The longing for having an Afternoon Tea in the backyard garden of a castle is surely unbearable yet haunting. You can get your million guidebook of how to marry a wealthy man but marrying a lord is definitely another level of dreaming and it is more likely to be a romantic but vague musing. Chances are probably lower than ever winning the lottery. Surely a good novel topic though as To Marry an English Lord must be by Gail MacColl and Carol McD. Wallace.
A walk in Dunster Castle in Somerset, England makes the dream a bit more, let me say, attainable in a way but probably only because you can physically touch and see the true quality of life and wonder what it might be living amongst those walls knowing each of them has their own story. And you start fantasising of the secret chambers and all the unmentionable tales they’re still unbreakably hiding. I let you to sink into this world for just 2 seconds and then go, watch Downton Abbey, I’m off to do so.
Well, probably the worst thing what you can do on a Sunday afternoon - after getting up early, going for a long jog and then having a slice of carrot cake - is going back to bed to watch the latest episode of Fargo…because if you’re once back there, you just don’t wanna get out of it ever again.
So I’ve been told by more than 2 people now that I’m unapproachable. It’s official then, I guess.
New Saturday routine.
So I finished at work at 6.30 AM, got home by 7.30 AM, had a banana to get some energy, went for an one-hour long run, burnt 551 calories, on my way home I popped in to Sainsbury’s to do my weekly grocery shopping, I got home again, had a coffee with two tablespoons of light single cream, cleaned the bathroom, the living room and the kitchen, washed up my dirty dishes, had a shower, washed my hair and shaved myself everywhere, and then I had another coffee with two tablespoons of light single cream (20 cal 1 tbs), did my laundry and cooked my lunch. It’s 12.14 PM. I’m fucking dead.
I’m planning on joining the Secret Service.