If Walls Could Talk

I’ve been cold, tired and hungry for most of December, but I’ve also been having a glorious time.

For the ‘If Walls Could Talk’ series, I’ve been down a Victorian sewer, spent the night in a Tudor bed, worn eighteenth-century underwear in public, cooked eight Tudor chickens on a spit and done a load of Tudor laundry using urine kindly provided by a man called Brian.

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