to move back south, and into our tiny flat. Timing has meant we have a fortnight on the road again, and so we are taking some time to relax.
Liverpool was our first port of call, to buy new clothes and shoes, and after somehow squeezing them into our very full cases, we drove to Stratford Upon Avon - the 800 year old market town famous for being the birthplace of William Shakespeare - for a spot of dinner with Emma, a friend from Australia, over for a holiday.
A truly stunning place, Stratford’s streets are littered with wobbly original tudor architecture, has Red White and Blue bunting everywhere thanks to the Jubilee and even a couple of ice cream canal boats. It’s probably what most Americans think of when visually summing up England.
Equally impressive is the amazing hotel Twinkle booked us for tonight on a ‘less than £75 budget including breakfast’.
Walton Hall is clearly meant to be more expensive than we have paid thanks to lastminute.com - nestled in 65 acres of rolling Warwickshire countryside, it boasts it’s own chapel, clock tower, stable block, and even a second, somewhat less impressive hotel we thought we were staying in. On arrival we were promptly told ‘we have your booking Sir, but you’re not in the hotel, you’re down in the Hall. It’s a short drive away I’m afraid’.
Clearly I’m not posh as I’ve never checked into a large hotel that lacks a reception desk, nor have I ever had a room that has it’s own entrance, an upstairs, and complimentary umbrellas, but I’ve quickly become accustom to how the other half lives!
I might insist on a brisk walk around the lake tomorrow morning to admire the swans before returning to the real world...
