Bekonscot
My sister and I took the kids to Bekonscot Model Village today. I’m sure I went there as a child. I have a vague memory of being taken to a model village and since I think it was with my Dad, and he lived in Milton Keynes, it seems plausible that it could have been this one.
Anyway, that’s really by the by.
It’s a sweet little place. Eccentric, and quaintly old-fashioned. It takes about an hour to get around it, if you take a good look at the models, which you should.
We joked about being Borrowers, and chased the miniature trains around their tracks. That was Elliot’s favourite. Ruby’s was the models of the girl guides, who’d set up camp on a hillside. Complete with canvas tent. I liked this little view down the hill to the harbour.
It’s kind of Cornish looking. It could be in St Ives or Falmouth. And the people playing croquet. Because who doesn’t enjoy a game of croquet every now and then?
The swimming pool was sweet, too.
Nice attention to detail, I thought. What with the little guy swimming along under water and the sunbathers and such.
The goldfish were akin to whales to the Borrower-sized people.
It even has it’s own tiny Marks and Sparks and a Waitrose, selling tiny boxes of Ritz crackers. RItz crackers, I ask you! The entire place is wonderfully quirky. Go!
We took a detour on the way home, to Amersham, so I could do some belated book research. I’m still pleased I chose Amersham as the place Cassie grew up in. It felt kind of weird going there, but in a good way. I kept looking out of the window, as I was driving around, wondering if I was going to see her walking up the road. Then I remembered that I made her up and she’s a figment of my imagination.
And anyway, she doesn’t even live there anymore.
