When I was a kid, my greatest ambition was to live in a castle.
Not as a princess, but as an eccentric author.
I didn’t want servants, I just fancied living in a castle, with dozens of bedrooms, bathrooms, maybe a moat, and a few turrets.
I know it would be a nightmare to heat. I can’t imagine how high the council tax would be. And I suspect, if it had ever been open to the public, it would be covered, top to toe, in illuminated Exit signs. Still, I think I would adore a place with a lot of history and, perhaps, a ghost or two.
Way I see it, I’m halfway there. Four published novels, one eccentric personality, no staff. Just the castle to go.