Bug Unit

Things I know about Woburn:
I stayed in a house that smelt like cheese.
People in Woburn seem to be wealthy, considering the large amounts of Range Rovers, and also the fact that at some places they charge £16 for a steak.
They get really touchy about their deer.

Ok, so basically, we arrived late in Milton Keynes, having underestimated the time it took to get there. Then, we went to The Swan for supper. The Swan is a really pretty little pub that Kelly and Tam used to work at. Then, Tam ordered almost everything off the deli board at £1.50 per item, and my head nearly exploded trying to convert it all into rands. Then, it was all on the house, because Tam is a manager at the restaurant. Can I get a woo-hoo at this point? Woo Hoo! Free Food! Then, we went to the Black Horse, Tam’s current pub, and sat there until the early hours.

Then we went home, and this is where the house of cheese comes in. Short story: the house smelt like cheese. Long story: this house, supposedly inhabited by Tam’s ‘neat freak’ (how can I emphasise that more?) boss, had stuff growing mold in pots (and can you imagine how long it would have had to be there to get moldy in the cold?!), had cigarette butts in glasses and basically, was pretty disgusting and also smelt like cheese. So we stayed in the cheese house for two days, but there were ample rewards, including seeing Tam, who is running around moving twice as fast as any normal person, as a result of having to think faster than a table of grumpy customers. So we played with Tam, and she fed us and it was all lovely, but then came The Shame of the Woburn Deer Incident.

So on Sunday morning it was blustery and cold, as England is given to be at any particular day or time, so we went walking up to the Woburn Abbey. Except we cut across a piece of grass where other people were walking already, and foolishly believed that we could take the same path. So there we were, borderline frolicking up this hill in the wind and the cold, past some deer, the pictures of which I am sure Kyle will upload shortly and generally having a smashing time (English terms are needed since we were near deer in Woburn) when we saw a man up ahead, who had seen us, frowned upon us, and subsequently driven all the way up the hill to meet us at the top and tell us that we weren’t allowed to walk on the grass, and there was a sign to that effect at the bottom of the hill (which we didn’t, in fairness, walk past, but that is another story). We began the tried and tested ‘I’m not from around here’ excuse, but were swiftly defeated in verbal combat by the comment (English accent): Yeah, but in fairness a sign is a sign everywhere you go though, innit? We had to bow to this superior logic, or feign a ‘Mi no speak eeeenglish’. We decided to go with dignity, and left, this time (after another bout of correction from the same man when we walked on the tar instead of the footpath) on the footpath, which, I regret, looked remarkably similar to where we had been walking. Thus, leaving us with the feeling that we had been wronged. Thus, leaving us with a slogan pertaining to deer. So if there are any deer reading this, be warned. We intend to steal your grass and eat your children. But probably not, because underneath it all, we’re just softies.

And this concludes the story of Woburn.