Bishop’s Palace, Wells, England
So this is pretty much my dream weekend getaway type of place.
My grandfather made an exact replica of that horse for me when I was tiny. His name is George. He is still very loved, and has been passed down to my siblings who never got a chance to know him. He made canoes and cabins up in Orillia, and I feel very honored that one of the few times he made a child’s toy it was for me.
as usual music says it better.
Funeral Blues by W. H. Auden
read by Tom Hiddleston
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message ‘He is Dead’.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.