Friday October 17th.
Yaay, we’re at Dad’s! We skived off Friday arvo and whizzed up here
instead of having lunch. We have brought a shell shocked Felice with us too.
She was given a choice of coming or not and she just dithered about so we told her
unless she had a 100%, cast iron solid reason why she had to stay put she was
coming to Dad’s as well. [I did phone him this morning to OK it first, just to
be on the safe side.]
She left ours this morning when we went to the pool. We told her we’d
use strong arm tactics if she baulked at the idea, and she had better find
herself some stout footwear too. At Uni I found she had walked down from home
carrying the single rucksack of packing, as instructed, and her handbag. When
we finished at 12, a swift rendezvous with Loll later, we were off to pick up
Callie and then zoom up the M1 to the promised land. Even with Feli’s one bag
and Laura’s one bag the back of my car seemed a bit squashed for Felice in the
back. That is the only downside of giving Callie the entire boot space in the
car, it means when you have passengers and their luggage it can be cramped.
Still, with Laura pulling her seat forward I think she had enough room.
Felice has met Dad and Louisa but has only been to my old Holiday Home,
just north of Cockermouth the once, last November. Dad had sorted out the spare
room off my landing for Felice’s room – that is usually used as a dumping room
and guests have the bigger bedroom in the new extension. Dad reasoned that Feli
might like to be close to YT and Laura which is either quite understanding of
him or perhaps he doesn’t want her to end up sleeping with any of his guests
again! That sounded so scathing but I didn’t mean it that way.
(The guy she slept with was one of Dad' s colleagues, Michael, who would have actually slept with Dad's precious daughter a year or so earlier if she hadn't come to her senses and locked him out of her bedroom! My excuse, and probably Felice's too, was that I was very drunk at the time.)
We stopped at Sedbury Layby (Scotch Corner) for a bacon butty and a
cuppa (and to let Callie answer the call of nature in the woods by the paint
ball village), then Laura took over the driving across the A66. This has to be
my favourite stretch of road in England, especially on a day like today when it
was really clear, if a little cloudy overhead. I think Felice was still
impressed by the wild, rugged grandeur of the route, especially at the
Stainmore Summit where I pointed out the old railway line marker. She was
surprised that there used to be a railway line so high up the mountains. (They
are only piddling mountains compared to what the French have, though.)
Once we hit the edge of the National Park proper Felice started asking
me the names of the fell tops. The Lake District might just be a collection of
hills and valleys and lakes but the way nature has arranged them in such a
compact area makes them outstandingly beautiful and a Mecca for hill walkers
and other outdoorsy types. Each of the fell tops is quite distinct and with a
practised eye you can quickly get to know them all by sight from almost every
angle. What Felice was really doing was checking out whether my boast of last
year was actually true, I had told her that I could name every single fell top
we passed and tell her roughly when I had last climbed each one. (Even the tiny
weeny ones on the way to Cockermouth like Sale Fell or Harrot Fell or even
Slatefell, which is a bump just to the east of Cockermouth itself.) I was able
to prove it and point out each one because Loll was at the wheel.
Laura dropped herself off at her Mum’s (like she usually does) and said
she see us in an hour so I finished off the three hundred yards or so to Dad’s
house. I may have mentioned this was our old Holiday Home, bought before I was
even born. Mum & Dad had it extended just before my appearance (up into the
loft) and Dad had another extension added after his Mum (my Gran) died and left
him a wodge of cash in her will. She did that for all of us, to be honest, and
we never even knew she was loaded. Good old Granny Gertrude has certain made
all our lives a lost more comfortable because of her secret stock market
dabblings over the last forty years!
Dad and Louisa weren’t back from Lancaster when
we pulled on to the driveway. I let us in and showed Feli which was her room
and she unpacked and came into my room to admire the view again (no not me, out
of the window). Once we’d unpacked, we went out into the garden and unleashed
the storm from the kennel. The trio in there don’t usually bark at my arrival
and they were quiet when we let them out but they made a bee-line for Feli who
wasn’t sure what to do with three large hounds bounding straight at her. Callie
came skidding out from the kitchen to join them and the whole pack swerved
round Feli and began a rough and tumble on the lawn and paddock (where I let
them go and let off steam).
There was a pile of veggies on the worktop in the kitchen and a note
from Dad. “How about one of your lovely chunky soups for tea?” He’s a cheeky
bugger. However, I set to and between us Felice and I prepped a mini mountain
of veg and then set the whole concoction going on top of Dad’s aga. I whipped
the temp gauge round on the oven to warm up it from tick over while the soup
was coming to the boil and we let it simmer for a good thirty minutes before
sticking the tureen into the oven. Felice, quite rightly said, that if we added meat
it would be like the stew and dumplings I did last night. She was right, but
Dad wasn’t to know that.
By the time all this was done, the Lollster rolled up and told us her
gossip from home. Eric is doing a long haul with the lorry and won’t be back
until Monday (which can be a blessing as he is sometimes a bit funny about
Laura and me being a ‘couple’ even though it’s over two years since it
happened).
I decided we ought to crack open a bottle of Hilmar’s wine to help
reduce the amount in Dad’s cellar before he drives off to Cochem again in
November to get some more from our erstwhile cousin. We had a bottle of
Spatburgunder before Dad and Louisa turned up. Louisa does look blooming. I
know some people say that all women look at their best when pregnant but this
is so patently not the case with all of us. Just look around. But Louisa looked
positively radiant. She is due in late January and she and Dad are still talking
about going to Australia for Christmas! I think they are mad. [I actually
believe that Dad is secretly hoping the baby will be born in Australia.]
After the meal and dessert (one of my apple cakes from Dad’s freezer –
he needs to eat them up) we sat round and gossiped about LTUAE (Life The
Universe And Everything) until it was time for HIGNFY on TV. That is a must for
Dad and I quite like it too.
After the idiot box I decided that I would take the woofies up
Tallentire Hil and then hit the charp. To my surprise everyone thought this
would be a good idea and they would come too. I’d planned to sit on the bench
near the mini underground reservoir and watch the lights of West Cumbria for a
bit. We all ended up trying to squash on to the bench. Felice was surprised at
how noisy the wind turbines are. (There are three on our side of the hill and
three more on the Gilcrux side of the hill.) I had known they were noisy – even
though they aren’t audible in the village – but I guess Felice’s pointing it
out brought home just how VERY NOISY they actually are.
The noise wasn’t to be a problem for long though. Dad informed everyone
it had been really dry up here for weeks apart from the odd spot once in a
while, however it chose tonight to decide to end the drought. The first few
drops fell as we were still at the seat and as we started back down the hill
(it’s over half a mile from the seat back to Dad’s) the heavens opened and we
were drenched with in minutes! I mean seriously drenched. I was soaked through
to my underwear and I guess everyone but Louisa was too! She’d had the
foresight to put on a lightweight waterproof coat and so only her legs
had got wet.
At Dad’s he told us to bring our wet stuff to the boiler / utility room
once we had dried off and we arranged them over the huge ceiling drying rack in
there. (I have a smaller version in my kitchen at home – it’s invaluable). We
finished off with mugs of hot chocolate before hitting the charp.
We half expected Feli to join us again in our bed, after last night in
Sheffield, but she didn’t.
Saturday October 18th.
Last night’s rain continued through the wee small hours and was still
being a nuisance this morning too. It kind of put paid to any plans for a Fell
Walking expedition. All of the ones visible though the landing window were
covered with a huge blanket of cloud.
We sat in the kitchen over breakfast and discussed our options for the
day. Dad said he thought the forecast was for it all to lift and brighten up by
lunchtime. I suggested that we head to Keswick, to show Feli the tourist centre
of the northern Lakes and then take a ferry to Lodore. If it was fine, walk
round the lake but if not have a bite at the Shepherd’s Crag café and then
catch the ferry back round to Keswick again. This was agreed on as a sensible
plan so we all drove off in Dad’s new car. He has kept this quiet! It’s a one
year old VW Passat Estate. I thought his Citroen C5 Estate was huge, well this
is even bigger! It managed to take all three of us on the back seat (nursing
our rucksacks) and all four dogs in the boot!
We parked up at the theatre car park and strolled back into town. We
kept having flurries of rain which flew over quite quickly and the sky to the
west gradually grew less and less ominous as we shopped in the town. Keswick
was packed with tourists, as it often is on rainy days, and they all wanted to
fuss Dad’s dog Izzy (they do that all the time!) We had a good look round the
market; went into millions of shops and even had a bag of roasted almonds each
from a street vendor (they were delicious). I think the sum total of our spend was
the cost of the Almonds.
This is not to say there weren’t masses of beautiful things to buy we
have just gone into austerity mode for some reason [I think Laura is trying to save up to pay me back some of her airfare to Australia!] so we were quite miserly with
the money. Felice was impressed by the lack of national chain shops in the
town, it still feels quite individual and unique I suppose. When you visit
somewhere as regularly as we do Keswick, you can get a bit blasé about what it
has to offer. It was refreshing to see it all afresh through the prism of
Felice’s eyes.
The weather turned even nicer as we hit the lake shore but we had to
queue for the next ferry! The dogs were beside themselves at the prospect of a
walk and possibly a swim, especially after they had been paraded through town
on their leads! We squashed into the front section of the boat, but avoided the
spray and alighted at Lodore. We gave the hounds a run around the landing stage
area before re-leading them for the stroll to the café.
As usual the café didn’t disappoint with its tray baked savoury meals or
desserts. We had one of each and washed it all down with gallons of hot tea. As
the weather had brightened even more (with even a glimmer of sunshine
attempting to peek through the clouds) we decided to walk round the lake to
Hawes End and catch the ferry back from there. The dogs had a whale of a time
chasing each other about; jumping into the river which feeds the lake; bounding
up and down from the board walk into the muddy fields it crosses. They were
really happy puppies.
Felice loved the huge wooden hands in Brandelhow Woods. It is only to be
expected, they are quite a surprise and very impressive. Naturally we had to
take several photo’s of her standing in them, they were too wet for lying in
(which I have done in the past). She is going to text one to her Mum in
Arcachon. The ferry back from Hawes End was packed so we had to split up with a
dog each to avoid congestion. Luckily, it is only two stops back to Keswick,
but Izzy had managed to make a friend for life with a little boy sat next to
her. She is a very sweet puppy dog [she is 12 and so laid back, very un-like a
Weimaraner] and everyone falls for her soppy expression.
Back home we had a freshen-up, showers all round it seemed, then a cuppa and
biscuit and at 6pm we decamped to the pub for a meal. Dad is a regular and
well-known. I am a semi-regular and a little less well known. Laura is a
villager by birth and everyone knows her. Felice was remembered as being the
foreign glamour puss who visited Dad last year and she attracted the attention
of the pool playing crowd of lads, especially when she went across to have a
game. We lost her for quite a while by the pool table.
Eventually, very well fed and a little worse for alcohol, we wended our weary way
westward to Dad’s and had a swift night-cap before hitting the charp.
Sunday October 19th
Had a mini-lie in again this morning courtesy of Callie, she doesn’t
really do early when at Dad’s for some reason. Usually we are up with the larks
at about 5.45 but here she slugs out until 7 or even 7.30!
At 7 I took the pack back up Tall. Hill for their first walk and was
blown away by a very strong wind at the top. I sometimes go all the way up to
the trig point but more often I turn round at the seat on the Gilcrux road.
Today we went to the trig point which was where I almost lost Dad’s baseball cap.
I had slipped it on, with my hair pony-tailed through the hole at the back to
keep it in place, as I thought it would keep my head warm but the wind up high
had different ideas. Normally I would have been tempted to let it disappear
over the rolling hills towards Scotland but it was a new one and hardly worn
(which was why I had deigned to slip it on in the first place) so I knew he’d
be less than chuffed if I lost for him.
I had to scramble over a fence and run like a demented woman after it.
Eventually I caught up and grabbed it. I decided not to put it back on until we
were out of the gale. This was a mistake as, holding the offending
millinery in one hand made me slip as I climbed back and I snagged my bloody
jacket on the barbed wire putting a smallish L shaped cut in the sleeve. I
could have wept! It is my bloody Paramo jacket! It cost me an absolute arm and
a leg and now I have a tear in the sleeve. I was so annoyed I was sorely
tempted to fling Dad’s sodding hat back into the field.
Back home my anger had subsided and I was calm enough to accept my
cooked breakfast from Louisa with the grace and dignity that is my hallmark
behaviour (LOL).
This morning Dad suggested we take Felice to the centre of the Universe
and have another bite out. We readily agreed, Laura, Louisa and me because we
love Crummockwater; Felice because she was being treated like an honoured
guest, again.
We left a little later to Lanthwaite Woods because the stroll, even up
to the top of My Fell included, can take less than an hour and the pub doesn’t
serve food on Sunday until 12. On arrival it seemed everyone else hadn’t waited
as the car park was very busy. We took our Gallic Girl up to the summit of My
Fell, which she remembered from her last visit, too.
The Lorton Valley (in which it stands) is one of the quietest in the
Lakes and is surrounded on three sides by magnificent peaks starting with
Greystones in the north east and circling round, clockwise, to Mosser Fell in
the west, taking in Great Gable at the bottom of the circuit and the head of
the valley. I did my naming of parts again for Felice and told her roughly when
I had first climbed each of them. Dad corrected me about Rannerdale Knotts
though; apparently I had first gone up that fell as a baby in a back pack when
I was about 10 months! I didn’t know that.
Sunday lunch with all the trimming cooked by someone else is a great
treat and the Kirkstile Inn is a great place to eat it. Especially as they let
dogs in to the bar until 6pm so we grabbed the two tables by the open fire and we
ate whilst the dogs gently cooked themselves in front of the flames.
The stroll back, avoiding Vicki’s Fell, is flat all the way, just ideal
for a small post-prandial exercise regimen. Back in the car park, at Dad’s new
bus, we found ourselves almost blocked in by some very inconsiderate parking.
We had to guide him doing a 68 point turn to get out. We filled the
offending motorist’s windscreen with scribbled post it notes complaining about
his inconsiderate parking. Felice wrote one in French which told him he was the
bastard son of a pox-ridden, cock sucking whore. I bet he doesn’t understand
that one at all.
We left Dad’s for our journey back to Sunny Sheff just as the threatened
rain arrived. Which I thought was jolly good timing. Felice thanked Dad and
Louisa profusely for the stay and was invited back at any time, she didn’t need
to come up with bugger-lugs! (It is hard to explain how bugger-lugs can be a
term of endearment from an Australian father to his daughter to an
uncomprehending French woman.)
We hit Oughtibridge at about 5pm and Felice opted to zoom back home
immediately, so Laura and I dumped all our gear in the kitchen, slumped in the
lounge on the sofa and celebrated both of our monthlies finishing by making
love for the next couple of hours.
No comments:
Post a Comment