My English Dream Trip has been thus far glorious in so many ways, not least in the sheer number of iconic and coveted (in my mind) places I’ve seen, heard, touched, smelled, tasted, and breathed in over the last fortnight. But today was exceptionally special and magical, because I finally turned into reality a very old dream I’ve dreamt, doubtlessly shared by dreamers across the world. This particular dream was felt dreamt (though I was non-the-wiser at the time) in 2004, when my 16-year-old self was first introduced to BBC’s 1995 Pride and Prejudice, with Colin Firth as Mr Darcy. Undoubtedly, when the episode first aired almost a decade earlier, the same dream asserted its place in countless hearts, which remained helpless to the lure of a single wet shirt. I was similarly captivated, and it could very well be said that the series was a contributing factor to my love of literature, English history and culture, and the nineteenth century. Without watching Pride and Prejudice, I probably wouldn’t have read Jane Austen relatively early in my life; and without Jane Austen, I wouldn’t have written Regency Love, or pursued an MA in Romantic and Victorian Literary Studies, or comelettes a PhD in Shakespeare studies on a scholarship.
In short, without the BBC’s Pride and Prejudice, I would have had a completely different life.
And even back in my teenage years, I discovered that the real-life estate is called Lyme Park, and that it was in England. But that was that–my untraveled, Chinese-Australian fangirl mind didn’t have the capacity or opportunity to know any more.
Except that I wanted a Pemberley cake for my 21st birthday. Of that, I was fairly certain.
Today, however, the dream became real. No longer the soft, sweet dream I could only dream, but the solid, somewhat wet reality of the ground beneath my feet and the stunning sight before my eyes.