First, to the sea: craving sea air and the sound of gulls, we took the train to Whitstable on the Kent coast, for shingle beaches, weathered tongue and groove beach huts, oyster shells galore, and old fashioned pubs.
Oh, and icecream and chips, of course.
It was good for the soul.
Then to something more bucolic. A picnic at the Red House in Bexleyheath, where dizzy bees swam lazily among heavy apple tress.
The Red House was the home of William Morris, and is in the process of being restored (I think, there was certainly a lot of hammering going on): the mellow red stone is just beautiful, and the gardens homey and interesting.
Love that "dusty grey" colour - shame about the prosaic name!
The house holds some real treasures, stained glass by Edward Burne-Jones, enormous faux medieval furniture by Philip Webb and embroidered tapestries by Janey Morris, but was overall a little disappointing - we had expected it to have more furniture, displayed in the usual National Trust style as if the family had just left the room. And the William Morris Gallery in Walthamstow has much much more on Morris, Marshall, Faulkner & Co. despite Morris having lived at the Red House during its inception.
However, the building and grounds were just gorgeous, and a cuppa at nearby Danson House set us up no end.
Holidays rock!
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