Last year, when having a country frolic in the Peak District, I visited Chatsworth House.

I love old houses and I love history – a proud member of the National Trust I enjoy visiting historic buildings for a few reasons.

First – they are often filled with interesting architecture, amazing art works and fascinating artifacts.

Second – social history is something that has always interested me and these heritage sites can provide a glimpse into our part.

Third – I like to go to get annoyed.  As a firm believer in Socialism, the extreme wealth and decadence of the vastly wealthy unsettles me. Whether they live now or when back way, the concept of a few owning and controlling everything, whilst the rest struggle, is something I can never come to terms with. BUT, much like reading the Daily Mail once a year, I like to occasionally be made angry in this way to re-awaken the fire in my belly.

So Chatsworth House firmly and securely fits mostly into bracket three.  It is terrifyingly massive.  It is terrifylingly lavish.  It is terrifyingly a statement of vast inherited wealth. Don’t get me wrong, I love the fact places like this are open to the public and I loved getting to see it for myself, but I had a general sense of foreboding for the entire trip, unable to reconcile the fact this house was no doubt built on the suffering and exploitation of the masses.

But you haven’t come here for a political rant, so I will move on, now I have slid that seed of potential into this post.

How did I counteract my foreboding? I took photographs of little moments that intrigued me or made me laugh.

(Click on an image to view full size)


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