Frozen Strawberry
It's suddenly gone very cold indeed again. I was frozen solid this evening on Strawberry Hill station, sitting on one of those perforated metal benches and huddling behind a larger classmate to keep out of the wind. The surreal event of the day, however, was the eight of us sitting in Horace Walpole's (unheated and north-facing) old bedroom, fully covered in coats, scarves, gloves and shawls, watching a video on the Great Exhibition.
The bedroom is one of the tattier rooms in the house, with the green wallpaper peeling of the walls from damp and piles of broken furniture and old plastic chairs. I do hope the green pigment isn't the arsenic-based sort that did for Napoleon.
We're supposed to be doing an environmental report on Hogarth's rooms, so we spent most of the day running about taking light and humidity readings. I took some more pictures, mainly of the Turkish bordello breakfast room and the north bedroom. The breakfast room is very dimly lit, but since flash photograph don't cause that much damage if only taken occasionally, I got some shots of the fretwork on the walls and the surprisingly vivid colours of the embroidered ceiling hangings. I am rather afraid that the walls are painted in the original colours, and the room has always been decorated in turquoise, dark brown, olive green and scarlet.
The bedroom is very run-down and odd, with fairy-tale doors, an odd little cupboard with a window and shelves, and a mysterious painted window on what must have once been an outside wall, concealed behind panelling.
Also another lovely little detail from the stained glass in the Blue Room, which is otherwise done up in a horrible seventies style for brides to change in when they have weddings at the house.
The more I see of Strawberry, the more I'm coming to the conclusion that there was a lot of the suburban DIY enthusiast in Horace Walpole than is usually thought. He seems to have just stuck odd bits onto the house here and there as the whim took him.
ETA I've just realised that the rather pretty little glazed door with an amber-coloured glass knob that leans against the wall in one of the downstairs rooms belongs to the bedroom cupboard.
The bedroom is one of the tattier rooms in the house, with the green wallpaper peeling of the walls from damp and piles of broken furniture and old plastic chairs. I do hope the green pigment isn't the arsenic-based sort that did for Napoleon.
We're supposed to be doing an environmental report on Hogarth's rooms, so we spent most of the day running about taking light and humidity readings. I took some more pictures, mainly of the Turkish bordello breakfast room and the north bedroom. The breakfast room is very dimly lit, but since flash photograph don't cause that much damage if only taken occasionally, I got some shots of the fretwork on the walls and the surprisingly vivid colours of the embroidered ceiling hangings. I am rather afraid that the walls are painted in the original colours, and the room has always been decorated in turquoise, dark brown, olive green and scarlet.
The bedroom is very run-down and odd, with fairy-tale doors, an odd little cupboard with a window and shelves, and a mysterious painted window on what must have once been an outside wall, concealed behind panelling.
Also another lovely little detail from the stained glass in the Blue Room, which is otherwise done up in a horrible seventies style for brides to change in when they have weddings at the house.
The more I see of Strawberry, the more I'm coming to the conclusion that there was a lot of the suburban DIY enthusiast in Horace Walpole than is usually thought. He seems to have just stuck odd bits onto the house here and there as the whim took him.
ETA I've just realised that the rather pretty little glazed door with an amber-coloured glass knob that leans against the wall in one of the downstairs rooms belongs to the bedroom cupboard.