I just love to read The Guardian on-line. One of my favorite sections is "Lets Move To......". Every Saturday morning, English houses of every variety are profiled. From Property Of The Week to Wreck Of The Week (local mice and bats are included).
I spent my most of my "tween" years at a boarding school in the middle of the English countryside. It was originally an Abbey - cloisters and all. Extremely isolated - in fact the only structure that signified the village was a mail (post) box and a telephone booth.
We had "bovver boys" (think bikers) - well what they liked to call themselves anyway. They were actually the sweet, local boys who would come onto the school grounds at night riding their loud, clacketty motorbikes and circle the fountain. Maybe thats a whole other post - very St.Trinian's-like.
When I read Lets Move...on Saturday mornings I'm transported back into that time when my only priorities were how to wear three pairs of tights to keep warm, and what concoction was for breakfast. The school cook was under the impression that if frozen fish fingers were placed in the warming drawers early in the morning, "they'd be cooked by dinner. Need I say more.