Steven and I popped into Woodstock this week, just outside Oxford, for a little tour around a little town. He had a gift certificate to drive an Aston Martin, so we trekked up to the northwest of the country (I agree now: driving even a few hours here seems SO much longer than it does back home. I get it now) and were sure to stop in for a spot of tea before we left.
After witnessing me taking pictures of enough doors, Steven pretended to be enamoured by this mini lamp post, telling me it was so beautiful I had to take its picture. Luckily, he nearly fell over it, ending the joke and reminding him that remarking about the loveliness of painted doors was the preferred recreational activity to mocking one's girlfriend.
...then it was off to see the racecars. In the coldest day of the year. Of my life. Of anyone's life.
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