I received a white letter through the post yesterday morning. It looked innocuous enough with its typed name and address, franked postmark. Opening it was like a bitter blow. I am to see the dreaded dietician in October. How can I go and say I lost a stone but slammed it all back on this summer thanks to some help from Cadbury's? Go I will do. Yesterday was penitence. I did manage to cram in some sweet potatoes though. My mum has actually lost more weight than I have this summer. I am considering handing over the blog! She could tell you about her vegetable soup and how cup a soups and cereal bars saved her from temptation. I will keep you informed of what the delightful dietician says to me though.
I have been grumpy of late so the fellow who is never named decided we both needed a day out. We had an early night and woke at six for a scrambled eggy breakfast, massacred by my own fair hand. The motorway was easy driving and in less than 2 hours we were cruising by lake Windermere.
Being a seasoned traveller to the lakes, having spent many childhood summers there, I sneered at the attractions of the large lake and headed for a small glimpse of literary heaven. I had targeted Grassmere. For those of you not in the know it was the home for many years of the Romantic poet William Wordsworth (Think Daffodils) and his good sister Dorothy. We arrived before most shops had opened so there was a calm that the place lacks when the tourist coaches pull in. In the chill of the morning i added another fleecy layer to my already full t shirted layers, put on a ridiculous hat, to which lover boy said nothing.
Finding Dove cottage was easy, I simply had to look for the house with a cliched Japanese tourist taking photos. Sure enough there were two, snapping the leaded lights of the parlour window. It amazes me that people from a land so far away know so much about my country. We exchanged smiles. Then I stood infront of the cottage, smoke from William's own hearth fire burning in the autumnal air. Of course the honey and I didn't go in. He isn't a literary type and i'd been there before. I simply bought two postcards for my fridge and moved back to the village. Our bodies being exchanged for a lovely couple from Atlanta, Georgia whose photograph I took, no doubt with a finger over her husband's face. At 9 am in the harsh weather she was made up immaculately. I admire some American ladies tenacity when it comes to grooming.
I decided to introduce the non literary type to William , Dorothy and their unknown brother John. The wordsworths didn't say much, possibly because i went through a phase of derision at 18, but I hope they have forgiven me recently. The other main reason is because there were other delights in the small cemetry. All I will say is I told the darling to smell the air and close his eyes. He did. Nothing. I moved him closer to the building. He was enraptured by the scent.
At a coffee bar with Sarah Nelson's original recipe gingerbread snuck in we planned our assault on the rest of the lakes. First off was a stone circle I adore as you can touch its 3 thousand year old stones and wonder what the hell it was built for. Even in a muddy field outside town there were tourists from far off lands. Infact we managed to accidently follow two to the temporary measures coffee shop in Keswick. Visit their site. It's charming www.temporarymeasures.co.uk
Then we got serious. My sugar had a cumberland sausage bap and I a tuna fish sarnie and we headed off into the hills for a walk. We chose Buttermere as it's slightly more out of the way and we could walk round the lake in a relatively short time frame. The picture above doesn't do the place justice. I was charmed. The none literary one then revealed he only liked mountain walks. Two hours later we scrambled back into the car with frayed nerves and achy limbs and I took my sick car up the pass.
This was a mistake as i had to go up in first gear and the warning light came on. The car headed nearer and nearer the red warning light. At the top of the spectacular pass there is a mine/shop/cafe/car park. I pulled in whilst the loved one went careering up the mountain for a good view of the hills. It looked too bloody high for me and I was knackered from our jaunt round the lake so i looked gingerly at the drop from the car park and ate kendal mint cake surrepticiously praying he wouldn't be blown off the cliff.
We started the heave ho for home when the darling returned, but we called in to a fish n chip shop en route. And yes there was a tourist standing outside having their photo snapped!
