No Malia I didn't go to the library, I didn't really have the time, and I didn't realise you could go into the library. I thought it was like only for scholars and whatnot

I guess coming out of the House itself I was still almost in a daze, kind of not able to take everything in at that time.
As for the transformation/restoration of the house, it appeared to be very authentic, seemed just right for the period and the character of Keats.
From the pictures I've seen of how it used to look, it's a lot more subdued, less sumptuous and cluttered, much lighter in tone, less [for want of a better description] 'Victorian' than it used to be.
It was a strange experience, after all these years of reading of Keats and Wentworth Place and Fanny etc it was surprisingly pleasant to find how compact and homely the place seemed. I had always sort of imagined it to be a bit cold, featureless place but being there felt very natural, I felt very much at home, like I was in a place that had been lived in which I didn't really feel visiting the Keats-Shelley Memorial House in Rome. It was eerie also being in Keats parlour with the chairs arranged like Severn's famous painting and the little bookcases wondering at what angle he sat while reading. Did he turn over the page ends, did he use a bookmark, or scrap of paper to keep his place? Did he sit here once during his illness watching fanny walk by the window, unable to go to her?
You also get a sense being there of how maddening, how painful it must have been for both Keats and Fanny to be living cheek to jowl in that house with only walls between them, but the much thicker dictates of society separating them so.
Brown's parlour, like his bedroom also seems a bit more sumptuously appointed than Keats'. A nice touch also in here was the pictures of all Keats most important friends, relatives and correspondents on the wall.
Keats' bedroom itself [and this sounds cheesy but it's true] gave me a chill. Nothing unpleasant, I just felt a slight tinge walking in the room as passed the bed and reached the window as if I'd stepped over his grave somehow, disturbed his peace. It was a large enough room and sufficient but it can't have been easy to spend days weeks months there ill with such a nice view of the Hampstead and the heath from the window.
By the time I got back to the little gift shop near the entrance I signed the guestbook, bought some nice souvenirs and books and muttered some incoherent observations to the girl working there [and getting the address of this site confused HYPHEN NOT DASH!!

] I made my way into the garden and just sat there awhile under the veranda at the back of the house. Although obviously the House is in a much more built up area than it was in Keats' time, it was still a peaceful, serene abode. There were very few other visitors that afternoon and I felt privileged to be there and touched by it's humanity.
Oh and for those who do go, your ticket enables you to return for free for a period of a year after you bought it
Hope everyone enjoys the pictures.
"Oh what a misery it is to have an intellect in splints".