Samurai and tadpoles
We were away last week, in a strange and bitty week with lots of travelling, much of which was spent with various relatives. Despite frequent reminders to myself ("must charge my camera before I go," followed by, "oh dear. Oh well... Must remember to pack the charger so I can charge it when I'm there") I managed to go away with a camera that claimed to be Very Ill Indeed, and sighed long-sufferingly whenever I asked it to take a picture. I retired it after the first day, and subsisted for the rest of the week (mostly spend in places we may well visit again one day) on a diet of no photos, photos on my phone (rather rubbish, and not helped by the fact that I kept forgetting to charge that, as well), phones on Pellinor's phone (even more rubbish than mine, I think) and Pellinor's Mum's phone, wielded by Pellinor's mum. I pulled it out for one last hurrah when we reached Lincoln, and got a few more pictures out of it before it keeled over limply, and lay there blaming me for my cruelty in driving it to this dire state of affairs.
I'll get around to wrangling all the phone photos one day, but here are some pictures that I managed to persuade my grumpy camera to take for me in Snowshill Manor on the Monday.
This was the day when people first started turning to each other and saying, "Wow, it finally feels almost like spring!" (By Wednesday of this week, we were full in Summer territory, and today we seem to be already hurrying into autumn, judging from the wrapped-up nature of the people walking past the window at work.) My Mum spent most of the day marvelling at their audacity in daring to Go Somewhere on a Bank Holiday Monday, rather than cowering inside in fear of the rampant swarm of humanity expected to descend on the Cotswolds. "It was actually quite nice!" she said, in amazement. "We sat outside! On a Bank Holiday! In a National Trust place! But I did wear a coat," she added, lest she be thought too daring.
Snowshill Manor is a pretty little Cotswold Manor which was bought by an eccentric chap early in the 20th century, and crammed full with his collection of Stuff. So full did it become that quite early on, he moved out into a small outbuilding, although by the looks of things, that, too, was soon getting taken over by Stuff. (Blame the poor picture on the very low lighting, not my poor, heroic, dying camera.)
That's his bed at the back left of the room. Apparently he had a wife. No news on where she slept, or what she felt about the whole situation.
Whole rooms are stuffed full of Stuff, some of it themed, and some of it just random. Here is a poor picture of the very dark Samurai room, with flickering fake firelight and echoing with the noise of whistling wind.
And here's the ceiling of the room full of various wheeled vehicles. (I did actually take a much better lit version of this one as well, but decided that I preferred the gloomy one.)
In the nursery, we have a dangly thing for dangling babies in, with a rather sinister soldier positioned to attack. It looks like the sad aftermath of a tragedy.
This is the room of clocks (and many random other things) which I photographed because I like the GINORMOUS PLOUGHMAN, and the teeeeeny little man on the horse:
The entrance hall has a medieval theme, with heraldic animals that I felt looked quietly smug, in a pleasing manner:
And a knight. I photographed this knight to show Pellinor to armour (although it's Not His Period.) He has bows on his elbows! Why don't you have bows on your elbows, Pellinor?
Here's St George, about to slay the dragon by punching him in the nose:
And finally, this should be written over every office's front door bell!
Oh, and while I'm here: my Mum's teeny pond is seething with very new tadpoles at the moment. Here are just some of the seething mass of humanity that lurks below the water:
I'll get around to wrangling all the phone photos one day, but here are some pictures that I managed to persuade my grumpy camera to take for me in Snowshill Manor on the Monday.
This was the day when people first started turning to each other and saying, "Wow, it finally feels almost like spring!" (By Wednesday of this week, we were full in Summer territory, and today we seem to be already hurrying into autumn, judging from the wrapped-up nature of the people walking past the window at work.) My Mum spent most of the day marvelling at their audacity in daring to Go Somewhere on a Bank Holiday Monday, rather than cowering inside in fear of the rampant swarm of humanity expected to descend on the Cotswolds. "It was actually quite nice!" she said, in amazement. "We sat outside! On a Bank Holiday! In a National Trust place! But I did wear a coat," she added, lest she be thought too daring.
Snowshill Manor is a pretty little Cotswold Manor which was bought by an eccentric chap early in the 20th century, and crammed full with his collection of Stuff. So full did it become that quite early on, he moved out into a small outbuilding, although by the looks of things, that, too, was soon getting taken over by Stuff. (Blame the poor picture on the very low lighting, not my poor, heroic, dying camera.)
That's his bed at the back left of the room. Apparently he had a wife. No news on where she slept, or what she felt about the whole situation.
Whole rooms are stuffed full of Stuff, some of it themed, and some of it just random. Here is a poor picture of the very dark Samurai room, with flickering fake firelight and echoing with the noise of whistling wind.
And here's the ceiling of the room full of various wheeled vehicles. (I did actually take a much better lit version of this one as well, but decided that I preferred the gloomy one.)
In the nursery, we have a dangly thing for dangling babies in, with a rather sinister soldier positioned to attack. It looks like the sad aftermath of a tragedy.
This is the room of clocks (and many random other things) which I photographed because I like the GINORMOUS PLOUGHMAN, and the teeeeeny little man on the horse:
The entrance hall has a medieval theme, with heraldic animals that I felt looked quietly smug, in a pleasing manner:
And a knight. I photographed this knight to show Pellinor to armour (although it's Not His Period.) He has bows on his elbows! Why don't you have bows on your elbows, Pellinor?
Here's St George, about to slay the dragon by punching him in the nose:
And finally, this should be written over every office's front door bell!
Oh, and while I'm here: my Mum's teeny pond is seething with very new tadpoles at the moment. Here are just some of the seething mass of humanity that lurks below the water:
