Arriving into Windsor you would think the entrance was designed for the arrival of the 90 year old herself. Upmarket shops with shiny windows and glamorous interiors, cobblestone pavements cleaned to perfection, it's quite something. We arrived right into a parade down the centre streets, complete with a full brass band, including uniform, and even young children trailing behind waving flags of, not England, but the latest play to open at the local theatre, Jack and the Beanstalk. I guess even the Royal family have caught onto the benefits of advertising.
We paid our entrance fee to enter the Queen's abode (because why wouldn't you charge people to enter your home when you can do whatever you want?) and passed the security checks with our contraband items securely hidden.
Despite getting closer to hypothermia, we were able to enter the chapel, the state apartments and tour the ginormous grounds, unfortunately missing out on the Queen's dollhouse. (Again, she can do whatever she wants..)
The grounds are so huge and everything is so elaborate, ornate and lavish, much like Versailles. It's not hard to imagine past King's and Queen's traipsing around, ordering statesmen and making grand decisions, like who next to behead. It was crazy to see the tombs of King Charles VIII and Jane Seymour in the chapel. We also got shown the perch from which Katharine of Aragon watched the church proceedings. It's hard to work out whether it all seems familiar, or totally far fetched, when you're standing in the very same position of people you get told and read about (thank you Phillippa Gregory).
We strolled around the town, in awe at how well kept the town is. It's small and quaint, hard to believe you're so close to London. It has such an awesome feel to it.
We returned to London, en masse, on the smallest train, squashing ourselves into the doors, feeling like the peasants we are.
Back to reality.
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