I am writing from a bed that feels like a giant pillow. I am
propped up by two giant pillows. The carpet in this room feels like I’m walking
on pillows. You’re not in hostelland anymore. Welcome to Kidderminster,
Worcestershire which is right outside of Birmingham, in the Midlands of
England. The Midlands should be called the Farmlands. While driving here in a
wrong-side car on the wrong side of the road (left turn on red?), we passed a
sign that had no words, just a picture of a cow. After a week of city-hopping,
we made it to our final destination: a true British home in a regular people
town.
Upon settling in, we found ourselves enjoying tea and toast
in the ‘conservatory,’ a glass room with a heated tile floor and plush but almost
too clean white sofas and a collection of classic music and Simon and
Garfunkel. As we went to bed, I began to think about how nice life might be,
living in the English countryside, in a lovely home, perhaps running it as a
bed and breakfast. I would probably enjoy that for a month or two and then miss
the more diverse ways of cities like sushi and protests and public
transportation. Right now though, two nights is absolutely not long enough.
Janet, the matron of this fine household and a good friend
of Elizabeth’s mother, has a keen eye for interior decorating or hired a great designer
– every inch of the house has some floral wallpaper or a little clock with a
bell or some wicker chair or a scenic painting. I can’t even see Kate and we’re
sharing a bed – it’s that huge. Our room has a sink in it – so much more
logical for teeth-brushing and face-washing and indoor water fights. Just
kidding on one of those, you decide which. Seriously, when have you ever seen
floral wallpaper that isn’t tacky? Janet wins.
I feel like the Queen’s posh-looking zen has hit me. When I think of
Britain now, I with think of this feeling: post-toast/tea and total relaxation.
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