Weekend Party at Dad's house.

Friday December 6th.

 Laura did the dog walk this morning, though I felt as right as ninepence, TBH, and then went swimming. While she was out I made some porridge for breakfast and had a personal call from the Milko who came to tell me the milk would have to go up to 60p a pint in the New Year. I think it is still worth it to have our milk delivered on the doorstep every morning. So I told her I was Ok with that. 

Laura brought two reminders [one each] from Sarah that our three month swim passes expire on Dec. 31st when she came back in. It just adds up doesn’t it? In the post came a letter from e.on telling me my electricity charges were going up by 3.8%. Good job I went on their website two months ago and had them fixed for two years at the old rate, eh?

 I had two calls when the Lollster had gone off to Uni. One from Mum asking about her wine and one from Mandy again! I explained to Mum that we were off up to Dad’s for the weekend and if she wanted to collect her four cases I’d leave them on the dining table. She was happy to wait until we came back down so she could see me rather than just let herself in like a thief in the night!

 I also had another visitor. Dominic actually made it up the lane to knock at my front door! Nobody who knows me uses the front door; they know to go through the passage way and along to the back one. I guess he was intimidated by walking through people’s back gardens, perhaps? He was really really nervous as Callie continued to bark as I let him in. I mean he was quite scared of her. It surprises me at times because I know she is a gentle as a lamb but her bark does sound terrifyingly loud and ferocious I suppose. I whapped her on the head with a cushion and she stopped, but went to give him a serious sniffing instead.

 Poor guy was stood there, almost literally quaking in his boots. I had to call her away in the end. I wonder if dogs can sense if someone is scared of them? I was able to get Callie to let him be and brought him on through to the kitchen. He had a seat and I made him a cup of tea. He was surprised by my twenty varieties of Earl Grey to choose from and seemed at a loss. In the ended he selected some from the elephant shaped caddie [Williamson’s]. I hoped that the reason for his visit wasn’t something to do with Laura and her job and being the forthright person I am, I asked him straight out.

It wasn’t la bellissima bambina at all, it was to deliver a present.

It turns out he wants to thank my Dad for bringing him some of Hilmar’s wine so he has brought a voucher for a complimentary meal for four at the restaurant for Dad. Isn’t that sweet? I explained that we were going up to his house tonight so I would give it to him almost immediately. He is still not entirely convinced that Laura is a maths undergraduate, he cannot comprehend how someone so beautiful could be interested in something so dull.

I went and fetched a few of her note books from the study to show him. They are immaculate. Tiny neat handwriting, rows of figure, graphs, charts. Her work looks like a text book itself. I am not sure if they convinced him but he certainly was impressed. So was I, TBH, especially a fractal she had drawn [inside the back cover of one of her books] which had the words “Laura loves Vicki” reworked in it over and over again. This was particularly affecting for me because it was in one of her note books from when she was a sixth former! [That’s before we were even an item!]

I offered Dom a second cup, and remembering my manners asked him if he’d like some cake with it. He said, “Do you have some?” Well, no, why would I ask otherwise? I nodded and told him it was one of my lemon meringues, there were probably two slices left. OMG. He went into bloody raptures about the thing! He asked several times if I had actually made it. Then he went on about how delicious it was. How he couldn’t believe I would be such a good baker! Thanks a bunch Dominic! I don’t think he meant it to be insulting, I am putting it down to his none too perfect English. He said he remembered Laura had mentioned something about me being a wizard in the kitchen and he had just dismissed it from his head.

We then had a long chat about what sorts of things I baked and cooked. He told me about his childhood in Italy and then South London. How he’d always wanted to cook. It was fascinating. He finally wobbled off at about 11 am. It was really weird having him pay me a visit. I do like him a lot. He is sweet and funny and he does amazing food at his restaurant, although he does employ a chef he likes to “keep his hand in”. He also fawns over Laura like she was his daughter.

The Italian’s surrogate daughter and our French floozie arrived home at 1pm all ready to zoom off.

They were like a pair giggly school girls, “We’ve done a bunk!” Cried Laura! We stowed Felice’s car on our front garden and the four of us set off for Dad’s house. 10 minutes later we were back again as Feli had brought her work bag, not her travel bag, from her car! Honestly!

Laura drove us without incident to an empty house just north of Cockermouth. Louisa and Dad were nowhere to be found. I texted the Aged P to let him know we’d arrived, although I may have well as sent up smoke signals, as he never uses his mobile.

 Wrong! Inside two minutes I had a reply saying “Make yourselves at home, we are in Carlisle at the Christmas market.” That was a first.

Feli was stunned as we’d driven along the A66. The mountains were all out of the cloud and Skiddaw had snow on top. She thought the whole place was magnificent. I knew we had too little time to walk in the fells, so we all took Callie up Tallentire Hill where we could see the entire north western vista of the Lake District spread out before me. I started at Meal Fell in the extreme east and named every fell top for her, sweeping from East to West ending at Knock Murton above Cogra Moss.

Feli said, “You’re just making those names up!” Laura came to my defence with, “No she isn’t. She has climbed them all, and I have done over half of them with her too!”

I gave her a huge hug and kissed her.

Feli then wanted to know what the huge concrete shape we were standing next to was, so I explained what trig points were and how they were used to triangulate height above sea level. She’d never heard of them.

As we walked back into the village Laura said (in the most depressing voice) “I suppose I’d better go and see my folks…” I asked her if she wanted us to come with us, but she said if her Dad was there it would only wind him up and she’d not be stopping, if her Mum was alone she’d be about an hour.

Back home the Aged P and Louisa had arrived with the largest piece of hand reared pork for our evening meal (unless we wanted to go to the pub?) The pub won! The pork was from the Carlisle Christmas Market, which, according to Louisa was just a continental market in disguise. The meat had come from the Made in Cumbria section. The place was quite busy though and they’d had paella from a Spanish stall, which was delicious.

Laura arrived after an hour, her Dad was away on a job until Sunday morning (he’s a lorry driver). We showed Feli her room and told her she could either use the family bathroom or the en-suite in my room. She fell in love with my room. It’s hard not to really. It’s still how I decorated it when I was a sixth-former, so it’s lacy and flowery and has fairy lights and a couple of Maxfield Parrish prints. We told her she could kip on my sofa bed if she wanted but she said she didn’t want to be a goosebump. [I had to explain it was gooseberry!]

She loved the view from the north window and asked what the water was. So I told her it was the Solway Firth and the land beyond it was Scotland. She wanted to know how far Scotland was, and could we go? I had to disappoint her by telling her although it was only about 15 miles across the Solway, the shortest land route took us into Carlisle, through there and on to Gretna. That is about 35 miles. Round to the bit you can see clearly from my window: Southerness Point and Criffel is about 65 miles by road.

"If you come and stay again," I promised her, "we can all drive round – on a nice day!"

Dinner in the pub was fun. Dad is well known in there and even his gobby cow daughter is welcomed by name. I think the locals were taken with Felice and her Gallic ways and she turned on the flirting to almost every guy in there!

Dad whispered to me, “Is she always like this?”

 I replied, “Only when she is unsure of herself, or nervous.”

 “Bloody funny way of showing you’re nervous, if you ask me!”

 “She’s French Dad!”

Laura and I had trout from Gilcrux Sprngs, which is the first I have had for a while. (It wasn’t included on the seafood platter on Tuesday night.) Dad and Louisa had the venison and Felice decided she would try the Cumberland sausage. She was amazed when this roll of sausage appeared on her plate held together in its swirl by a wooden skewer. She got stuck in though, like a person who has been fasting for weeks.

When she’d finished she declared that whoever made the sausage was obviously French. As most of the English sausages she’d had before were bland and tasteless.

We cracked two bottles of Dad’s old Dornfelder back home and planned our day on Saturday. If it was fine enough we were going to take her up Vicki’s Fell and then onto the Kirkstile Inn for lunch. In the evening we had Dad’s old wine party to look forward to.

Feli asked, “What about the afternoon?”

Louisa chimed in with, “Believe me, love, you’ll be too tired to want to do anything in the afternoon!”

At the time that seemed hilarious, writing it now makes me wonder….


 Saturday December 7th.

 Grey and mild best sums up the morning.

 The cloud ceiling looked low, but it wasn’t raining at Dad’s, always a fairly reliable sign for what the weather in the Lorton Valley will be doing, so after breakfast we set off in two cars for Lanthwaite Wood car park.

I'd had a long chat with Lollster over night and I promised I would not over do anything, and at the first sign of feeling unwell I would head back to the car and just drive round to the Kirkstile. She seemed happy with this, and to be honest, I did feel almost like my old self again. Just shows that four days of doing nothing might just be what the doctor ordered, LOL!

I spent a good hour showing her just how recovered I was, before we went to sleep!

 As if there was an anti-Vicki conspiracy going on, Dad spelled out the same thing to me in the car park, but Laura did say if I felt bad, she would come down with me and take me to the pub. I can’t complain I suppose.

 Callie and Dad’s three dogs made a bee-line for the river and of course they had a splash, paddle, drink and swim before we’d even set off. The car park had only two other vehicles in it but it was only 9.45. Early for the grockles, who would still be in their hotels and guest houses.

 After much debate and consultation with sickly daughter, we decided to go the direct route to the top of the fell. This is pretty steep for about 100 yards, then it levels off; we scramble through a rock face; then have some more levelled off sections through the woods, before a final grassy pull to the top. It really is a doddle.
A granny walk! Even me feeling ill could manage it, me feeling better - it would be a breeze. The steep section does sort out the fit from the unfit, or the well from the unwell. I was good for the first 60 yards or so and then had a major coughing fit. Dad was all for sending me back, but I insisted I’d be just fine.

Laura came and hugged me and whispered in my ear, “You die on this hill and I’ll never forgive you!”

I was fine really, the only illness I had left was just a cough.

On the level section I felt good and through the rock face we had to go really slowly as Feli found it a bit scary. I guess it could be scary if you aren’t used to it. The drop is only about forty feet but it looks like a chasm. The level bit through the woods was all closing down for winter. The branches were almost all denuded and the bracken had disappeared.

At the intake wall we had a surprise, someone had put up a brand, spanking, new gate. It certainly makes a great change from the rickety stile and dog flap that were there before. [Yours Truly put the dog flap in a few years ago. I know you shouldn’t but getting Callie and all Dad’s dogs over the rickety stile was a nightmare, so one Saturday morning, armed with a few simple tools and a piece of wire mesh, I had made a dog flap. Don’t tell the National Trust! I told you I was a practical girl.]

There were hundreds of newly planted trees in the hollow below the summit, all in their brown corrugated plastic tubes. They seemed to be a mixed bag of deciduous trees, which will make a change from all the pines.

You get a brilliant view from this little summit. It is normally called Lanthwaite Hows but we call it Vicky’s Fell. It is mine because Dad gave it to me when I was a little girl. [OK, it isn’t his to give, but it was a lovely gesture for a small wee fell walking novice.] When there is no cloud you can see right down the valley to Great Gable and just poking between Gable’s shoulder and Kirk Fell is a tiny sliver of Scafell Pike. It was too cloudy today, but Felice loved the view anyway. She challenged me to name the Fell tops. [Dad told her not to have a bet!] So I started at Harrot Hill, just above Cockermouth and worked my way all the way round to Hatteringill Head on the opposite side of the valley to Harrot Hill.

Even Dad was impressed! [I am a show off at times!] I could also show her where Tallentire Hill was, way off to the north.

 Laura came and hugged me as Louisa poured out some tea from one of the flasks. “I love you, you know? How are you feeling?” I told her I was feeling perfect and even more so because I loved her too.

The tea had whiskey in it, which was a surprise but welcome. We then had a pow-wow as to which route to take down to the Lake side. We were heading for the Kirkstile Inn for lunch, which we pointed out to Feli who said, “But it’s miles away!”

I suggested we down cut through the diagonal slice that would bring us back to the fish ladder direct, so that is what we did. The fish ladder at the end of Crummockwater is my absolute favourite place in the whole world. There are several benches placed on the shore so you can look south along the length of the lake [to Gable again in the distance]. I could sit her all day just taking in the scenery. In the summer this is a marvellous place for swimming. As a toddler I was allowed to splash about to my heart’s content in the water as the lake floor shelves away really slowly so it is relatively safe.

There are several great pools just down river from the fish ladder which we began to use when I was older and a more proficient swimmer. One had a rope swing out over it which was brilliant; the branch which held it broke off ages ago, sadly. Dad and I strung an old climbing rope across the pool from the same tree to one on the far bank, but the farmer who owns the far bank cut it down apparently! Old meany!

The stroll to the Kirkstile is just that, a stroll. No hills, no surprises, just a pleasant amble round the foot of Melbreak and there you are. You are allowed to take dogs into the pub before 6pm so we scurried in to monopolise the fire. We soon had four steaming dogs drying off and spreading wet dog smell through the bar. [I had beef baguette and chips. Everyone either had a baguette or soup and a sandwich. The pub had its mulled wine machine on the counter again so I had a huge glass of that, too.] 

The return journey traces the route from the fish ladder and then you can either stay close to the banks of the Cocker or take the woodland path. Dad decided the woodland path would give the pups a chance to dry out a bit, so we went that way.

We were back at Dad’s by 2pm. We were all showered and refreshed by 3pm and most of us decided to turn in for a swift siesta!

Louisa was right!

The Party.

It started at about 8pm. Dad had invited loads of people from the village, several of his University colleagues, a few sailing or climbing chums and some of the quiz team. Molly and Eric were invited [Laura’s folks] but as Eric was working Molly came alone. 

The salmon was huge. It was done en-croute and almost filled the dining table by itself. This was surrounded by dish after dish of salads of various kinds; dips and crudities; other sliced meats; a whole array of pickles. Not a bloody vol au vent or open sandwich in sight! There was a huge pile of sliced baguettes, but sword sized ones, not the mini ones we had at the pub for lunch. The main reason for the "do" was to drink up Dad’s logjam of wine, so there were bottles and bottle of Uncle Hilmar’s wine for everyone. All the guests were told NOT to bring any wine, they could bring other alcohol if they wished but the wine was on the house.

Dad has done this for ever. [It used to be Mum and Dad who did it originally, which reflection made me a bit sad. However, it was nice the tradition was continuing.]

My first experience of being drunk was at one for these affairs when, with a cousin down from Scotland, we disappeared behind the sofa with a half bottle of port. I don’t remember this, of course, but it gets retold quite often. We were both very wobbly and incomprehensible, apparently. The cousin, unfortunately, is often like that to this day.

Dad’s colleague Michael was there; as you’d expect. He is the one whom I snogged for ages after Dad’s wedding in 2012. I was anticipating trouble from that direction but he seemed to have eyes for our exotic French friend and spent ages engaged in conversation with her. Phew! Molly had a great time and bent my ear about how the move to Sheffield was being the making of her daughter. She was more assertive and outgoing and had been transformed in a way that she hadn’t been at Lancaster. There, it seems, she was a continuation of the shrinking violet she had been all through school. I had to smile to myself at the thought of some of the sexual activities this shrinking violet had dreamed up for her and her girlfriend! She was no violet in the bedroom! I obviously didn’t tell Molly this!

I circulated and chatted, flirted and joked, ate and drank. I thought it was a Swell Party. I was able to talk to almost all the guests, even Mr Radford, who treated me with a formality which I found quite amusing – especially when you consider he thought he was on a promise with me last year!

 The dining table looked like a plague of locusts had descended; the salmon had all gone by 10.30. I had to slice up another dozen baguettes during the evening and we replenished three of the larger salad dishes over and over again; the Pasta one seemed to empty as soon as we filled it.

Earlier I had counted up the guests in the house and we had over 60 people munching, slurping, laughing and frolicking. Dad sent me and Laura on room watch at one point and we turfed two couples out of bedrooms, reminding them that the party was downstairs not up in mine or Dad & Louisa’s bedrooms!

That was a bit embarrassing to be honest!

As is typical with these things, the people with kids vanished around midnight leaving a rump of hard core, die hard party goers who wanted to continue into the wee small hours. By about 2am there were a dozen of us left in our lounge, squashed onto sofas, perched on bean seats, two to an armchair [Felice and Michael] and just sprawled on the floor with their heads against some furniture or other as they saw fit.

Laura and I had hogged the two seater sofa by the hifi, and so were put in charge of the music. This was a task we found rather awkward as I had arranged myself in such a way that Loll’s naughty little fingers could keep moving in and out of my underwear as we sat there. It was heaven. Thank goodness most CDs last an hour. On the change of CD we swapped positions and I did to her what she’d been doing for me! As we were sort of hosts, I thought we couldn’t just up and leave and head for the bedroom, which was a pity.

The last guest departed at 3.45 and Laura and I walked Callie through the village for her final walk of the day. We had a major snog in the village bus shelter [I bet it has been used for that purpose for many years] and then rushed back home where we threw each other’s clothes to the wind and just went for it.


 Sunday December 8th.

 I had a lie in this morning. I didn’t get up until 7.45.

I took my temperature before getting dressed 36.2! Rah rah rah. I was about 36.5 on Saturday but I am normally 36.2 [or .1 or .3] so I know I am well again.
I felt it too! I don’t get hangovers from Wine, for some reason. I do from spirits and things like punch, but not wine. Although to be fair, I probably only drank one bottle the whole night.

The Aged P was also up and about clearing the debris. I asked if he wanted his three taking out with Callie, he said yes, so I wended my way through the village with four dogs in tow. It was only just becoming light and there was a faint drizzle in the air. I decided to take them only half way up Tall Hill and was pleased I did because as I rounded the last bend you couldn’t see the top of the hill at all. It had a hat of cloud covering its head. Looking south you could see this cover was like a blanket over all the fells, even the lower ones.

Not a day for walking in the National Park. Back home I helped Dad clear up the blitz in the kitchen and dining room and then we stood and had a hug in the kitchen. He kissed my forehead. I love it when he does that. He started to smiled, “Did you really evict Mrs Johnston from my bedroom?”

“Yes, about quarter to twelve. We must have caught them just right, as they were still clothed, lying on the bed eating each other’s faces! God knows what I’d have done if I had found then actually bonking.” 

“I expect you’d have fetched me?”

 “I expect I’d have probably filmed them and used it as blackmail material…” We had a laugh at that. 

“Speaking of blackmail material, I think your French friend took Michael to bed with her last night!” 

“Oh bugger!”

I reflected on how in character that was for Feli, as we continued to tidy up.

Dad has this system of using disposable plates and cutlery for his parties [years of experience] so we spent most of the time just piling stuff into bin bags or ferrying bottles to the recycle wheelie bin. We rationalised the remaining food items into fewer bowls which we put in the fridge and then stacked the dishwasher with the rest. Apart from a swift vacuuming, the majority of the clear up was done.

Dad said, “Fancy a full English?”

 “Do I?!”

So we set to and began cooking a proper fry up breakfast. Dad did sausage, tomato and bacon; I did mushrooms, beans and fried eggs. We’d just plated up two meals when Laura and Louisa appeared.

They had our two breakfasts and we started again. This time when we’d finished no-one else turned up so we joined the 2 “L”s at the kitchen table. Yummy in my Tummy.

I asked what we were going to do today. Laura said she’d better go home to see her Dad or she’d just get an ear bashing later. I had just said I would take the dogs onto Maryport beach when Feli put in an appearance. She didn’t want a fried breakfast and the very mention made her go a little green around the gills. She had some toast and asked what we were doing. Laura explained that I was walking the dogs and she was going to see her Folks. Feli asked if she could come with me, so after brekkers we piled into Dad’s Citroen and headed for Maryport.

The clouds were still quite low but the earlier drizzle had dried up. I drove through Maryport, which has a look of an Eastern European country about it to my jaundiced eyes, and round past the harbour to park at the start of the prom.

The tide was out so I slipped my walking boots on [Feli was in borrowed Wellies] and we went out on the beach right to the water’s edge. This is quite a way out and we had to cross old red sandstone bedrock and loads of loose boulders as well as many streamlets of sea water making their way back to the Solway.

The dogs chased and gambolled like puppies and all of them were well trained enough to not go into the sea without being given permission. One wet dog to dry is a trouble, four are a riot!

I fished two ball wangers from my rucksack, gave a ball and wanger to Feli and then I ball wanged along the sandy bits of the beach, Feli had a go with hers, too, and we had dogs scampering all over the place retrieving wanged balls.

We did all this as we walked slowly north towards Allonby. When we got level with the golf course at the end of the prom I told her it was time to turn back. She seemed a bit disappointed but brightened when I told that we weren’t just retracing our steps, we were going along the cliff top path to the Roman Museum.

The cliff isn’t a rock one, like at St Bee’s further south, it is more sand dunes and boulders but it rises nicely up to about 100 feet above the waves. The view across to Scotland is even better here, because of that height and I was able to point out all the places I knew along the Galloway coast line.

At the Roman Museum we stopped and Felice said she’d like to have a swift look round if that was OK with me. I was fine with it and gave her an hour, by which time I’d have walked the dogs back to the car and driven round and up to the museum car park. Before I left, though, I had a cup of their delicious hot chocolate drink which is a treat I used to have here when I was younger. I chatted with the curator for a while whilst drinking my chocolate and was surprised to learn a lot of the staff were volunteers.

Seems like a nice thing to do, doesn’t it?

I sauntered down the cliff path to the car park and wiped the dogs’ paws in turn. That was a long old job with four to do. I then drove through the town and up to the museum.

No Feli. So I sat for a few minutes until she came out. She thought it was amazing that so many artefacts could have been found here so I was able to don my historian’s hat and explain the Solway defence system to her as we went back to Dad’s.

Laura, her Mum and Dad and Stephen came round for lunch, to help demolish the pork. I could see Eric couldn’t quite work out Feli at all. He is quite funny at times.

Laura’s folks wandered off back home at about 4pm, just as it was going dark and we packed up for the drive home. Laura drove the first bit then I finished the drive over Woodhead.

We arrived back in the village at 7pm which wasn’t too bad. Feli scooted off to Crosspool immediately and we unpacked and showered before a relaxing snog, snuggle and cuddle on the sofa, listening to Mozart. I asked Laura if she thought Feli had slept with Michael. She didn’t know. Felice hadn’t said anything about it on our walk, nor dropped any hints.

Maybe dad was wrong?