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Mapping our past

Regular readers of the blog will know that The Boy and I write every evening.  He’s much more diligent than I am on the blog, and his scribbling is coming on beautifully.

The latest project is mapping out his world.  You see, wherever we go, be it amusement park, stately home, or shopping mall, he has to have a map.  So night by night, installment by installment, we’re drawing a map of his world.  His houses are beautifully wonky.  His beaches are gloriously technicolour.  His depiction of a football match is sublime.  But my favourite so far is his favourite stately home.

One of our favourite family trips is to Tredegar House, a lovely National Trust home in Newport.  Once home to the aristocratic and debauched Morgan dynasty, Tredegar House has seen its share of domestic strife, wild partying, glorious architectural indulgence.  After death duties and the repressed sexuality of last-in-line Evan Morgan led to the fall of the dynasty without an heir, the House went through a dark age of inevitable institutional fifties-school-philistinism before a forward-looking and enlightened Newport Council saved it and, against the political tide of the time, preserved a gem.

As a family we love the peace, the history, the views, the efforts of the volunteers.  He loves the “gold room with the bums on the ceiling,” and the gentleman’s bathroom with the stuffed alligator, as any five-year-old boy rightly would.

Executed in his unique artistic style, this evening, we present to a waiting public, Master Griffin’s rendering of Tredegar House.



Personal views of a wordsmithing, sartorialist, horn-playing, state school Oxonian dad, rugby ref, recovering politico, and fan of vintage tailoring, Ralph Lauren style, and sharp writing.

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