jaeleslie

I dreamed I was at a writing workshop in a grand house. I was waiting for the rest of the tour of the house and grounds, which had in somewhat disorganized fashion disappeared down the main (state) street for a shopping expedition. Standing in the garden, another writer (one of the real writers I suppose) accused me of being a tourist, just taking up space in the workshop. Guiltily I felt this was somewhat justified, but defended myself: "I have a piece of fiction in progress set in a castle. I have been to dozens of castles, in several countries. So I would like to see the basement now."

When I woke I had to work out whether I was overstating a bit about the castles. I don't know about the piece of fiction, although I wouldn't be surprised to find it lurking about. Here are the castles:

Chillon (as in Byron's "Prisoner of")
Gruyere
Grandson
Louvre (rehabbed)
Versailles (and Petite Trianon, unfortified)
Cardiff
Caerphilly
Chirk
Edinburgh
Blair
Urquhart (ruin)
Dunvegan
Hampton Court
Warwick