I confuse Aubusson and Audubon. You will know the former is a village in central France famous for the production of rugs – a French Axminster, if you will.
This appears to be the result of an inability to decide what to build. It’s castellated, has a steeply pitched roof more often seen aloft a continental château, looks as if it is covered in icing sugar and exhales a neo-gothic aroma. A riddle wrapped in a mystery – one I can solve.
“Come into the garden, Maud, For the black bat, night, has flown, Come into the garden, Maud, I am here at the gate alone; And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, And the musk of the rose is blown.” (From Maud, Part I, Alfred Lord Tennyson)