Just got back from a long three weeks near London, England, United Kingdom [and, boy, are my arms tired] and while the trip home in and of itself was its own adventure and utterly exhausting and unfortunately NOT uneventful, I’ll quickly sum up our kickass trip to Windsor.

We slept in. We moseyed over to the train station, missed our train by, literally, two minutes, and almost cried when we realized another wouldn’t arrive for an HOUR. Because it was Sunday.

Therefore, we chillaxed at a local pub, the Tilly Shilling, a Wetherspoon pub, with tea [yes, with milk] and biscuits [cookies] and almost missed the next train, but this time we RAN.

Wherein we discovered that Pontus is not as fit as Rain, which, considering Rain hasn’t done any conditioning, nay, ANY exercise in the past SIX WEEKS, is considerably UNFIT, indeed.

Upon arrival at Windsor, we attempted to enter Windsor Castle via the back gate. I don’t recommend it. Guards take their jobs as seriously as TSA Agents back in the States. No laughing. Very serious. Unless it’s time for pictures. Then it’s all silliness.

So we walked. And walked. And walked. And walked. Big castle, the Windsor Castle.

Eventually we found the front door. And the ticketing reception area. And the front gardens.

And I took a million pictures of gargoyles. Literally, a million. Literally.

Why aren’t there any pictures of the inside of Windsor Castle? Well, because you aren’t allowed to take any pictures inside Windsor Castle. But there aren’t any signs saying as much, you’re just supposed to know. Unless you’re a silly American with a shiny new camera, then you don’t know, so of course they’ll tell you. After you’ve taken a few inside.

Of course, since I’ve been living in the Netherlands a few months, the English scolding was as gentle as a summer breeze [if either country actually had gentle summer breezes] and I happily deleted all two that I took inside. Of the stupid dollhouse. And then we went back outside where I could take more pictures.

Then we left Windsor Castle [how many times can someone say 'Windsor Castle' in one blog post? Windsor Castle, Windsor Castle. Windsor Castle. Windsor. Castle. A LOT.] and asked for directions to this really long road we had seen in pictures of Windsor Castle [eleven; twelve, if you count the title] and found the Long Walk. Which is for walking. Long walking.

We walked, say, TEN feet, turned around and moseyed off to find dinner. But found the crooked house instead. Which I entirely did NOT take a picture of because my stomach was in charge at that point, saw they served high tea, and leapt into the establishment.

We sat right by the window, right at the front, on the second floor and therefore had the distinct pleasure of photo bombing countless photos of the Crooked House. I’m sure one will be used against me one day when I run for president.