Andie and I are staying in an old country house. It’s her sister’s 30th, so a bunch of her friends (including us) are in attendance for the festivities.
Country houses are cool. I’m not talking about houses that are just in villages, since increasingly as villages become hotbeds for pretentious commuter relocation, more and more generic brick houses are springing up. I’m talking about proper country houses that might have once been part of a farm — or in some cases still are.
There’s something special about a house with rooms you have to duck to get into; a house with mysterious hobbit-size doors in the bedrooms and bathroom with an inexplicably small crawlspace behind; a house with a basement; in short, a house from which you could fend off (or at least survive) a zombie invasion.
That said, the olde-worlde nature of the building materials in most of the house would inevitably lead to Resident Evil-style situations with zombies bursting through wooden walls and punching their way into your room. And God help you if they find their way into that crawlspace. Although if they did they’d have to be hobbit-size zombies or midgets, which would be mildly terrifying.
Hmm. Not sure I can sleep now.
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Surely old farm like that would have some good old fashioned zombie repelling weaponry in the form of spades and what not?