As a wee child and an unsightly teen I never fully appreciated the beauty of tudor England. What was of interest, were the harsh shards of Daniel Libeskind and the sheer elegance of Gaudi. I was blind to the old world when the new world excited the imagination far more than the blackened oak and the wattle and daub (a mixture of branches, twigs and wait for it... cow pat - still makes me snigger like a child) which were used to create the distinctive black and white Tudor facade. My recent day out to the Last Drop in Bolton brought back all those memories of being a child on a school trip in my fluorescent yellow cagoule (tragic) whose sole purpose was gaining a back seat on the coach of our yearly school trip to one of the many Tudor mansions that grace our green hills. To begin with, I was far more interested in getting my mitts on the traditional English afternoon tea (mmmm... clotted cream - Homer doesn't know what he's missing). With a belly full of cherry scones and cucumber sarnies I began to appreciate the beauty around me and began snapping with my Canon 450D. Im still learning people... so please excuse my distinctly amateur pictorials.