My new house and it's associated ghosts, nooks and crannies...etc

Well, I have recently become the 'Care-taker' (aother wonderfully fogey-ish title) of a large, dusty pile in Hampstead, which looks across London over the rooftops of Olivier's old house and, next door, the Du Maurier's. It has been the most amazing experience having my own place and this creaking old house and wonderful Hampstead have become a home for me. Despite being a 'Georgian' officially, I am becoming rather more Victorian. The house has been shocking in some ways too. I found the ashes of the old lady, whose house it had been until December, in a box at the end of my bed (they have since been removed...I hope not to the spice cupboard!), most of the fittings have not been changed or moved since my Grandparents used to come here in the Thirties, the main 'Kitchen' is the former Butler's Pantry and is the size one would imagine (complete with Butler's sink and servant's bells) and until yesterday an extremely heavy brass bed was dangling, Dali-like, off the top landing banisters...it was not wanted in my cousins room (usurped by a laminated Ikea bed) and hadn't really fitted down the stairs, hence the way it got stuck scaring one half to death on ascending the stairs. So there it is, a 28 year old living in this mad old 'pad' and loving Hampstead, Why?

Hampstead has it all. I am a country boy at heart and this 'village' is as close as you get in London proper, which Hampstead is...my friends in Fulham would challenge this! The architecture is wonderful. Fenton House is one of the finest examples of an early 18th Century merchant's house, Kenwood, in it's lovely park, is an Adam masterpiece. Church Row is a perfect Georgian Street and the wealth of lesser houses, some Georgian, some Regency, Victorian and the rest is mind-boggling. I know 'old' Hampstead is gradually disappearing...the long established x-European intellectual set is dying out to be replaced by wealthy bankers and their smartly dressed children, but the charm of it is still there. My cousin came down from Scotland on a break from University and we all had supper and afterwards he and I, charged with wine in crystal tumblers, stumbled around Hampstead, up and down its grand promenades, cobbled alleys and tree lined drives. It was just magic. Henry said to me that we could be arrested for drinking in public. I'm sure the police have better things to do than lock up tipsy architectural historians...I hope!