XIII: Newport

This past weekend I was forced to endure what appears to count as some kind of mini-holiday, notably a visit to Newport, Rhode Island.

They fed me salt water taffy:

And milkshakes:

(You may well ask about the red ribbon. Dare I attempt to explain? The American had too much wine and got, er, festive.)

And "Mexican" food. In Rhode Island, mind.

In short, there was much eating.

I hate eating.

We also visited large houses. One was an old Vanderbilt estate known as The Breakers. Here we are standing beside a sign. I ask you, of all the lovely spots to take photographs, why do it beside this sign? I suppose the day I begin to understand will be the day I've lost my wits.

There were lions, of one kind

and another . . .

But there were also lovely blue hydrangeas.

We visited a topiary garden as well.

There was some hide and seek . . .

and I rode the ducky . . .

and we relaxed a bit on the lawn chairs . . .

as well as on the veranda.

Something there is that doesn't love a wall . . .

That wants it down!


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