I do love a house with rounded eaves. So charming! This particular one is called "Old Thatch" and is found in Bourne End, Buckinghamshire in England. It was once home to Enid Blyton, early 20th century British children's author, and her husband.
I remember reading Blyton's 'Famous Five' stories as a child and envisaging the young sleuths traipsing across the lush, rolling countryside, hiding in thickets and getting lost in large houses. But even then I never imagined a house quite like 'Old Thatch'.
Would it be easier to dream up wonderful imaginary characters in such a marvellous setting? Or is it the very lack of a fanciful environment that stirs one's imagination to action? Like those white-wall experiments in which the brain's need for stimulation impels it to hallucinate. I believe mine would frolic in the land of possibility either way.