I bring you now the tale of Markyate, the village I currently live in. I’m only there two days a week, so I think it still counts as a travel location. Markyate is a very old village, the house I live in is three hundred years old in itself, all wooden beams and a large majestic fireplace that would have the romantics of the world going all misty-eyed. Words like ‘quaint’ and ‘picturesque’ might spring to mind. Obviously, I’m sure you’ve come to expect it, I tell you now of the downside. I begin with the doorways. Three hundred years ago people were even shorter than they are today, which is no mean feat. Hence, the doorways are so low that a limboing dwarf could still manage to get a heavy concussion, never mind people who are over six feet tall. The main benefit to these doorways is the humour value during house parties when that anguished “Oww! My head!” echoes through the house. Ah, the memories.
As for the wiring, I’m sure it was installed as soon as electricity supplies were invented and not replaced since. I’m considering buying light bulbs in bulk to cover my needs, they blow so often.
And the large majestic fireplace? It is gas driven, and although, this would still be nice, has been condemned and may not be used.
The village itself is incredibly small. It has one Indian restaurant, one fish and chip shop and five pubs. Some of these pubs are reminiscent of scenes in ‘American Werewolf in London’. Those who have seen the film will know what I mean, those who have not, ought to. All in all the biggest contribution to an evening’s entertainment in Markyate is the bus out of town, which can take you to the heady delights that are St Albans and will be described in a further episode. Stay tuned…