Snow, snow, quick, quick, snow

Monday 19^th January.

Trying to swim 100 lengths when you haven’t done any real swimming for almost a month is a major shock to the system. We made a valiant attempt but after 60 we gave up, feeling pretty knackered. We had a long gossip with Sarah after our showering and drying and she seemed really pleased to see us again. I told her about our month in the Lakes and how we’d done very little to stretch the muscles. She thought it was funny. I couldn’t see why. She loved the idea of the lilac room with a rainbow motif. I didn’t go into the LGBT idea behind it.

At University I was greeted like a long lost friend by Felice and then, almost immediately afterwards, accused of dobbing her in to the Uni Authorities over her skiving at the end of December. She has received an informal warning about her attendance from HR and seemed to think it was my fault. Hello? If you take off almost a fortnight before the official vacation dates, then expect the shit to hit the fan but don’t blame me for it! I told her this, in a more diplomatic manner. I was able to convince her that I, and probably the whole of the History Faculty, weren’t responsible for her getting grassed up. In fact most of the faculty don’t even realise she is attached to it in the first place.

Modern Foreign Languages was more likely to be the source of her trouble. Mainly (and maybe this was a bit racist) because they seemed to be a very back-biting sort of bunch! She had to agree that some of the members were openly hostile to other disciplines with in the faculty. I think she was persuaded of my innocence in the matter. This is good, as we have to work together for another year and a half and I AM innocent.

We caught up on each other’s news and then worked out a schedule of what we needed to get completed by Easter. This took most of the remaining morning. As though to emphasise there were no hard feelings she treated us both to a bite in Inox, which was a treat. We usually go somewhere cheaper!

After lunch Laura and I decamped to XXX & Y where we went our separate ways in the huge building. (Huge for a solicitors’ that is, the University Campus dwarfs it!) I had a long catch up with Mrs B about our holiday and learned all about hers too. She went to escape the winter weather. I explained our this week’s schedule and she wondered how we managed to do it – I sometimes wonder too! She was dead keen to hear about the pay as you go concert and phoned up the Crucible there and then to book two tickets. (2p)

I had an embarrassing chat with Christopher who greeted me like a puppy greets its owner. Erm, please! I am certain he still has the hots for me. He is OK but a bit boring really. He doesn’t realise that the more he behaves the way he does, the less likely I am going to be kind towards him at all. Why are men such duffers at relationships?

This evening we started seeing our school students again. This is a great source of fun for all concerned. I think it was great project to sign up for and it gives us a little extra cash too. Trevor is quite funny (apart from the comedy name); he is like a little lapdog towards Laura. I think he has a massive crush on her. I haven’t told her of course, she would be so embarrassed if she realised.

I did some background reading to the Rubens exhibition we are off to on the 31^st of Jan and also looked up what we could see that was new at the Brit Mu as well. The Ancient Lives: New Discoveries exhibition sounded fascinating, so I have bought us tickets for that too. It is on the way back from the Royal Academy, to King’s Cross Station, so it seemed a logical stopping off point. We have decided to avoid the big department stores until our after Christmas bank statements have shown we are back in the black! I

I was amazed how tired I was by 10.15. I just let Callie into the back field and then after our shower we hit the charp. Sex was in our minds but I just couldn’t perform with anything like the commitment it needed, we decided to just snuggle up and set the world alight in the morning.

Tuesday 20^th Jan

Having set the world alight, I walked the dogs and then we both attempted 100 lengths but managed only 70. Still we’ll be back up to 100 by Friday, weather permitting. The radio forecast for the weather was pretty grotty. It has not been good while we were away and there is more snow forecast for the night tonight and then during the day tomorrow. However, I have begun to take all the official weather forecasts with a huge pinch of salt as they seem to have started to exaggerate the severity of the weather to cover themselves against criticism. Maybe I am just an old cynic, but I am sure that is the case.

Sarah at the pool was in total agreement. She thinks they are doing the same. If two of us think so, it must be right. Right? Laura thinks I think about stuff too much. She is quite happy to go with the flow. I just get angry at being lied to by people who should be telling us the truth. I find that the Tory party in this country seem to be the biggest liars on the planet.

For example, look at George Osborne (I know, he’s not a pretty sight, even to a blind person). This hypocritical twat claims to be cracking down on tax evasion, yet his own family’s company hides 15% of their profits abroad just to avoid paying tax on it! I am sorry but if our c*nt of a chancellor can’t be trusted to do the ‘honourable’ thing with his tax, what f*cking hope is there for the rest of the tax which is owed to HMRC to ever be claimed back?  What is even more galling is this information is the in the public domain, why don’t people who interview the snivelling little shite ask him about this all the time? I would if I was in the media and had access to him. He needs pressuring on this all the time so it becomes a fixed issue in the public’s minds.

That is just one example, however, there are lots more, and they make my blood boil. In a way I can see that Laura is right. I should just ignore all of them. Maybe I should become a politician and stand in Nick Clegg’s constituency. I could be a female Dennis Skinner. I’d be an awkward little, female, sod who asks questions that the politicians don’t want to answer because it will show them up for the liars and cheats that they really are.

Back to reality. Full day at Uni and a new round of meeting my Tutees was on the cards. I managed about six (OK, seven) I am sure in some of the cases my efforts are completely wasted on them. Still, I can offer my help and support, it’s up to them if they choose to take it or not. Mandy (Miss Scothern) my second year student and former limpet, is doing really well. Her last couple of assignments achieved Firsts so she was really pleased. It is so good to see the timid little wallflower of 18 months ago blossom into a confident and successful young woman. I am not claiming it was my doing,I just think she needed a little shove in the right direction.

Our school students arrived again tonight, on schedule, Laura had moved Bobbi to tonight as well so we arm wrestled for use of the study and Laura won. (We didn’t literally arm wrestle, we just looked at the calendar where we have a little note of who has used it last on the nights we clash. I did last time, it seems.)

Olivia was feeling more hopeful about her GCSEs. She has just got her marks back from the Mcok Exams they did just before Christmas and she has got grade C or  better in all of them. She got an A in Eng Lit and B in Eng Lang which I am chuffed about, but again (like Mandy at Uni) this is down to Olivia’s efforts really, not me.

We waved the two schoolies off at 9pm and then had a swift snuggle on the sofa, which ended up being a longer snooze. I was awakened by Laura stroking my cheeking telling me it had just turned midnight! I took Callie for a swift run in the field, rather than a proper final walk and watched the first few snow-flakes come spiralling down out of the huge cloud bank overhead. We decided to be dirty cows and forego the shower as it was just so late. We were also dirty cows in bed.

Wednesday 21^st Jan.

Snow, snow, snow. It was a good covering from overnight, when we woke up. The good [or bad, depending on your point of view] part was it was continuing to snow. I walked Callie up the lane to see how effective the gritting had been, whilst Laura wiped the snow off the car and then drove up to Hilltop to pick us both up. The Old Manchester Road was a bit slushy but passable and the carpark at the pool was covered. I messed about in the carpark, making the car skid, until Laura told me to stop it as I was scaring her! I had no idea! Bloody typical insensitive baggage, that I am.

Inside, Sarah said she was on the point of coming out to get me to stop until she realised whose car it was. I then had to explain how Dad had taught me all sorts of driving tips for when I drove in Cumbria in bad weather: stopping without brakes was the first one he did and we did all sorts of life saving techniques culminating in the fun of handbrake turns. You can’t do them very well in my front wheel drive Cee’d but you can play about making it spin. I know it’s not a very lady like thing to do, but hey, since when have I done anything lady-like anyway?

While we were swimming the snow continued to fall although the local farmer, who uses the pool regularly too {Christy} turned up with his tractor and cleared the carpark; which was good of him. There were four cars parked and one tractor when we left and the pool itself was almost deserted, it was almost as though it was our own private pool! After an omelette breakfast we decided that catching the tram from Middlewood was probably our best option. This was a good call because the higher up the slopes towards the University we got, the deeper the snow became.

Traffic was very slow moving but none of it seemed to be blocking the tram lines.

Uni was very quiet, really. XXX & Y had a snow filled car park and a lot of people had come in using the tram (arriving more of less on time) or the bus (arriving up to an hour late). We whizzed off at 5pm when the snow had stopped and traffic was getting back to something approaching normal on the main roads. The side roads were still looking a bit Arctic as we went past them in the tram. We decided to use the tram to get to the Crucible tonight for the show we’d booked instead of driving.

Grounded. Mmmm… Not sure I’d have gone if the synopsis had been more detailed. I thought it was going to be about motherhood impinging on the protagonist’s life, it turned out it was more about drone warfare and remote control killing. It was very well done and for a one hander it was pretty gripping stuff. I suppose it did open our eyes to all of the items I have mentioned above but having the character being a woman shifted our perspective quite cleverly. It didn’t last very long and was quite thought provoking.  It was loud and startling with its images and it made you think about a variety of usually unconnected things, war and motherhood being the most striking. I found it unbelievably gripping and though I was initially dismayed by what we were getting I can honestly say that it’s a must see production. Laura was very moved by it too. I think it was the way she went from being a proud and ‘decent’ female fighter pilot to being a mere computer game player, where the people she was killing were actually real, that was the most striking thing about it. That and her portrayal of her disintegration as the reality of her unreality took over.

After the show we didn’t hang about but walked back to the tram stop and zoomed home again, hoping to avoid more snow.

Thursday 24^th Jan

Not as much snow at lower levels today, according to a friend at Hollow Meadows though, it is still pretty deep there, off the main road. That probably means we won’t be going out for a walk on the weekend, if we can’t get the car though.

We trammed again today after our swim (80 lengths) and breakfast. It was a bit more like normality at both work and Uni, although side roads still looked a bit dodgy as the tram swept past. We spent an uneventful day in both locations and I whetted Mrs Briggs appetite for the Ensemble 360 concert on Saturday, even more, by telling her what the programme was. She Loves the Richard Strauss [Till Eulenspiegel ­ einmal anders] and so was thrilled that it would be played, as this variation is quite an unusual variant on “lustige Streiche” – assuming the weather doesn’t unskittle our plans. As 360 are a Sheffield based ensemble it shouldn’t!

Our students made it through the weather to our little house. OK the only dodgy bit is the lane which runs off Cockshutts and that is gritted by one or other of us as the weather turns. (There is a council grit bi provided for that purpose.) Jenny-Leigh and Sally were keen to get things done on time though, in case the weather turned again. Understandable I suppose. This time I had the study and Laura the kitchen. We got a fair amount done in our two hours and J-L left feeling as confident as she can be about her forth-coming practice exams.

We attempted the circuit up to Hill Top Woods and down Lumb Lane for Callie’s last walk and the temperature was dreadfully low. Lumb Lane doesn’t get as much grit as Cockshutts, so it was very slippery in places. This time it was the Lollster who had an abrupt call to sit down and my turn for the schadenfreude. I didn’t give her marks for technical merit and artistic impression though. I did offer to rub her gluteus to make it feel better. It is hard to keep your hand in place when there is such a temptation before you.

We almost tore each other’s clothes off as soon as we got in and she repaid the favour, forsaking the shower (at first) for swift and satisfying sex. 

Peter Pan in Keswick. It's no pantomime.

Friday 16^th Jan.

After our usual breakfast and dog walk I whizzed down to Cockermouth to buy some more white spirit, to clean out the brushes after gloss painting – Dad had about half an inch left in the only bottle we could find. I left Laura applying the gloss to the skirting boards and I took Callie with me so we could have an extra walk through Harris Park, then alongside the River Cocker into town. It is too tricky to manage four dogs by myself in town so I had to leave three disappointed canines behind. They lined up in the lounge, looking accusingly at me through the picture window as I drove off.

Cockermouth and the rest of Cumbria, it seemed, was a bit grey this morning. From Harris park there is usually a super view of the fells, with Grassmor and Grizedale Pike dominating the vista; today there was nothing but a heavy cloud blanket which meant even lowly Harrot Fell was obscured. As we walked through the town we found ourselves showered with hail (frozen rain at this time of year, I think) and it left a slight covering on the roads and pavements. I left Callie outside the shop, bought the paint and we hurried back to find Laura looking pleased with herself having done all the skirting boards, the door frame and the window-sill while we were buying the white spirit and getting showered by ice.

As we finished off the pulse beat the weather outside continued to be grotty as it can be in the Lakes. Hail and snow mainly when it decided to, but otherwise it just got colder and colder outside. The cloud level stayed so low that we couldn’t even see the wind turbines on the slopes of Tallentire Hill when we let the woofies out into the paddock, mid-afternoon. That’s low cloud!

By three o’clock we’d done all the painting and we then spent almost an hour cleaning up all the stuff we’d used during the week. Further time was wasted cleaning ourselves up, mutually, making sure no spots of paint lingered anywhere upon our person.

In the news bulletin at 6pm we had a story about a guy falling from Swirral Edge, on Helvellyn, to his death this afternoon. You can’t help wondering about the crass stupidity of some people who must climb the high fells when there is absolutely no visibility at all. What is the point? You can’t see the most important reason for getting to summit, to see the view. I am afraid I have little time for idiots who ‘must’ bag a fell top at all costs, regardless of the weather.

I have only done this once willingly, when I took a friend from School, in Norwich, up Blencathra in low cloud because she had a serious, burning desire to climb it and we had put it off all the week she was staying with me (at Dad’s) because the cloud cover never lifted to reveal any of the giants’ heads. In the end I was persuaded to lead her up. We did the direct route, straight up Hall’s Fell to the middle summit (it has three). On the top we were not surprised to find there was about twenty yards visibility in the low cloud. We were even less surprised to find it teeming with people. In fact a group of lads asked us if we’d take their picture at the summit. I asked them which view they wanted in the background: Cross Fell, Clough Head, Grizedal Pike or Scotland? I don’t think they got the sarcasm. Charlotte did. She called me a sarky bugger as we walked back down the easier route from Scales Fell.

As a footnote to that tale, a few weeks later Dad and I climbed Blencathra again, from Mungrisdale this time, along the edge of Bowsale fell to Bannerdale Crags; we crossed Mungrisdale Common and then up to the ridge via Foule Crag. It was a glorious day, so I snapped off a whole series of pictures from the summit in a 360 degree  panorama, which I gave to Charlotte when I got back to Norwich. She was stunned by what she’d missed and agreed that climbing up when there was no chance of a view was pointless. It is a shame this chap on Helvellyn hadn’t been so sensible.

Saturday 17^th Jan.

Our penultimate day at Dad’s and as treat we went to see Peter Pan at the Theatre by the Lake. Dad tells me this used to be a rickety, old, temporary structure made of old lorries and caravans fastened together and painted blue. I am too young to remember it. I just know the current theatre, which must have the best location of any theatre in the world. Then it was called the Blue Box Theatre.

I booked the show way back in October, expecting it to be a pantomime version of the story. Imagine our surprise when we got the straight version of J. M Barrie’s play? This is not a complaint, it is an observation. It was really well done. TTBTL have their own residential company and they are usually employed for the whole year at a time. They do a really wide variety of things. One of the best I have seen here was their production of Michael Frayn’s “Noises Off” which is totally hilarious.

The guy playing Peter was a bit too old in my opinion (but it is always a difficult call to make, isn’t it?) I saw a version of this when I was little in Norwich, but I couldn’t remember it all that well, apart from the way they had the Dad play Hook – which worried me a little at the time. Here they used the same device, to very good effect. The whole thing has a poignancy which is unexpected in what is basically a children’s play. (It was a play before it was a novel, BTW.)

The pirates were gorgeously gormless and Dad/Hook very convincing. I thought Wendy was too old really, as well, but that’s a minor quibble. We both thought that the best bit was the kids’ ensemble. They were locals from Keswick and surroundings and they played the Lost Boys and the Indians and some of them were birds and sea creatures. They obviously had a lot of fun. Apparently there were different teams of them so they didn’t have to do consecutive nights, which is something I hadn’t even considered. The flying was pretty good too. Although the best we’ve seen this year (academic year that is) has to be that in the Snowman. I thought it was a shame we weren’t able to take my niece and nephew to see it as they’d have loved it. Stephen was offered a ticket if he wanted, but he didn’t. Ah well. Loll proffered the suggestion she’d ask Kirsten if Holly and Tilly would like to come with us to future productions in the area. This is something I’d not thought about when I booked tickets, but in light of the ‘ballet saga’, it could be a good idea too.

All in all I thought it made a splendid finale to our stay as house sitters for Dad. We head back to Sunny Sheffield tomorrow as the new semester begins on Monday. Technically it is the ‘scrag end’ of the old one, but most of the students call it a new semester so I won’t quibble.

The road from the A594 through Tallentire was a bit on the icy side, but there was no repeat of the grotty spot of weather from yesterday, thank goodness.

Sunday 18^th Jan.

We both walked the dogs up Tall Hill this morning and almost came a cropper on the higher section of the road which was just a sheet of solid ice. You couldn’t get a foothold or anything. There was no grip to be had, we skirted round it through the grassy verge and laughed at the dogs’ valiant efforts to get across the ice sheet. Coming back down the hill the icy stretch started long before the visible plane of clear ice and I managed to make myself sit down rather abruptly on it. This brought howls of laughter from a certain blonde young lady who started to award me marks for technical merit and artistic impression. I had to do a crab-wise, undignified shuffle to the road edge before I could get purchase under foot to stand up again. Loll was sympathy itself, behind the sniggering façade. She said she wished she’d had her camera to film my scrawm across the road.

Back home we skyped the aged parent and step-mother and we showed them out handiwork using the tablet. They were impressed and Dad really loved the rainbow and heart beat (I knew he would). We told him that we were taking the woofies to the kennel and then zooming back to Sheffield and reminded him that Simon would be collecting them from Glasgow airport. They needed to give him a ring on the day their flight left Perth. He told me he wasn’t an Alzheimer’s patient yet.

I whipped the three Dad dogs down to the kennel in Dad’s Land Rover whilst Laura packed out car with all our stuff. Not a long job really as all I had were my toiletries and electronics and Loll had only one suitcase too. By 1pm we had bid farewell to Molly, Eric and Stephen and were on our way back home. The snow level through the Lakes was about 2000 feet still, and the A66 was clear all the way across. The road seemed relatively quiet all the way home, TBH, especially for a Sunday. Good old Bradfield Council had gritted our road (as usual) and so the only tricky bit was our narrow lane which leads to our enclave. Some kind soul had obviously gritted this bit too. (The council have provided us a grit bin but it is upto us to use it.)

At home there was a smaller mountain of mail than we had when we came back to see Swan Lake and almost 90% of it could be thrown away without even opening it! I wandered round to Julie’s with a bottle of wine as a thank you – she sees to our mail when we are away, bless her. I ended up staying for such a long gossip that Loll came around to see how much ransom Ulie wanted to release me! We stayed even longer, chatting away.

Despite the heating having been on while we were away, the house did seem a bit chilly. Julie had told us the temperature had not risen above freezing for about four days in a row, so when we got back in, whilst Laura prepped the meal, I set a fire going in the box. We were soon sweltering, what with the heat of our meal and the heat from the stove, we had to strip down to just t-shirts (I had a skirt on and Loll had jeans). I never cease to be amazed at how much warmer it makes the house having my stove burning away, I suppose the heat warms the bricks in the chimney and that acts as a secondary heat source. By the time we hit the charp at about 10.30, even the study, in the attic, was comfortably warm.

We foreswore a shower and just tumbled into bed after both walking Callie up the gritted road and then along the icy path from the end of Hill Top Wood. Luckily Lumb Lane gets the grit too or we’d have had a problem again. It was a strange way to top and tail your day, skating along a road surface because it’s frozen over!

LGBT logo in baby's bedroom? No, it's Dark Side of the Room!

Monday January 12^th

We solved the problem of not having small pots of rainbow colours by having them made up in the shop on their paint mixing machine. It is amazing, especially the way they shake the pot to blend the tint with the base paint. It cost us a bloody fortune for 7 individual pots but it should be worth it. We both drove down to Workington to get the paint after taking the pack out onto Derwent Howe.

We had to dodge the rain / hail a couple of times and at the top of Derwent Howe we sat on the seat underneath the big crucifix, sheltering from the wind which was howling across the Solway Firth. The weird bit about the wind was the fact at our level (about 200 feet up) the wind was coming directly from the north west but the weather we had to keep avoiding was running parallel to the coast, almost at 90 degrees to the wind across the Solway. How does that work, exactly?

The crucifix is a surprise. It has been here a while but I thought it may just be a Christmas feature, but that seemed stupid on further reflection. There are ribbons attached to the three nails in the figure’s feet and hands. Red ones, obviously. They looked fairly new and not battered by the almost constant wind up here. Which is why I thought it may be a new addition to the skyline. Loll was a bit sarky towards me about it. “A crucifix at Christmas? Mmmm. Maybe not.” And “I suppose you can still buy new red ribbon in Workington, can’t you?”

I thoroughly deserved it and was delighted Laura felt comfortable enough with me to be able to say it. I gave her a hug and a passionate kiss on the stone seat. If only…  {If only it hadn’t been bloody freezing up there; if only we weren’t in full view of the entire town of Workington, below us; if only there weren’t people walking their dogs up and down this wind swept bump by the sea, even though it was a working day and none of them looked old enough to be retired; if only our sodding periods hadn’t become synchronised and were both busily discharging our uterine linings into our tampons – we could have had sex up here on this cold stone seat below a cast iron statue of Christ nailed to a cross at Christmas!}  

I popped my head over the stone wall (in the middle of the seating structure) looking a bit like the cartoon Chad and saw a white bank of some wetness falling from the clouds and heading in our direction. I nudged the Lollster and she popper her head over the parapet too. We looked at each other and sat back down again. “Looks like we’ll have to go back to snogging,” said Laura. So we did. After a few minutes of tonsil tennis and getting as horny as hell in the process I began to wonder why we hadn’t been rained on. I popped my head back up, leaving that warm soft mouth behind. The approaching precipitation was now approaching Maryport, several miles along the coast! I told Laura this startling meteorological fact. She was pleased we could snog some more in the dry.

We whizzed down to the paint store and had seven pots of rainbow colours mixed. When the guy asked what we were doing he recommended a kind of masking tape that would be better than the bog standard variety, (it was twice as expensive naturally) but we bought a few rolls.

The rest of the day was spent with Dad’s large measuring equipment, drawing the rainbow shape onto the walls. I have no idea where he acquired the metre ruler but it was a big help. Loll had the great idea of looking for a longer piece of wood in his pile of saw up stuff in the second garage. Sure enough we found a planed piece of lath about 5 foot long which was even better than the rule. The wide masking tape proved to be an ideal width for our lines of colour. We started painting at the top and bottom of the rainbow, once we had masked up with Laura going one way round the room and me going the other. We had more snogging when we met up on the far side of the room and then again when we got back to the beginning once more.

We decided leaving the paint to dry was probably the best idea, so we took the chance to prep a humungous winter vegetable soup in Dad’s giant sized tureen. The secret with this, I find, is to part cook your veggies in the microwave first and add some wine to the stock. We found an old bottle of rioja which was ideal for this. Our plan was to leave the thing simmering for a year on Dad’s aga and keep dipping into it for our meals, accompanied by filled baguettes or sandwiches or something. Croissants proved a good idea (BTW). When the soup got close to its last legs we would add some meat and turn it into a stew with dumplings to finish it all off.

Deciding to let the walls firm up a bit longer before moving the masking tape, we spent the rest of the evening chilling out in the lounge on Dad’s sofas, watching Engrenages.

Tuesday 13^th Jan.

More painting; more dog walking; more soup; more snogging. Not much more to say really. The masking tape is excellent. The little man at the paint shop was spot on with his recommendation. We found it was easier to work as a team when removing the tape and reapplying it. It stopped us getting into a serious tangle.

Good news. Our monthlies have both stopped. We can get on with some serious intimacy again. Funnily enough, there was a feature in one of our magazines about how menstruation is a taboo subject among female athletes. It seems, just as anyone would expect, it can seriously hinder performance in elite sports. (I know it makes me loth to go climbing when I am on, that is for sure – it doesn’t stop me Fell Walking, I suppose the effort and the physicality required is different, though.) No one has ever mentioned this as a factor in explaining why say, a major tennis player for example, experiences a shocking dip in form but then goes on to her normal world beating ways again.

I guess it is because sport and its governing bodies are mainly run by men and the idea of discussing women’s menstrual bleeding must make their willies and brain shrivel up!

A long and sensuous evening was spent in front of the fire tonight.

Wednesday 14^th Jan.

More painting; more dog walking; more soup; more sex. This time we have finished the fifth and sixth rows of colour so all we have left is the green heart-beat pulse to paint in. It is already drawn on the walls, but once again we have left the masking up until tomorrow; to give the paint 24 hours to dry. We have decided to use new masking tape for this bit and the awkward curvy bits we are going to do free-hand, using sheets of paper as portable masking. We had a practice with this on a large piece of cardboard we found lurking in the coal store/woodshed. So tomorrow we are all ready to give the walls their pulse.

Slight difficulty on the soup front. We invited Molly and Stephen round to try some for their evening meal (Eric is down south with the lorry) and we ate the lot. So much for Thursday being stew and dumplings day. Boo Hoo!

They came and had a look at our handiwork and were very impressed, especially with how neat it all is. Stephen had never seen the design before so I showed him the Vinyl LP edition of it, from Dad’s mega collection of music.

After they left we continued with our previous evening’s entertainment.

Thursday 15^th Jan.

We gave painting a miss today and wandered off into Keswick. The plan was to stroll the dogs round the Lake and maybe catch a ferry back from Brandelhow or Hawes End. The water in the lake was pretty high and our plans came to naught as when we drew level with Great Wood we altered our course and headed up the steep gulley to Walla Crag instead. This runs between Walla Crag itself and Falcon Crag and has Cat Gill falling quite alarmingly to the right hand side as you ascend. Where Cat Gill’s source is can be a mystery because when you come out of the gulley on to the relatively flat expanse of moorland between the edge and Bleaberry Fell there is no discernible river line at all! It is a really boggy, boot sucking wasteland but the path running up to the Crag or down to Ashness Bridge is fairly dry underfoot.  

A serious word of warning about Bleaberry Fell: do not attempt this fell without a wet suit and waders. In my experience of the Lakeland Fells (only 6 left to complete all the Wainwrights) this fell is the boggiest, quaggiest Summit in the whole district. The ridge from there to High Tove and eventually High Seat is equally as horrible and should only be attempted as part of a bagger’s round, not for pleasure. There will be no pleasure. Wanwright even thanks the builders of the cairn on High Tove for giving the walker a seat from which to empty the water from their boots!

Walla Crag was fairly well populated for a January Day in the middle of the week. The view is definitely part of the attraction. You have superb views for about 270 degrees. The aforementioned Bleaberry cuts off the final quarter of the circle, but that is no worry as the northern, western and southern fells all make a magnificient show. Today was even better than usual as they all had a sprinkling of icing sugar on their heads! The snow line seemed fairly high – at about 2000+ feet. We found a spot sheltered from the wind, took out our seat mats and snuggled under our waterproof to eat our sangers and drink from our flask of hot, sweet, whisky-tinged tea.

The sheltered spot was a good one but with the ambient temperature only about 4 degrees Celsius we found that we chilled down a bit sitting there and the wind seemed to have an extra bite which it doesn’t normally have. After a well-earned lunch we struck out for the descent into Keswick. This takes you back to the intake wall and then follows it down the hill towards the next beck, Brockle Beck.  This stays on your right for a while as you steadily descend towards Castle Head and Keswick.

You come out on the old road which brings you past the church and into the market square, or if you wish you can carry on to Castle Head for a final panorama of the lake before heading to the car park by the Theatre by the Lake. This is our destination on Saturday night, to see Peter Pan. We toddled along the road and burst onto an unsuspecting market place with four grubby dogs.

Being a Thursday, it was market day, so instead of rushing down the Rawnsley Centre Car Park, we had a stroll round the market. This is a problem with Izzy in tow as everyone (or almost everyone) stops you to ask ‘what is it?’ I have stopped replying with, ‘She’s a dog’ as that is probably just plain rude. I now end up explaining about long haired weimaraners to the enquirers. It makes me wonder what the other three dogs think when the bundle of fluff gets all the attention and they are ignored. Izzy is a very friendly dog, if old, and she nuzzles people’s hands and allows herself to be stroked. I tell them she loves having her head scratched, so she gets a lot of that too. (Can dogs grin? I am sure Izzy does when she is having her head scratched.)

I suppose the cold weather had reduced the number of stall holders in the market and my major disappointment was the fact the chap who roasts the almond wasn’t there! Boo Hoo.

The woofies were fairly grubby and it was a 15 minute operation getting them towelled down and dried off. Laura promised me a towelling down and drying off when we got back home, so I whizzed us back to Dad’s and, leaving the girls enjoying a dish of doggy biscuits each, we shared a shower; shared a mutual towelling and shared the bed for about an hour.

Being soupless we decided to go down to the Barn Bistro in Gilcrux for our evening meal. It was closed! A sign on the door said it was closed for a holiday until Jan 31^st. I saw Hal was outside as we drew out of the bistro’s drive again and we had a swift chat, he explained they were off to Rockcliffe (across the Solway on the Scottish coast) for a week’s break and then were giving the place a spring clean before re-opening on Feb 1^st. There were lights on in the Mason’s Arms, so we went there for our meal – I had the local trout, delicious.

Tomorrow’s plan is to get the green paint in the rainbow, then we are done.

Lilac for a baby's room? Why not?

Friday January 9^th

What a drive back to Cumbria! We decided to avoid the Manchester routes in case either Woodhead or the Snake were blocked, plus there is always a bloody humungous queue in Mottram, it seems. So we did the M1 A1 A66 route instead. There was evidence of pretty bad weather everywhere on the drive up to Scotch Corner, but no snow, then it got really spectacular as we drove the best high level route over the Pennines, IMHO. There was lots of snow and evidence that the road had been covered in the last few days. The slip roads off the 66 past Bowes all had a couple of centimetres of snow across them and the car park near the County Boundary Sign was much deeper. The little greasy spoon mobile café van wasn’t there either, usually a good indication that the weather is too bad! It was a windy as hell on the road and there was an advisory speed limit posted of 50 mph owing to the high winds at Stainmore Summit.

I do love driving this route in all weathers, but there is something amazingly wonderful about doing so in winter; when you are snug in your safe little cocoon and the elements outside would mean your death quite quickly if you were stranded out there! Plus the view towards Cross Fell and Tan Hill are sublime. Rounding the corner past the summit marker the Eden Valley spread before you is always a reassuring and welcome sight and your long descent to Penrith can reveal the Lakeland Giants silhouetted against the distant horizon. Not today though, they were lost in a grey blanket.

The next time we saw them close up was when we were driving along the foot of Blencathra and even there Hall’s Fell Top wasn’t quite visible through the shroud, but across the valley of the Derwent you could make out the summit of Grizedale Pike and the Grassmor Massif. All the Fells that we could see looked exactly like Alfred Wainwright’s black and white drawings in his Pictorial Guides to the Lakeland Fells, with the snow exaggerating every little nook and fold in the mountainside. Even the individual tufts of tussock grass were picked out in relief by the slight sprinkling of snow on them. You can see why people (like my family) fall in love with the Lakes and want to come and live here.

At home I unloaded our stuff; swapped vehicles; dropped Loll off at her Mum & Dad’s and went to rescue the woofies from the boarding kennel. To say they were overjoyed to see and greet me was an understatement. I did a major detour back so I could give them all a longish run on Allonby beach, which was the most windswept stretch of sand in the country, I think. Laura texted me whilst down there to say; “Dinner with Mum tonight. Love you lots. I’ll be at yours in about 30 minutes.” That put paid to the thought of having to defrost something out of Dad’s freezer or going for a carry-out or something.

The meal was with Molly, Eric, Stephen and Kirsten, Rob and the two sprogs. Quite a gathering. We only need Avril and Andy for the full house. Holly and Tilly are really cute and interested in everything, as kids are at that age. They wanted to know what ballet we’d seen and we had to tell the story. Holly then pestered her Mum to know why they had never been to a ballet. I came to her defence saying they very rarely came to Cumbria and there aren’t any Cumbria based ballet companies to go and see. Needless to say, we committed ourselves to taking Holly and Tilly to see one in Newcastle as soon as we can. Kirsten thought that Avril would probably like to come too (which got me wondering, why the hell couldn’t they do it themselves?)

This inevitably led to someone firing up their tablet and us booking to see “The Nutcracker” at the Theatre Royal, Newcastle on the 13^th of Feb. This is the day before we see the Halle at the Sands Centre, how fortunate was that? The girls seemed impressed. We talked about it at 7pm; found one at 7.30; booked to see a show by 7.45. At four Tilly may be a bit too young but in the end we booked tickets for Avril, Kirsten, Holly & Tilly, Laura and me. We’ll drive up from Sheffield, to Newcastle! The girls will meet us at the Theatre Royal. Afterwards I wondered to myself, why do we get drawn into these things? Still it will be good to see Hoffmann’s Herr Drosselmeyer and Clara again and it is a brilliant introduction to ballet for little girls who have never seen one before.

The girls now needed a quick recap of the story of the ballet. Holly asked me, “How come you know all this?” Before I could reply their Grandma chipped in with, “It is Mr & Mrs Jay’s doing. They love the theatre and so all their children started going when they were little.”

This, inevitably, led to a question of who are the other children? So I gave the girls a potted history of my family, suitably edited to spare embarrassment. I often feel awkward describing my childhood to people who may find what I say sounds as though I am boasting. I try not to boast, but, if you stop and think about it, I had an extraordinarily privileged upbringing. People often say, “Oh I wish I had done that…” or whatever and that, kind of, makes me apologetic for what I had. Does that make sense?

Loll and I pillow talked about this at home later as once again we lay chaste, thanks to mother sodding nature, when we really wanted to fuck each other’s brains out! Deferred gratification is always better in the long run!

Saturday 10^th Jan.

We have been roped into remote control decorating. I skyped Dad this morning and we got onto the topic of the weather (dreadful) and if there was anything he and Louisa wanted doing before they came home. Can you believe it? They had a load of colour charts for paint, which they’d taken out with them, and they discussed whether we’d be up for painting the spare room on the old landing. That is going to be my new sister’s room, next door to her Mum & Dad’s room. They have decided they would like Lilac for the walls. Which I think is a lovely gender neutral colour. I asked if they’d like the ceiling and woodwork painted as well, naturally they agreed. Dad said he’d reimburse me for the cost of the paints etc when they got back, but I told him not to bother, I would be delighted to do something for my new baby sister.

So, an hour after talking to a guy sunbathing by a pool in 30 degree heat, we trudged through lashing rain and icy blasts of wind to the B & Q in Workington, where we bought two tins of washable Lilac emulsion, a large tin of white emulsion for the ceiling and undercoat and gloss for the wood work. I checked, before leaving, to make sure Dad had brushes and white spirit in his workshop, so we didn’t need to buy those.

There isn’t all that much furniture in that bedroom and it was quickly dismantled (the bed) or taken down stairs into the garage (the furniture) and the floor covered with some of Dad’s collection of paint sheets. {He is a very organised DIYer – probably where I get it from.} By late afternoon we had painted the ceiling once and all the walls once with white emulsion.  We did the walls to remove the pale blue background colour so the lilac didn’t end up a shade or to darker because of it.

I was fairly paint-free, my romper suit was a bit messy, but I had managed to avoid anointing my flesh with emulsion. Laura, on the other hand seemed to have been a paint magnet. She had donned old clothes but despite this she was covered along her hands and arms, she had got smudges on her face and even a bit of her hair, where it had slipped out from under the old beanie I’d given her, was painted.  Time of the month or not, I made her get into the bath and washed all traces of Dulux brilliant white from her body. This got me really hot so she made me climb in and she washed me too, although there was no paint to be found in some of the places she scrubbed and rubbed!

We glued ourselves to the idiot box for the first two episodes of Engrenages on BBC 4 and I braved the elements alone for the dogs’ final walk – which was going to be a full one up Tall Hill, but was turned around by the parking spot a a quarter of the way up the hill, as it started hailing on us!

Sunday 11^th Jan.

Not as grotty at first, this morning, weather wise, but we cracked on with the next bits of the painting, regardless. Laura wielded the roller and I did the cutting in to the ceiling coving and skirting board. We had actually finished giving the whole room its first coat by 1.30.

You would probably not be surprised to learn that almost as soon as we’d finished painting, the weather broke and more grottiness descended. Rats, rats and more rats. We should have known that fine mornings often turn into foul afternoons up here in Cumbria, or vice versa. I grumped and grumbled about not having the sense I was born with and Laura joined in as we berated ourselves for having become pissy soft southerners!

We had a long and sensuous paint removal session, in the shower this time, and then a long and sensuous snuggle on the bed afterwards. We must have been tired as we slept for a couple of hours before being woken by the telephone ringing off its cradle. Bloody PPI insurance claim person. The person felt my wrath at being disturbed from a pleasant nap on a Sunday afternoon.

We had our evening meal and Laura suggested that we should paint something on the walls as a finishing touch to the room, once it had had its second coat. We both pushed around for ideas until we hit first of all on a rainbow frieze, at about dado rail height. I then thought we could do the heart beat pulse like on Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon album cover. Loll thought this was even better as it would hide the fact we had included a LGBT logo in my baby sister’s room, by pretending it was a reference to one of Dad’s favourite bands! Winner. The plan was I would crack on with the second coat of paint on the walls, tomorrow, whilst Laura went into town to buy six pots of emulsion for the rainbow (we decided on merging blue and indigo).

Just before hitting the charp at the end of another busy day, we discovered Izzy’s tail was a mixture of Long Haired Weimaraner colour and lilac! Closer inspection revealed it was in her tail, her ears, and her left hand side back leg! This, obviously, necessitated a swift look around the rest of the house to see if there had been any secondary paint transfer from dog to carpet or dog to furniture. Luckily we didn’t find any. She was not very chuffed with having her fur wiped down with a wet cloth, and in places with an old scouring pad, to remove the paint. Bloody dogs, eh? 

Roman saddles are amazing! Hearing about Charlie!

Monday January 5^th.

Today is the first day of a new working week for most people, but not for us! We mustn’t be gleeful about it, it is unseemly. I did notice a slightly busier feel to the village this morning as the rush back to work hit West Cumbria. OK, there were five cars driving through the village as I walked the wolf pack up past the Bush Inn before branching off up the road to Tallentire Hill, that’s probably four more than usual. It hardly constitutes a potential grid lock situation, though. LOL

After a languorous breakfast we decided to head for the Tullie House museum in Carlisle. Gran has never been and both Laura and Mum went so long ago they can’t actually remember when it was. I told them it was disgraceful that they were ignoring their cultural heritage like that; they should be ashamed of themselves. Did you know that a chair cushion striking you on the back of the head is quite a surprise? Especially when wielded by an Aged Parent who should know better. Gran said, “Can I hit her as well?” Mum told her that although she, personally, hadn’t been insulted she didn’t she why not. I responded with, “I have the anti-bacterial spray gun, and I am prepared to use it!” I squirted it in their general direction and fled to the safety of the lounge.

Silliness over, Mum drove us into Carlisle, in her car, and we parked up in the Lanes multi-storey carpark. This meant that Laura and I were like the naughty kids sat in the back! The first part of our cultural heritage tour took a bit longer than expected as Gran wanted to go into Debenhams. We ended up visiting a few more shops in the Lanes itself before striking out westwards to Tullie House Museum and Art gallery.

I have been here more than a few times and I always find it fascinating, especially the Roman stuff. I particularly love the have-a-go Roman saddle. This is a full-size facsimile of a real saddle mounted on a mock horse and you are allowed to sit on it and see how good it was, even without stirrups. This is because the saddles were designed with a pommel at each of the four corners which act incredibly as a restraining influence on the rider. In fact you are encouraged to see how well you can perform manoeuvres in the saddle, such as: pretending to fire a bow and arrow; impaling a lowly foot-soldier on your lance / spear; cleaving an enemy’s head from his shoulders with one swish of your cavalry sword. All of these actions, and more, can be performed remarkably well by the simple expedient of placing your weight against one of the pommels and gripping with your knees and thighs. It allows so much freedom of movement it would be entirely possible to ride the horse almost hands free. When you first clamber onto the saddle, you think, “No. This will never work!” But it does. Good old Roman ingenuity for you again! [Even Gran had a go, although she refrained from decapitating anyone.]

There is a weird truth about ingesting museum knowledge; it makes your brain hurt. After a couple of hours we were all experiencing ‘Museum Fatigue’; an interesting condition which can only be cured by visiting the Museum’s café for some food and drink! The Tullie House café is excellent. It has a wide selection of delicious meals and snacks, the majority of which is locally sourced and all cooked fresh as you wait. I was torn between the salmon and the tray bake steak pie. The fish won, my trio of companions opted for the pie. I had the cherry pie and custard for dessert while the others had a variety of stickiness. Do you know, this is the third meal we have eaten out since Saturday? It’s only Monday!

The museum was put aside after lunch and we continued our retail therapy in Carlisle centre, searching for bargains. There were many to be had but it would be too boring to list them all here. We did spend some time in the Waterstones Bookshop, so long in fact, we were forced by incipient dehydration to have another cuppa in their café. I found a new book on Ancient Rome by Mary Beard [my old professor], all about Roman humour; which is extremely ribald at times. Gran said she was surprised at how scruffy Dr Beard looked in her cover photograph; that made me smile. She was always a very unkempt and ‘unusual’ dresser around Cambridge, whether it was an affectation or just the way she was, we never found out. Nobody was ever cheeky, or rude, enough to ask her.

We headed back to Dad’s mid-afternoon and had a quiet evening at home after demolishing one of my Fasta Pasta dishes. Well, as quiet as is possible when one of your company is an avid TV viewer and insists on watching her favourite programmes. As it isn’t even my house, who am I to complain?

Tuesday 6^th January.

We had a discussion this morning about what we were going to do about driving back down to Sheffield for the Ballet on Thursday night. I suggested that we all went down in one car, stayed at mine for Swan Lake and then drove back up here to Dad’s, from whence Mum could drive Gran back to Hawick. I thought it was a sound idea but Mum, who has been away from home since before New Year wanted to go home for a few days and Gran was quite looking forward to the train journey from Sheffield to Berwick Upon Tweed. Plus she’d already bought a cheap ticket for the journey and arranged for Mr Woodward to collect her from Berwick Station on Friday afternoon. Ah well, the best laid plans o’ mice and men… as the Bard said once. That’s the Scots Bard, of course, not Bill Waggledagger.

This lead on to us deciding when we should go down to Sheffield; I was all for driving down on Wednesday and back on Friday so that the woofies weren’t in the kennels over long, Mum & Gran wanted to go sooner. So we agreed that they would set off as soon as they were packed and we’d meet them at the theatre bar on Thursday evening. That is what they did. I suppose from making the decision, to their driving through Dad’s front gate must have been less than an hour and a half. Mum phoned when they got back to Holmesfield to let me know they were there safe and sound.

Loll and I took the wolf pack up beyond Silloth, to Skinburnness, where we walked them round Grune Point. It was howling a gale and we kept getting lashed with squally bursts of wet stuff too. We were, however, dressed up for severe weather and it didn’t bother us in the slightest. The view from Grune Point back over the fells is quite spectacular. It wasn’t today, though, as the bank of cloud whose rain was trying to dilute our essence on the shoreline, was also attempting to wash away the Lake District fells. If you didn’t know they were there, you’d have no idea they even existed. I bet Laura that there would be some foolhardy souls attempting to climb the giants even in weather as atrocious as this. She knows the Lakes well enough not to take the bet.

The downside of walking in the rain with dogs is drying them off afterwards. Izzy, Dad’s long haired Weimaraner, needs a lot of rubbing down as she has masses of fur which gets absolutely soaked. She needed two towels just to herself; Dad’s two chocolate labs and my Weimaraner are a doddle to dry off in comparison. We peeled out of our waterproofs to reveal dry but slightly sweaty creatures underneath. I said I desperately needed a shower when we got in, and Laura said, “I’ll wash you, if you wash me.” If ever there is an excuse for not really washing in the shower that is it. We must have wasted nearly two hours getting wet and then getting wet again!

We had a lazy evening spent watching the copy of ‘Hugo’ I recorded on my PVR. I really enjoyed it, but I have read the book, so I knew the story. Laura, who didn’t know it was a book, thought it was enchanting. We had an early night as we wanted to zoom off to Sunny Sheffield fairly pronto in the morning.

Wednesday Jan 7^th.

Our whizzing off early didn’t work as the pups and I got drenched again this morning, out walking, and I felt honour bound to make sure they weren’t in a complete state when I dropped them off at the kennels. So I spent an eternity drying them and making sure they looked presentable before I had my breakfast. This was a delayed breakfast and by the time I had driven the dogs down and got back it was about 10.30.

Fortunately the Lollster hadn’t been doing nothing in my absence, she had packed our small collection of stuff into the car so all I had to do on returning was park up Dad’s Land Rover, lock up the house and drive off.

The news of the terrible events in Paris started to filter through on the radio as we drove down the M61. We just couldn’t believe it. We listened in growing horror as each news update brought more and more details of the tragedy. I said to Laura, I bet it was Algerians at the heart of the affair but, to date, there has been no news on that. She wanted to know why and I told her about the bloody and brutal colonial French regime in Algiers after WW2 and the revolution which took place there and whose scars are still prevalent in France today.

The way to end imperialistic rule was the way the Brits left India. The French end of imperialism in Algeria is a text-book example of how not to do it! She’d also never heard of Charlie Hebdo. However, she is a dedicated mathematician and I do spend a lot of my working time with a mad Frenchwoman!

Back home, my little house was just as I had left it with the exception of the mountain of mail on the dining table in my kitchen, Julie sees to it for me when I am away. I called Mum and we had a mutual update about the carnage in France. We had a takeaway from the Chinese Restaurant in the village for the evening meal and had a relatively early night.

Thursday 8^th Jan

We wandered to the pool after Callie’s walk this morning to find Sarah was on holiday until next week. This was a change. The relief person didn’t know where she’d gone or for how long. We found approaching 60 lengths of the pool was quite a challenge. It is surprising how quickly you lose tone when you don’t exercise every day! 100 lengths will be beyond us tomorrow as well, I think

More and more revelations kept coming through on the radio news during the day about Paris, with new twists and more, different, murders. There was no mention, yet again, of Algeria although when they announced the names of the perpetrators they did say they were of Algerian origin.

Back home we contacted Phil and Jane and had a chat with them all. They are going shopping in Leeds this weekend as the kids want to spend their Christmas money. I asked how much they’d got and it seems they both had over £100! Phew. They have been invited down to Mum’s at the weekend as Gran would love to see Baby Sophie again. They are fulfilling Gran’s dream of extending the family line and so are always in favour, whilst their renegade sister continues to defy convention and therefore doesn’t always receive her Grandmother’s undying, unconditional love. As soon as I become a mother I imagine the change will be spectacular. (Am I being cynical? Probably! LOL)

We wandered round to Julie’s and had a long gossip and giggle with her and a huge wodge of home-made cake. We were offered wine but as we were going out later we settled for a cup of tea [which became about three cups in the end]. She is really a god send as a neighbour and so selfless. The family and her loved their presents but thought we shouldn’t have. Why does everyone say that?

After our evening meal we dolled ourselves up for the evening and Laura did the sunrise effect on my eyelids again. I really will have to learn how to do this, it looks magnificent. We decide to shun the ‘butch & femme’ look tonight and just go in what we grabbed from the wardrobe. Hmmm…. That didn’t work. I tried on at least three items before settling on a tulip dress similar to Loll’s red one, in a powder blue, that has a pleat which looks like a wrap in the skirt, and she went for a skater dress in an emerald green colour. I thought we looked pretty damned hot. Loll pinched my stiletto ankle boots and I wore ballet pumps which seemed rather appropriate.

Mum and Gran greeted us in the upstairs bar at the Lyceum and both were shocked about the events in Paris. Gran said she thought that people shouldn’t insult other peoples’ religions; I had to disagree and thought everything should be open to insult, derision and ridicule. If the subject of the attack was valid and strong it would suffer no harm; if it was false, or spurious, the faults would be revealed by the criticism. It seems to me the problem with Islam is the same problem which Christianity had centuries past when schism and division caused all sorts of troubles. The main problem in Islam, though, is the lack of disestablishment and the totally specious Sharia Law. The west could do with being disestablished too, but at least we have secular laws to govern society. Good old Medie0aval Brits, again!

The ballet was brilliant. The sets were simple but effective. The Sorcerer’s owl-face was a very good touch, I thought, and I loved the gauze screen effects. They were used really well in The Woman in Black, which we saw earlier in the year. You couldn’t fault the dancers or the choreography, although in places the piece has become so familiar it would be easy to descend into cliché. This version didn’t.

What was encouraging was the Lyceum was packed (again) and the number of youngsters inside was quite large. Mainly little girls, of course, but we need to start them off somewhere. I think Angela would have loved it, I know Peter wouldn’t!

We had another drink in the bar afterwards and discussed the dancing. Gran was impressed and said she missed going to things like this, I told her she was welcome to come and stay with us anytime to go and see things at our two theatres. I reeled off a list of our new year’s ‘ents’ and it is huge! We have 18 more events booked between now and mid May alone! Most are Classical Music concerts either here, in Sheffield, or in Carlisle. There are several theatre productions but, up to now, there is no more ballet on the horizon. We may have to spread our orbit to include Manchester and Nottingham.

We headed home with even more revelations about the attack in Paris. Gran had wondered what the world was coming to, I’d told her it had probably always been like this but now we just heard about it quicker and in more detail. The details we heard on The World Tonight (BBC Radio 4) were pretty harrowing.  

It was really bloody windy walking Callie for her last walk of the day, I snuggled into my jeans and a baggy sweater in deference to the weather. Laura changed too, and joined me for the stroll up through Hill Top Woods and back through Onesacre. We almost were hit by a small branch which came wanging past us, out of nowhere, as we arrived at Cockshutts Lane again. Callie was very skittish in the wind – she often is. I think we were really lucky to have escaped being hit by the branch. I went to move it out of the road, so that a car wouldn’t be damaged if it ran over it.

We finally hit the charp at midnight. It had been quite a busy day really. As a post script to this entry, we heard on the news on Friday morning that High Bradfield (just over the hill from us, about 2 miles away) had been hit by a gust of 93 mph wind! Bloody hell. We could have been blown away, never mind branches from trees. As my bedroom faces east, we had no idea just how windy it had got overnight at all!

Three generations dining out.

Friday 2^nd January

The warm contented glow continues this morning. I am sort of bursting with a desire to shout it out from the rooftops. I told Laura this and she said she felt the same and did we really want to wait until June? Sitting down to breakfast, after walking the dogs up Tall Hill together, we looked at the pros and cons of announcing now. There are a lot of pros, equally there are a lot of cons. We have decided to wait until after the holiday period was over, in the first instance, and then have another pro and con session.

Mum and Gran arrived at about 12. Mum was full of annoyance at the road works all along the A7 where they are reinstating the Edinburgh to Carlisle railway line. It will be brilliant to go for a day trip from Cumbria to Edinburgh direct. I can’t wait until it opens. I’m so excited about it! That’s two things already this year.

We had a swift snack for lunch and then took the Parent and Parent’s Parent into Cockermouth. I parked up outside Harris Park and we walked through the park, with Callie, down to the river and then along Rubbybanks Lane into town. It is a lovely little town, Cockermouth, and it feels vibrant and fresh. There are no run down, grotty bits at all! Callie and I walk through it regularly, and she is used to being tied up outside shops on the Main Street, and today was no exception. We went into several clothes shops and arty-farty, knick-knack shops and the National Trust shop.

Mum was amazed by the change to Lowther Went. She remembers the Wilko store building being part of a grocery chain called Walter Wilson’s. That is way before my time. Although, apparently it isn’t. WW’s was still there when I was a little girl, I just don’t remember it. Mum thinks it changed in about 1996. They were both gobsmacked by the height of the flood marker on the Globe Inn’s wall. It is about a foot higher than the top of my head and I’m 5’ 7”. Gran asked what the Spice Club restaurant was like, she loves a curry. I told her it was brilliant. Indigo used to be the best one in the town but that closed after the floods, I think. Anyway, we went in and booked a table for four for Saturday night. We were lucky to be squeezed in, but as we had asked for an early slot that was fine. We would have to vacate our table by 9pm.

The stroll up Station Street and back around to the car was a bit of a pull for Gran, but she managed it quite well and wasn’t too out of puff. Mum is impressed with Dad’s tank (VW Passat estate) but thinks it would be far too big for her. I have got used to it now, apart from having to press a button to switch the engine on. That seems totally mad to me. I am considering driving us down to Sheffield in it on Tuesday just to avoid putting extra miles on my car; is that naughty? I probably won’t.

Back home we had another cuppa and gossip until the evening meal was ready, cottage pie with cabbage and petits-pois. Yummy in my tummy. For dessert we had some of the apple cake Dad had left in his freezer. I always write a label for stuff I put in his freezer otherwise it just festers there (or it used to, Louisa is quite good at not abandoning stuff inside it). This one was made in mid-October so would be good for another three months. Not with four gannets like us though. Gran liked it and wondered where I had got the recipe. (It is one of hers, TBH.)

We had a relaxing evening watching Gran’s choice of TV programmes. She is a bit addicted, I think. I suppose it’s her age. We planned a stroll along the harbour walls and pier in Maryport tomorrow if the weather holds. I will treat everyone to a cuppa at the Aquarium too, aren’t I the generous one?

In bed after walking the dogs Loll and I had a comforting snuggle which led to the inevitable. Mum and Gran are not on our staircase so we could make as much noise as we wanted but we stifled our emotional outbursts, just in case…

Saturday 3^rd Jan.

Bloody cold this morning. I banked up the wood burner and fired it up to add to the central heating. When we got back from walking the pups up the hill the lounge was like toast and Gran was looking admiringly at the cast iron box. She said she thought one would be good at her house. I agreed, especially as it can get really cold in Hawick. Which is surprising as it nestles snugly in the Border Hills, away from nasty blasts of wind and the like. I guess it is all down to latitude. When we lived in Norwich our winters were usually very mild. It was as though we had our own private weather system.

The decision to walk the hounds at Maryport was agreed and we drove off (in Dad’s tank again – it and the Land Rover are the only vehicles which will take all four dogs). We parked at the Flimby end of the path and strolled northwards up to the huge red sandstone harbour wall. Walking along the top of that Gran thought Maryport looked quite nice. I hadn’t the heart to tell her parts of it are a University of Crime and others are Benefits Street personified. The area round the dock, harbour and marina are lovely, though, and look very tasteful. Mum also knows these facts about Maryport but she kept schtum too.

The plus points this morning were the harbour area looked really attractive and Gran was impressed by the size and scale of the whole development. She also thought the new housing along by the harbour was really attractive. I have to agree with her, I does look really well designed and well thought out. The only minus point was that the Aquarium wasn’t open, which meant no café and no cuppa! I did explain about the Roman Museum, so after getting back to the car I drove us round the harbour, up the hill and we parked up at the museum. It was open.

We had a cuppa first from the vending machine and then bought a ticket each to wander round the Roman artefacts discovered here during the previous centuries. It had to be the biggest collection of Roman items outside London. There are masses and masses of antiquities in there. The biggest items are Roman head stones from a cemetery that was uncovered. Lots are as pristine as those in the big museum in Rome, which makes the inscriptions really easy to read (if your Latin is up to it). What was really surprising is the number which were bought by ordinary legionnaires, not by the equestrian classes or the elite of the society.

We took double the time in the museum than we had on the walk and Gran was even more impressed by Maryport afterwards. If the place had the funds, they would love to excavate and expose the actual Alauna Roman Camp – which is right outside the museum’s door – to a permanent display, like the ones on the ‘wall’ itself. Funding doesn’t really allow for that. There is also the University of crime element to consider, sadly. The youth of the town are known for their mindless vandalism, so there is a huge risk it wouldn’t be safe at all. The scumbags have already forced the closure of the toilets on the prom with their moronic behaviour.

In fact Mum recalled how, some years ago, a gang of the feral, bastard children, placed a stone over the chimney-pot of a local man who had tried to tell some of them off for their unacceptable behaviour and the build-up of fumes in the house killed him! All of Ewanrigg knew who these little twats were but (Mum seems to remember) none of them were brought to justice. It goes to show that scum live in the countryside and small towns as much as in big cities.

Cockermouth always seems relatively scum free, as far as its population goes. We had a great meal at the Spice Club. We ordered a different main course each, which we left in the middle of the table and shared. I eschewed my usual Jalfrezi and had a Dansak instead. Gran ordered something (the name of which I disremember) that blew our heads off! As we’d booked an early table we were finished well before 9pm. Walking back to the car, Gran was surprised by the number of young people walking about with hardly any sensible clothes on. Teenage girls, especially, prancing around in buttock skimming dresses and no coats to protect against the elements. She was a bit shocked. I had to tell her it was a common feature across the country. It happens in Sheffield, it happened in both Norwich and Cambridge too, from what I can remember. Mum backed up my claim, telling her she bet that Hawick was the same as well. Gran was reluctant to believe it.

Our busy day had made the Parent’s Parent a bit whacked and she hit the charp straight after a swift nightcap of Malt Whisky. Mum wasn’t too long behind her in climbing the wooden hills to bed-ford-shire. Laura and I snugged on the sofa, like we often do at home. It was a wrench to have to walk the dogs, but they seemed content with a run out in the paddock.

It was a really good day.

Sunday 4^th January.

More grotty weather. Well, it is Cumbria, so what do you expect? We looked at the unappealing climatic conditions and decided that staying put was a good idea. This got hit on the head after a call from Molly asking if we fancied lunch at the Stag in Crosby. Did we? Of course we did.

We met inside the pub as we’d gone in two cars. Dad’s tank is big but he didn’t opt for the three rows of seats version as he wanted boot space for his three dogs, otherwise we’d have taken everyone. Each of us had variations on the roast dinner, with Gran, who claims to have the appetite of a bird, ordering the three meat roast. I stuck to roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. We gorged ourselves on the good wholesome fare but cannily left room for dessert. The sticky toffee pudding was ordered by everyone but me and Stephen; we both had the hot chocolate fudge cake with local ice cream. Yummy in everyone’s tummy.

After the meal we decamped back to Dad’s and I played the hostess for the afternoon. Molly, Eric and Stephen seems to show no signs of going home as the afternoon wore on, so I rustled up a cold collation with the rest of the cold meat we had, and the pork pie, sausage rolls and various salads. I’d set some baby new potatoes to cook while I was doing all this and boiled a few eggs too. We scoffed ourselves into a stupor again.

After a suitable pause I offered desserts but everyone declined. Thank goodness! Any more food and I would have done a Mr Creosote after his last “wafer thin mint”! We sprawled in Dad’s lounge, Laura and I snuggled on one sofa, Gran and Mum on the other with the chairs filled by Eric and Molly. We made Stephen play at the waiter and he served us drinks. We gossiped and giggled, reminisced and chatted and had a really pleasant evening. The Thomases (sans Laura, of course) headed off at about 9pm, so I followed them through the village with the wolf-pack, and then on up Tall Hill. I went all the way up to the seat and sat on it, reflecting on how lucky I was with my life, really.

My luck didn’t last, though, half way down the hill again the heavens opened and by the time we got back to Dad’s I and the dogs were soaked! Loll came to help dry off the woofies and then she offered to dry me off too, after I’d had my shower. There was an offer I couldn’t refuse. It is strange how, when someone else dries you off it makes you wetter!