As I have never been to Hampton Court I felt like I was off on an adventure, albeit a rather wet and soggy one. I had watched a great program on Netflix about Hampton Court and the many happenings of Henry so was determined to visit on this trip. Slightly vague about how to get there, but Rome to Rio (thanks Virginia) told me to go to Waterloo. Not terribly clear from there, but currently on the train to Surbiton. I think I read that you could change trains there to Hampton Court, but I could have totally made that up, so who knows where I could end up.
I am on a proper, above ground train but my tube travel pass made the gates open so I hope I am not going to get arrested by the South West Rail police. The train is empty apart from a few dodgy looking male characters headed who knows where. They don’t look like the types to be visiting Henry’s House so hope I am on the right train. They have just announced the next station so will jump off and see what happens.
There are dodgy flats everywhere, but they don’t look like they were standing in Henry’s ‘off with your head’ era, but the sign says Hampton Court so hopefully headed in the right direction. Grey headed old ladies with pearls (I wonder whether someone is including commentary on their blog about grey haired, confused old lady without pearls, with terrible Aussie accent headed to Hampton Court), and Chinese young people with big cameras wearing ‘I climbed the Sydney Harbour Bridge’ t-shirts on this train so I could be ok. Followed all of the Chinese tourists over the bridge to the opulence of Hampton Court.
Well Henry might have had a thing for cutting people’s heads off but the old boy did rather like to live in style. I had a great day at HC, walking the miles and miles of corridors. It was seriously enormous. Sparsely furnished, but honestly, you could just move in today. The house work might be a bit much, but if you weren’t feeling particularly social you could wander the corridors for a week and never see anyone. There were millions of chimneys and apparently the sanitation was very good – probably reassuring that you will be warm and have a decent loo to go to prior to being beheaded. I loved the history and had a fascinating time listening through the audio guide as I wandered all day. The gardens were spectacular and reminded me a bit of the French chateaus we had seen in the Loire Valley. There was a fantastic Good Food festival on in the garden. I wandered a bit, but the mud (after buckets of rain) was terrible. I really needed my Wellington boots (I would have fitted right in but I am not 30, don’t have a blonde bob, pearls, a liberty shirt, a pram that costs more than a small car, and a child called Charles or Henry – the country set were out in force !).
After 35km of walking (according to my Apple watch) I called it a day .. The sign along the Thames told me London Bridge was 32 miles but I resisted the walk home. I rather hoped for a Royal carriage, or one of the Rolls parked in the carpark, but alas, it was the South West Rail for me.
Sleeping under the stars 