I’d hazard a guess that most of us dressed as princesses, wielded plastic swords or wore cardboard crowns at fast food restaurant birthday parties when we were kids, imagining we were blue-blooded royals or defenders of their kingdoms on horseback while wearing suits of armour.
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Those who fantasised about being court jesters probably already lived out their fantasies as class clowns at school.
Last week, I got even closer to the regal role play when I slept in noble quarters within the grounds of a castle.
Not an actual 700-year-old medieval European stronghold, just one that looks like it.
I first went to Kryal Castle, near Ballarat in Victoria’s Central Highlands or Goldfields region, as a child.
Then, with a boyfriend as an adult.
Then, with a husband and our small kids.
Then, with my teenagers.
We’d never stayed the night until our most recent visit.
We were over that way, sadly, for a funeral, which was fairly early in the morning.
We could either stay the night before or get up well before the sun and go that morning.
Option B is not appealing for someone who often doesn’t get to bed until a couple of hours before daylight.
So option A it was.
And because I like to stack itineraries, maximise bang for my buck and find dual purposes for pretty much everything so as to not waste a minute, I thought why not stay in the castle instead of regular lodgings?
We have to stay somewhere anyway.
What I didn’t know before I booked the suite is that when you stay at Kryal Castle, access to the theme park inside the grounds is included on both days either side of your stay, including at night after hours.
When I found out, I felt considerably guilty for being excited about the experience on the eve of what was a very sad day.
I guess grief and joy can exist at the same time.
When we arrived in Leigh Creek, about 10km from Ballarat, our room wasn’t ready.
We were sent into the castle to kill some time while we waited for a text.
It didn’t come until more than an hour later, but it mattered little because the village and arena were buzzing, with a themed ‘Dragons at Kryal Castle’ event on that Sunday keeping us well entertained in the interim.
We watched the puppeteered dragons, threw axes, had a drink and a snack at the tavern, saw some jousting and patted the horses in their stables afterwards, explored the specialty shops, walked up and down the towers, went through the maze and tread carefully through the torture chamber as blood-curdling screams rang out through the speaker system within.
It was dark inside, so it wouldn’t have mattered whether it was night or day; the effect would have been the same.
However, let me tell you, to hear those sound effects pierce the cold night air on the outside of the building as you’re wandering down a deserted cobblestone path towards a stylised ancient graveyard as mist falls low across the darkness, long after the crowds (and staff) have left the castle grounds for the day, was a spine-chilling experience.
Excitingly adrenaline-filled too, but disconcerting.
I’m not sure if the towers were meant to be left open, or the sound system left on, but luckily (I think), for us, they were and added to the atmospheric drama of the darkened grounds.
Resident cats startled us when they appeared from the shadows, while the shrill call of a caged peacock named Kevin caused a couple of jump scares as we explored in the night.
My teens and I spooked ourselves until our phone batteries died and our nerves were decimated and then returned to our royal quarters through our arched door.
We unhooked the tassels made of silky thread from the heavy curtains to draw them on the arched windows from which we’d watched the sun set over the rolling distant hills earlier, and then studied the opulent tapestry hanging on the wall before getting ready for beds that were fit for kings.
Alas, instead I woke up feeling like the princess from The Princess and the Pea.
Of course, it had nothing to do with the quality of the beds and everything to do with the quality of my back, which doesn’t cope well on many mattresses, including my own if I lay for too long.
But in my fantasy world, I like to believe, just like the young noblewoman in that story turned out to be, maybe my extreme “royal sensitivity” suggests that I, too, am a real princess after all.
Maybe fairytales do exist.