Sunday

Where shall I begin?
We went to Coughton Court today. And by court, I mean a large stately home, and not a magistrates court or something like that. This was spurred on by the fact that our National Trust membership runs out.............today. Yes, that's right. We were fully paid up members of the National Trust. It's amazing what a money off deal will get you to sign up to. Especially when about 12 months ago, you really wanted to have a wander around St Michael's Mount, and thought "Blimey! How much for both of us to get in? That's a bit steep isn't it? And if we do pay, how much of the Mount do we get to keep?"

Anyway, we were due to renew our membership. Mainly because there was a Direct Debit set up, and I don't like to tinker with things. Anyway, then the Badger cull came along. With the National Trust coming down on the side of the Badger killers. Well, if you're not with Brian May and the Badgers, then you're not getting my 80 quid. So I called up and cancelled it. They didn't ask why. I'm afraid that if they had, I would have squeaked out, in my most feeble of voices "......................because of the Badgers...."

So, we headed to Coughton Court to try to get our money's worth of membership out of this year.

It's a very nice place. Like a lot of stately homes, it's hard to imagine that some people lived so grandly, while other people waited on them hand and foot (and the rest of their body parts, probably).

Ooh! They have a spiral stone staircase that goes up a sort of tower bit, thingy. I love those! I'm not built for them though, obviously. 400 years ago, the average person was no taller than an Orange. So my size 13 feet and 5'10" of altitude are not really designed to cope with spirally stone steps.

I look like every step could be my last, as I nervously clutch, nay cling, to the handrail. And I was wearing new shoes. I've been clip-clopping all day. New shoes take a few days to get used to, don't they. You find yourself catching on things and clumping around because you're not used to the new tread depth or something like that.

I've been trying to walk on grass and carpet a lot. Concrete, stone, or wooden floors are right out. At several points today, my quietest walking sounded like someone had put tap shoes onto a Giraffe.

The main building is packed with paintings and objects de art. Although not a suit of armour anywhere. Very disappointing.
Loads of portraits of various family members from throughout the ages. Theirs, not mine, that would just be weird.

The detail in the old portraits is staggering. They must have taken ages to paint. And each one had to be accurate, as there were no cameras or photographs back then. Can you imagine getting your passport photo painted. It takes weeks. You then send it off. Wait some more weeks. Then finally it gets sent back to you, rejected, because the artist has painted a bit of a droopy fringe over your left eye.

Do you ever make noises when you trip or stumble? Like when you're walking and misjudge the tread depth on your new shoes and you scuff one foot on the ground, stumble forward and make a noise like "Wup"?

I do. What's "Wup"? I think it's meant to be whoops, but I've shortened it for some reason. Like it's not embarrassing enough to fuck up the ability to walk properly, I then, just in case some people didn't notice, make a cartoon-like noise.

Anyway, the building and its grounds are lovely.

In other news, my dog is bleeding from his penis. You heard me :(