Once upon a time, two Kiwi girls voyaged across the globe in search of adventure, exotic climes, unbelievable history and the occasional good quality Flat White. Years pass, each settling at opposite ends of the M25. Having grown up in the same small town they were fortuitously destined to meet over the clinking of beautiful London fine china to discuss the finer vagarities of blogging, shoes, life in England and taste-testing arrays of gluten-free dining.
Some might say that destiny pre-ordained their mutual excitement at the thought of a weekend living like Princesses (well, that, or the eye-rolling of their respective spouses). Henceforth, many lunchtimes were spent Google researching the rolling English countryside in the hunt for the most beautiful room in all of christendom. No stone (or URL) was unturned with the ferocity of their fervour.
Their requests were simple; turrets, a four-poster bed and not driving through the twisting one-way system of Sheffield (after a hysterically funny 30min occasion of getting lost on a previous roadtrip). With the aid of a modern day grimoire (ie. Google Maps) the stunning Thornbury Castle was chosen.
Hearkening upon the chosen day, rested from recent foray into Derbyshire their bright blue
smurfmobile steed gallantly explored the countryside to the hushed chanting of castle castle castle castle castle castle castle castle castle castle castle castle castle castle tea castle castle amidst sultry beats of Katy Perry. Enroute, the bewitching towers of many beautiful castles tried their best to tempt the young heroines from their ultimate destination: the golden walls of Blenheim Palace…
…a sidetrip to honour Winston Churchills hard-to-find final resting place…
…and the gorgeous gardens of Sudeley Castle with links to Henry VIII…
…before striking out for their final destination, peas ready.
Intended as a home for Edward Stafford, the Duke of Buckingham, the castle was almost
finished by 1521, when the Duke’s distant cousin, Henry VIII, accused
him of treason, then had him beheaded and confiscated his castle.
Fourteen years later, Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn enjoyed a ten-day
retreat at Thornbury Castle as part of a honeymoon tour”.
Climbing the beautiful stone spiral staircase, the princesses gasped at their stunning suite, fit for royalty.
Making themselves immediately at home, every inch of the large chamber was explored; from the gorgeous barred front door to the shining bathroom (a far more fulsome review from the other side of the duvet can be found here).
Every detail had been considered; luxurious bell pull light controls, crested tissues, rich sherry waiting to be poured, a (gas) fireplace worthy of a wintery evening and a stunning four poster bed, thick with mattresses high from the ground.
Sadly, after an evening of feasting and imbibing in the local township, the next morning eventually dawned. Saddened, the princesses arose, repacked their chalises and broke fast (ate their lovely breakfasts).
They promenaded through the gorgeous castle gardens (rumoured to be the oldest Tudor gardens in England) before once again adventuring through the countryside with their trusty steed bound for yet another castle. Life was good.
Sailing into the sunset armed with gluten free cake, they lovingly recounted their escape with the thousands of photos, and lived happily ever after. (What’s more, their better halves breathed a sigh of relief at escaping a few more weeks of castle hopping.)