Exercise and I get on like a vegetarian in a butchers.
After attempting to have a lie-in today after two weeks of getting up at half six every morning, I gave up at 11 and decided I may as well wake up and watch tv. Shortly after deciding on this frankly epic day of laziness, my flat mate dragged me out of my room to go on a run. I do not run. I haven’t run for anything other than a bus since my last P.E. lesson when I was 16. As if this wasn’t enough to hamper my Paula Radcliffe-esque efforts, the vast quantities of beer/cider/wine/punch I consumed the night before suddenly started washing around in my stomach, making it hard to even get out of halls. I didn’t last long, and ended up walking from Sea Mills back to Clifton along the Avon. When I eventually made it home, I ate two chocolate yoghurts to compensate for the distress I’d caused myself.
Won’t be doing that again. No sir-ee.
Yesterday was my last day digging and before we left we got taken on a tour around Berkeley Castle itself. I think I need to find myself a copy of Debrett’s sharpish and find myself a castle-owning husband because my oh my was it beautiful. Simple things like snugs on a mezzanine help you realise that people actually live there, and have been living there for centuries, unlike the generic stately home feeling you tend to get at most National Trust properties.
Above is the room where King Edward II was kept prisoner and left to die. Legend has it that he came to a painful end after a red hot poker was shoved up his bum. Lucky we weren’t around to see his poker face!
If you want to visit the castle, and I thoroughly recommend you do, check opening times here as it isn’t open every day.