We locate the door key from the coded key box whilst congratulating ourselves on remembering – somewhat miraculously for us - to bring a torch. The Husband, with The Seven Year Old hot on his heels, tries to unlock several doors without success. Just in the nick of time, before The Baby screams for milk, we find the only remaining door whose lock hasn’t yet been tried with the key. And we’re in! Up the stone spiral staircase and we burst into the first floor of our weekend retreat. Oh my.
The Husband, The Seven Year Old The Baby and me then climb higher beyond the upper floor - which somewhat randomly houses little more than a table tennis table and single bedrooms in two of the four turrets.- and we’re out onto the roof. Wow. It turns out that turning 40 is feeling really rather good.