Almost 50 miles from our perch in Asquins is a place called Saint-Fargeau. It’s a small wee town that hosts a massive big castle, called Château de Saint-Fargeau. We’d been before 11 years prior, but went back there on, of all days, Miss’ 2nd birthday. It just so happened to be one of the hottest bloody days leading to one of the most frantic and frustrated little people I’ve ever seen, but that’s for another time.
We started with a wee walk around the outside, whilst the others had a gander inside; we’d reverse the tours, or so was the plan. The grounds are expansive and really beautiful. We had a nice slow stroll around the gravel path, stopping intermittently to address Miss’ various foibles.
So what’s the best thing to do when it’s absolutely baking outside? That’s right, head into a nice cool Château. What an interesting place; really on the downside of disrepair and vast rooms filled with a few unsettling mannequins and dodgy setups aside, it’s a grand and interesting place. It’s kinda in the throes of getting some renovation done to it, but it’s so big and so shabby that I doubt it’ll ever get itself sorted.
We then made a gross error of judgement and headed up to the bloody attic, where the tour of the place took the long road around the tile-floored, wooden beamed floor-plan, as the sun baked us from the inside. It was life-sapping hot in there and we made a sharp exit in to the comparable coolness of the still-baking entrance hall, where fencing lessons were in full swing.
To offset that misery we then headed downwards to the dungeon – that was similarly unsettling and we didn’t stay long, before heading back out in to the sunshine to meet up with the rest of the gang, and reunite with an even more miserable little girl.
Then it was back home, an hours drive away, for a Birthday dinner for a tired, hot, fed-up bobbit. Wee shame.