Sitting comfortably having legs propped up on a chair, giving my sides a
laughing therapy, a headache or an assertiveness lesson I was curious
to step onto the ground where pages were almost filled in and story was
coming to an end. I looked forward to seeing the backyard where Sense and Sensibility
was born. No more than satisfying weather, relaxed moods and Nadia by
my side was needed to complete that day (and my friend as terrified driver).
We picked up a small cottage near Winchester where two hundred years ago women enjoyed gardening and needlework as well as a genius of one of them had flourished among Clementi piano she practised on every morning before breakfast, novels collected in the reading room or borrowed from the circulating library she read aloud to entertain visitors and two carriage donkeys she kept in her family. The first photo was taken close enough to Jane Austen's Museum to still get lost. In no time we found our way to greet the spirit of shy footsteps treading within the brightly wallpapered walls. I was eager to see the little table by the window in the dining parlour Jane was writing her novels on but even more excited to breathe in the deep smell of wooden floors, cut grass and see the sun light coming through the windows as Jane saw it lifting her head up from her writing. In the kitchen situated in the wing at the back of the house me and Nadia tried to write with a goose feather. One message to other visitors took us a while due to the ink drying so quickly. At last we looked through the shop situated in converted barn for souvenirs and books where I purchased two booklets with witty illustrations for Austen's books. Nadia enjoyed the outer space more running and dancing in the middle of the garden but above all I loved her sitting on the window seat watching the quietness of the village. I knew she could pause even for a second. On our way home we ate Italian food in nearby Winchester and almost got soaked in the sudden evening rain pour.
'I wish, as well as everybody else, to be perfectly happy; but, like everybody else, it must be in my own way.'
We picked up a small cottage near Winchester where two hundred years ago women enjoyed gardening and needlework as well as a genius of one of them had flourished among Clementi piano she practised on every morning before breakfast, novels collected in the reading room or borrowed from the circulating library she read aloud to entertain visitors and two carriage donkeys she kept in her family. The first photo was taken close enough to Jane Austen's Museum to still get lost. In no time we found our way to greet the spirit of shy footsteps treading within the brightly wallpapered walls. I was eager to see the little table by the window in the dining parlour Jane was writing her novels on but even more excited to breathe in the deep smell of wooden floors, cut grass and see the sun light coming through the windows as Jane saw it lifting her head up from her writing. In the kitchen situated in the wing at the back of the house me and Nadia tried to write with a goose feather. One message to other visitors took us a while due to the ink drying so quickly. At last we looked through the shop situated in converted barn for souvenirs and books where I purchased two booklets with witty illustrations for Austen's books. Nadia enjoyed the outer space more running and dancing in the middle of the garden but above all I loved her sitting on the window seat watching the quietness of the village. I knew she could pause even for a second. On our way home we ate Italian food in nearby Winchester and almost got soaked in the sudden evening rain pour.
'I wish, as well as everybody else, to be perfectly happy; but, like everybody else, it must be in my own way.'
