I shouldn't parade about illegal activity, but when Fran and I saw the castle, we stopped as we are indeed members of the National Trust. When we walked around the path, a playful urge to seize the castle like medieval invaders involved a natural leaping o're a fence and sprinting up the steep slopes. [By which I mean, I hung on to tufts of grass and panted and heaved my way up. I would have certainly died if I were a real invader.] We found our way to the back and slipped in through a tuft of rocks. We had seen people up there only ten minutes before. It was not until we reached the lookout did we notice the gate shut and the campers inside the fence, and our watches read quarter past nine. Horrified at our unintentional misdemeanor, we practically rolled down the slope, like a scene from the Princess Bride, to get out as quick as we could, hoping no one had seen us.
We played Pooh Sticks under the bridge (score 1:1) and found a short cut through a very muddy path. As we arrived back at the car, a train had pulled up in the station, and like a geyser, a jut of steam lept forth, drawing our attention. It was an old-fashioned steam train, with the conductor hanging out the window. I was delighted. By now, the clouds had peeled back and the sinking sun still reigned. I figured out the car we were driving was indeed a convertible. We converted the automobile and proceeded home like a banshee in the wind, that is until it inevitable began to rain again.
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