Monday January 12th
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 13th 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 14th 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 15th 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 31st. 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 1st.
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.
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