Arrangements had been made for me to stay at a bed and breakfast. It was a pretty fancy place. Almost offensively so. Lace doilies, little lamps, china knick-knacks on every possible surface. Warm rooms with thick soft rugs and king-sized beds. Somewhere, a hot tub. Wireless internet, a common room with overstuffed sofas and a well-stocked entertainment center; someone was watching the presidential debate there when I arrive. A generous breakfast was served in the morning on fancy gold-rimmed dishes with an abundance of sparkling utensils.
But the place was supposed to evoke a "Tudor inn." Even knowing as little as I do about 15th and 16th century England, I'd have to give it low points for authenticity.
Shouldn't there be rushes on the floor? Stools and benches instead of sofas and easy chairs? Waxy candles and not chandeliers? Chamber pots instead of modern plumbing? Bread and ale for breakfast, and probably several people to a bed?
On second thought, maybe I shouldn't complain.
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