Vicky's airport taxi service. [My brother so owes me for this....]

Friday 7^th February.

We both walked Callie this morning; it was really cute walking arm in arm down the lane through Onesacre. I think Callie was surprised to have two mistresses with her this morning, even though she does absolutely nothing Laura tells her [which I think is quite funny but Laura thinks is so annoying].

We did the obligatory 100 lengths of the pool and had the usual gossip with Sarah who is usually the fount of all local gossip. I asked her if there had been any more news on the arson and she was embarrassed to admit that well had dried up. This has fuelled speculation in the village that it was an inside job, done for the insurance money. Where do people get their ideas from?

We zoomed off a bit earlier to Uni as we were leaving a bit early too. I had planned to getaway at 12 noon and that is exactly what we did. Even stopping to pick up Callie meant we were at Dad’s by 3pm. We unloaded our stuff, leapt into Dad’s car and went to collect his wolf pack. They were excited to see Laura and me but even more excited to meet up with their chum Callie. In order to run off some of their excess energy I drove from Aspatria down onto the Allonby foreshore. The B5300 was reopened but we didn’t drive to Dubmill Point, we parked up in the north end car park [where the toilet block used to be] and walked along the beach up to where the old wooden jetty that used to stick out from Dubmill Point can still be seen poking out from the sand.

The road and concrete wall didn’t seem too badly damaged at all from the beach side, there was hardly any sand there though, and it is usually heaped up along the concrete. There were yellow flashing lights and some machinery was obviously doing something along the road by the farmhouse but it was invisible from the beach.

The dogs chased about like idiots for a while and then settled into a steady stroll alongside us as we battled the head wind back to the car. We decided to have our meal at the Horse and Jockey in Parsonby rather than cook something. It was very tasty [I had ham and eggs] but the prices have certainly gone up since the new couple took over. Still, the place is a hell of a lot cleaner than before which can’t be a bad thing.

My new found taste for beer didn’t extend to the bog standard selection on the bar and so we had a mini bottle of wine each with the meal. I am sorry to have to admit I succumbed to a chocolate dessert [hot choc fudge cake with ice cream] whilst the Lollster had apple pie and custard. I think I am allowed an indulgence what with all the walking and swimming I do. That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.

I called Phil, when we were settled back at Dad's, to just remind him that he owed me big time for doing what he'd volunteered to do. He tried to play the expectant father ploy again but I told him that it was so much bullshit and his card was now well and truly marked. I hadn't meant to be so unpleasant down the phone to him but he sounded so smarmy and greasy when he answered I became rather combative instead. Some times my brother can be a complete GIT!

We slumped on Dad’s larger sofa and snuggled up watching a DVD film – Amelie, one of my favourites. Laura hadn’t seen it before. She thought it was delightful. I am so pleased. I don’t think I could have borne it if she’d hated it.

The dogs had a final stroll to half way up Tall Hill and I returned to find Laura gently snoring on the sofa. When I shook her shoulder to rouse her for bed she suddenly blurted out, “Marshmallows!” We had a fit of the giggles wondering what on earth she meant by it. She claims she has no idea. It was very silly though.

Saturday Feb 8^th.

We were up with the larks, actually that is a lie, I was up before the larks walking the dogs and then we piled into Dad’s big Citroen for the drive to collect the Aged Parent and the Wicked Step-Mum from Glasgow airport. [She isn’t wicked at all. In fact we get on quite well, really.] Luckily the ring road round Carlisle was almost empty and there were no weather incidents to hold us up on the M74. We had decided to wait until we got to the airport before we had breakfast but my stomach was feeling extremely rebellious with every motorway service area we passed.

I ignored the gurgling noises from under my seat belt and ploughed on regardless. We parked up and because we were starving we had a cursory glance at the arrival board before heading to the food section for two bacon butties. [That was just for me!] Their plane was ahead of time so we barely had time to scoff our brekkers before heading down to arrivals. In what couldn’t have been orchestrated better by an Olympic Opening Ceremony Planner [note my ultra-topical reference! Oh please yourselves…], we had been there under 10 minutes before the happy travellers arrived. They wanted something to eat! So we trooped back to the cafeteria where I had a cherry scone and the AP and WS-M had more bacon butties! Laura had a toasted tea cake but asked the woman for a “teasted toe cake” which caused a great deal of mirth.

Dad said he was happy for me to drive them back [cheeky bugger] so I religiously followed the speed limit all the way to Carlisle which meant we were a little longer getting home than usual but what the heck. It didn’t matter to either of the back seat passengers, we had not quite hit the M74 before they were fast asleep.

Back at Dad’s we discussed what we would have for tea and the consensus was we’d have a take away Chinese meal. There is a local firm which delivers to Dad’s village so that took care of any mucking about with food prep and cooking of the same. The happy travellers went of for a shower and a snooze and the Lollster and I took the dogs to Cockermouth for a walk around Harris Park and to get the newspapers, which we had forgotten completely at the airport!

The River Cocker seemed very high as is rushed to join the Derwent but on past the confluence the new anti-flood measures seemed to be spiriting any excess water away from the town. The dogs are quite well behaved on their leads through town but there is always someone stops and wants to talk with me [us] about them. Usually it is someone who knows Dad. This afternoon was no exception.

“Those look like John’s dogs” Said this oldish guy I had not met or didn’t remember.

“They are. I am walking them for him and getting our newspaper.”

“Ah, so you must be Victoria, then… I have heard about you.”

That didn’t sound too good but he didn’t elaborate. ”Tell him Harry said Hello, will you?”

With that he walked off. I thought it was a little strange that he didn’t want to stop and gossip any further. Usually Dad’s cronies stop and chew the fat for hours and hours and I have to make my excuses to get away.

When we got back and I had finished the Times Jumbo crossword the Aged parent put in an appearance looking dishevelled and smelling of soap and talcum powder. I mentioned Harry to Dad and was greeted with a blank look. I described in minute detail what had transpired and Laura put in a description of what he was wearing, as if that may jog Dad’s memory. It didn’t. So we are still no wiser as to whom this Harry person is, but he knew Dad was called John and I was Victoria, how weird! Plus he recognised the dogs.

We moved on to more pressing matters and Dad & Louisa perused the takeaway menu while I opened a bottle of Spatburgunder ready to drink with the meal. Dad phoned our order through and we sat and waited with our glasses primed. The meal hadn’t arrived by the time we’d drained the first bottle, so Dad went and opened another, Rulander this time. Rulander must’ve made the delivery chap speed up because we hadn’t got any poured when he arrived.

There were absolutely masses of food and we made a sterling effort to demolish as much of it as we could. There was a little left to slip to the pups with their dinner but on the whole we’d done a thorough job of clearing it away. We added a third bottle to the list as we sat down in the main lounge for a post repast rest. Portugeiser Weissherbst. By eleven we had added an empty Dornfelder and Riesling bottle to the pile. I knew I was worse for wear by now, so I grabbed my coat and strolled the dogs in an effort to clear my head before hitting the charp. It sort of helped, I think, but was undone by Dad slipping me a glass of Kummel when I came in from hanging up my coat and wiping the dogs paws.

Laura was abed when I crashed through the bedroom door. She didn’t wake at my banging about or when I flopped onto the bed rather tipsily. When I turned the light off I could see Callie on her beanseat giving me one of those disparaging doggy looks! Even my dog is a critic!

Sunday February 9^th.

Mmmm… felt rather more fragile than I had expected this morning, maybe I had drunk the lion’s share of the wine yesterday after all. Once I had a hearty breakfast nestling in my tum I felt right as rain and because it looked like there may be chance of a stroll in the fells I awoke my beloved with a bacon butty and the offer of a walk in Borrowdale.

The walk didn’t quite go as planned. The road into Borrowdale was closed! I asked a person at the Lakeside car park, where we eventually pitched up, about it and was told that the road had collapsed into the lake and was being repaired from tomorrow! Wow! That was a surprise. I have been focusing my attention on Somerset and the Cumbrian coast and hadn’t even considered the Lakes themselves. We paid up for the parking and caught the anti-clockwise ferry to Hawse End. This was quite tricky with four large dogs in tow! From Hawse End we strolled along the lake shore towards Shepherd’s Crag; to say it was bit wet is to underestimate the word wet.

The fells around had a huge covering of snow with the snow line at about 600metres I would guess. It looked like any walk at high level would need an ice axe and crampons. I know what I am doing with those items of kit but Laura has never used them at all. Better to stay low and safe than risk injury or worse by going higher.

The Chinese Bridge section was a challenge, to say the least! Luckily, the S.C. café was open and we had a huge pot of tea and some try bake cake. It was a plum crumble, piping hot and smothered in custard. 

Delicious.

We strolled back to Keswick, or rather paddled [!] and saw the bit of the road where the piece had subsided. It looks like it will be a tricky job to repair. I guess Grange will be quite busy traffic wise for a while as the road through Portinscale, past Swinside and into Grange, is the only route from Keswick to Borrowdale. You could drive over Honister Pass, I suppose but that is quite a steep climb.

Going round the Lake isn’t too far to walk, but it is if you are planning to drive back to Sheffield later in the day. We made it back to Dad’s in time for a late lunch – a leg of pork. We then decided to have a kip so we didn’t fall asleep on the drive home. It was a good job I set my alarm clock because at 6pm every person and all four dogs in the house were fast asleep! We had packed the Quokka before we took the pups to Borrowdale, in Dad’s Land Rover, so all we had to do was wake up and pile into the car for the drive home. Sadly, we had to drive in the dark but the weather was still pretty kind. We 

made good time, going by the A66 and A1 again, getting home in just under three hours.

I took Callie for her walk while Laura prepared a nightcap. She was asleep in the reclining chair when I got back in, with her cup balanced on her tummy! I gently took it from her grasp and woke her up so she could go to bed. I dread to think what a mess she’d have caused if she had moved in the chair with a full cup of drinking chocolate perched precariously like that! We were so tired we didn’t even make love! Just kissed and cuddled and fell asleep.

I should have known better. I have done this before, I seem to remember. I almost fell asleep at the wheel and Laura took over the final stretch of driving. Luckily this time the drive was fine but it was a bit like Russian roulette driving down after a full size walk on the same day!