Got back this evening from a brilliant week in the North Carolina mountains - it was just the two of us, way way up in the clouds in an enormous house that had 3 levels, 5 bedrooms and bathrooms, and a 'great room' that looked like the entrance to a church complete with stained glass windows from England and a dizzying ceiling height. We got to play Lord and Lady of the Manor and it was incredible. On our first morning there the clouds came in so heavy and thick that all around the house was nothing but white - a very strange feeling, and I couldn't help but think of 'The Mist' - especially when, as darkness fell, the biggest, strangest, most colourful moths and other assorted insects I have ever seen came swooping in to land on the windows, drawn by the outside lights. Entwine your thumbs, flap your hands and you get an idea of their size.
Anyway, this place had a big library/study, packed with books and films, and I saw the novel 'Cold Mountain' in there which is a book I've always wanted to read but never got around to. I demolished it over the next two days and being able to read it in the location where a lot of the events were set was quite the experience; it made everything sharper, clearer and more intense. Fantastic book, I loved it, and now I'm obsessed with reading stories in their actual settings, probably not something I'll get to indulge too often but I aim to try. I also now know that a peeper is a type of frog and a rabbit's butt is called a scut.
