Open the portcullis

On boxing day we drove up to Lancashire to stay at favourite sister’s (number 4*) boyfriend’s parents’ castle. Yes, you did read that right. Our curly cat, Milo woke up towards the end of the car ride and started miaowing so I let him out and he fell asleep on my lap. On arrival we were shown to the guest wing (everything I say about the castle makes me titter – there was a guest wing!) which was freezing cold (despite the central heating) and rather ancient looking. Our bathroom was down a brightly tiled, sloping and winding corridor. It was larger than our bedroom at home, stone floored and slightly decaying. So far, so Gormenghast. I was in heaven. The drawing room had been especially heated for Christmas – normally they use the Justice Room as their living room (again I titter) - and it was bigger than our entire flat here. Milo was in his element, charging about the place, trying to get into every nook and cranny, jumping on the grand piano (much to the cat-disliking parents’ horror.) We didn’t have to dress for dinner, but took a meal at the large kitchen table instead. The next night was a dressier event, but still not quite the full dinner wear event they have on Christmas day (yet more tittering).

We didn’t actually end up having a bath the whole of the 2 and a bit days we were there. The first morning the heater wouldn’t come on in the bathroom and we decided it was too freezing in there. We used the massive sink in our bedroom to have a wash (amazing what you can achieve with a low sink). The next day, definitely in need of a wash, I decided just to run a hot bath and jump in regardless of the ice cold room. The tap spat out flies, followed by a brown liquid that wouldn’t clear. Lovely. Having been provided with our own bathroom and wing, we didn't quite feel able to request use of someone else's bathroom in their wing.

No matter, being grubby made it easier to pretend I was a lady from mediaeval times, since they never bothered with washing (and having felt the coldness of the stones in a castle I can understand why). Fed up as he is by excited visitors to his country pile, we eventually cajoled Boyfriend 4 into taking us on a tour of the grounds. They don’t own loads of land, but there was a walled garden so I could pretend to be in the Secret Garden, and a sundial, so I could pretend to be in Moondial and lots of Ivy covered walls and decaying fountains and structures so I could pretend I was in The Children of Green Knowe. Climbing up the keep that had been built in King Harold’s day, was entirely knackering but ultimately rewarding. How they ever did that in full armour is beyond me. I took the opportunity to recreate the “I fart in your general direction” scene from The Holy Grail.

We lived in a castle for 2 and a bit days and it didn’t cease being surreal the entire time.

*I have a lot of sisters. Numbering them is the only way. It's what we all do. I'm number 5 in case you're wondering.