One of the appealing things about this weekend away was getting the opportunity to spend some time at my friend Tim’s childhood home, which is an impressively large mansion in the middle of nowhere in the British countryside. It’s up for sale, so it’s also quite possibly something of a farewell for Tim, but for most of us it’s the chance to spend some time in the sort of place you normally only get to visit if you’re attending someone’s wedding.
It brings up an interesting consideration though. Most people, when confronted with the possibility of winning the Lottery or something will claim that one of their first priorities would be to purchase a gigantic house. And while a gigantic house is certainly a fine status symbol, a lot of people clearly don’t think of some of the issues that only come about in big country houses.
For one, when was the last time you looked behind the TV and found a dead bird? That’s exactly what happened to us last night when attempting to set up the TV in order to chill out with some DVDs.
Spiders, too. Everyone gets spiders in their houses but it’s nothing compared to the behemoths you get lurking between the beams in an old wooden-framed house. And mosquitoes. And all manner of other little creepy crawly bastards.
And low doorways. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve banged my head on a low doorway this weekend, even when I’m well aware of where the danger zones are. It still hurts.
And yet despite all this there’s still something kind of wonderful about being in a house with multiple staircases, about fifteen bathrooms and a bizarre layout. Even if its just enjoying a few Resident Evil fantasies.