Yeah, that's right, that was our home for the weekend. A British-era Cottage with the number 13. And nothing remotely eerie to report! (damn!)
It's a tree...it's a stump... it's...it's a dustbin!
One of my favourite father-son moments during the trip
(that and Pickwick swinging his undies in the air a la Saurav).
Here Comes the Son!
I know! Corny! still, that's what i feel like singing everytime i see this picture.
NO Clue what existed below the vines.
No, Really. the water was Frigid! Hubby bravely strolled out of the cottage in a towel and swimming trunks, only to return 3 minutes later, after having dipped his toe into the pool and retracting it with a howl!