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The day began with a sleep-in, a lovely breakfast, and an accidental but quite enjoyable phone call to my friend Shannon; following which I decided to disturb the local squirrel population. Melville castle, my lodgings for the evening, was (and presumably still is) situated on a beautifully gardened 52 acres, complete with water fountains, chickens, stables, Shetland ponies, and a high ropes course for all your royal needs. Naturally, the first thing I managed to find was the fence. Moving away from the border, I spent the next half an hour wandering about, a habit the welcome booklet actively endorses, but one which their gardening team doesn't, judging by the bramble on the paths. It does, however, make for a more interesting walk. Melville castle itself is very beautiful and grand; I think it may in fact be my favourite castle thus far. However, it does, as it seems every good castle should, come with a rather scandalous history; largely that of the lovely Lady Mary Scott who, having married a Frenchman, decided to return to Scotland and, in disgust with Edinburgh, start her own mini France. Thus, Melville castle was built. The Lady Mary then saw fit to marry her cousin (her previous husband since deceased), only to discover that, well, he was a bit of an illegitimate son (in a non-literal sense). No longer enjoying his company quite so much, and finding it rather inconvenient how little he liked her enjoying that of her chief friend and advisor, she decided to give said friend (Roozie, I think) Melville castle, in a more wealthy and grown up version of sticking her tongue out. Roozie then proceeded to plant a giant tree for the Lady Mary in front of his castle and she, being of a somewhat competitive nature, felt the need to return the favour by planting five of her own. Deciding that he couldn't stand to see such blatant tree-planting going on under his nose, her husband had Roozie murdered by repeated stabbing, with the Lady Mary watching. It seemed karma had something of a hand when he suffered the same fate, but with the majority of the court pointing fingers at Mary, she chose to flee... straight into the arms of her lovingly traitorous cousin Elizabeth the First, who felt the whole situation would be best solved by Lady Mary's head and shoulders spending some time apart. The castle then passed through a few hands, eventually falling into disrepair, until it was bought again in 1993 and refurbished to become a four star hotel, where Expedia sale scouring students like myself can now come and gawk at the fact that they're staying in a castle. I'm not entirely sure what the moral of that story is, but just to be on the safe side, if you're in Britain, maybe don't plant a tree.