An Englishman's Home is His Castle

An Englishman's Home is His Castle, and here was our castle for the week. We were lucky to find it actually as our GPS, hosted as it was on an Australian mobile phone, was unable to steer us to the correct location, and our directions were a little iffy at best, but having made it to Frome (pronounced froom for our international readers) we headed out in what seemed to be the right general direction and attempted to locate "two sets of gates with a horse stable on the left" or whatever our inspired direction would have us locate.

After a fair bit of toing and froing we did locate our maison de semaine and were pleased to note its brick-built demeanour, establishing its castleishness a little more credibly, together with its walled garden location, further enhancing or fortifying even the rampartitude of its crenelations, which were undermined only a little my the mouldering cowshed with so-called "games room" with its wonky pool-table and dysfunctional table-football.

Inside it was nice though, it had wi-fi and the softest beds you could possible imagine... though only one tea-towel! Whinge!