Thursday 9th August 2013: Keswick

It's over 24 hours since my parents left our beautiful apartment in Keswick. We are are really missing them although I am happy that there are 2 less people to compete against for the red chair in the bay window. A red, mock-leather single chair set against a sash window where you can watch the world and its wife walking by.

Whether walking towards Keswick town-centre or preparing for a day walking on the Lakeland fells, you can peacefully people-watch from that window all day. Actually, 'peacefully' is a little bit of an exaggeration when you have 2 children under 4 years old running around, also peering out of the window and asking why that "bad man is being shouted at by that angry woman". It was difficult to explain to Bethan why these people were having a domestic and beating each other with their Ordnance Survey maps. 

Rob, the assigned cartographer expert for our trip did try to explain to our daughter that "rookies often have this inflamatory argument when hill-walking for the first-time" an answer which seemed to confuse but satisfy her as she immediately asked afterwards if she could watch 'Princess Stories' for the zillionth time.

Yes, it was obvious that although we didn't want as frenetic a week as we did in Consiton, like wise, we didn't want to sit in our Keswick apartment all day people-watching and listening to Princess Jasmine telling us, yet again, how wonderful bloody Aladdin is.

The Red Chair. A Source of competitiveness
as well as a source of some serious
 people-watching

Keswick really is my idyllic place. Rob and I allowed ourselves some me-time whilst in the Northern Lakes. I chose to spend that time in an antique bookshop searching out original Beatrix Potter books. Rob used his me-time to wonder along the fells and take some breath-taking pictures of some breath-taking landscapes. 

Indeed, I found a copy of Beatrix Potter's "Tale of Pigling Bland" in the book shop which I was thrilled with because it was the 100th anniversary of its first publishing. Usually, it is very difficult to date Ms Potter's books as you have to look at the art work on the inside to ascertain when it might have been published. However, I knew this was from 1942 as inscribed it said, "To my beautiful daughter, love Daddy, 1942". 

There are lots of reasons why people are against writing in books but this particular inscription set my imagination on fire. In 1942 the Allies were being pummeled by the Nazis. Was this a final gift from a father to his daughter whilst on leave from the War? Was this a gift simply to celebrate her birthday? All of that night I kept wondering about who bought the book and who the book was intended for. 

That's the beauty of books, it's not only what is inside them that sparks your imagination but also what they represent on the outside to different people. The history of Beatrix writing 'The Tale of Pigling Bland' and the history of the relationship between the person who sent the book and the person who received it is one of my highlights of being in Keswick. 

What a place...what a picture...well done Rob!

Wednesday 30th July 2013: Part 1: Grasmere

"I wondered lonely as a cloud..."

Straight into the 'Bags are Good" shop in the centre of Grasmere (that's not strictly true; we had lunch first as has been the custom on this family holiday - eat first; sight-see later).

Oh yes, Grasmere; surely the most beautiful of the Lake District villages? I completely understand why Wordsworth would choose this picturesque utopia to be his home and final resting place. However, it bemuses me to think what he must be thinking about all of the Daffodil-related memorabilia and tat on sale up and down the main street in Grasmere.

As we were pottering around, I wondered when he wrote this, possibly his most famous poem, that he would have ever conceived that it would be immortalised on a magnet which is stuck to fridges up and down the land (including my own - it certainly does a better job of holding up the Chinese menus than the Peter Rabbit one).

After eating lunch at the quaint "Heidi's of Grasmere" and pointing out to the staff that they are in The Lonely Planet, I ventured straight to the shop that said you could buy 3 'Bags are Good' for £10 (cash only). They were simple bags with a simple print and I chose the following: Grandmas are Good, Stewdents (geddit!) are Good and last but not least, Grasmere is Good (surely the understatement of the year).

Bags and £10 in hand, I stood patiently at the till which was basically one that looked liked Arkwright's in Open all Hours and  tentatively balanced on a plinth in the middle of the shop. But no one was behind the till; in fact, there seemed to be nobody looking after the shop at all. After embarrassingly approaching several strangers and asking them if they would they like my £10 for my 3 bags, Rob finally pointed to a door near the till.

Initially I knocked on the door quite courteously but that soon turned to a frustrating bang and culminated in me shouting, "Excuse me! is there anybody in there?"

The door swung abruptly open and a very stern looking woman with a strong west-coast Scottish accent cried out, "For the love of God! I never get a break and can never go for a pee in peace! Every bloody day!". Stunned (and slightly scared), I handed the 'customer assistant' the money and promptly shuffled all four of us out of the shop.

Like lost sheep, we walked around a little shell-shocked and I thought it would be a good idea to see where Wordsworth was buried. There is nothing like visiting a graveyard after being scared to death by a customer assistant, I think.

Once we had scrambled past all of the tourists to get to see where he was buried, it was difficult to ascertain which one was indeed his grave because a) there were lots of grave stones with W Wordsworth on it and b) Bethan kept shouting out that she was bored and hungry (Hungry! We's only just filled our faces an hour earlier!).

I had hoped that my pilgrimage to Wordsworth's grave, the local lad from Cockermouth who had done good, would be a peaceful and romantic one. But it wasn't. Instead, I placed all of my hopes on our next port of call - Dove Cottage. Finally, I get to visit Dove Cottage! Surely this will be the most exciting moment of my adult literary life? Nothing can go wrong...

My need to take pictures of signs on this holiday reached fever-pitch in Grasmere. Sarah Nelson's Original Celebrated Grasmere Gingerbread was delicious, mind.

Tuesday 29th July 2013: Hill Top Cottage, The Lake Disctrict

As The Magical Literary Tour continues, I am mindful of the fact that it may not be to the liking to all of those taking part (i.e. Rob, Bethan and James). With 50% of the Tour being under the age of 4, I thought I would strike a happy medium between books and children and that could only mean one thing in The Lake District; visiting Hill Top Cottage - House of Beatrix Potter (See sign at the left - I'm not sure why but I felt the need to take pictures of signs wherever we went).


Aside from the commercial faux-attraction that is called The World of Beatrix Potter in Bowness, we finally sought out Hill Top which is the real-deal; a National Trust Treasure. In fact, I loved the fact that Beatrix Potter was so intrinsic to the setting up of the NT because of her love of the Lakeland Fells and her desire to preserve them from development, that I decided to join! (Well, that and the fact that you got two months free if you signed up there and then).

According to the lovely Guide (who seemed to pop up everywhere on our Literary Tour) whose admiration for Beatrix was infectious, Ms Potter had left the house as if she had gone for a walk as she wanted people to get a real sense of what it is like. This excited me so much because it meant that most of what we would see wouldn't be behind ropes and we could get a real feel for what the Cottage would have felt like when she actually lived there. My excitement was a little tainted by the posh guy next to me who said to his companion in his best received pronunciation voice, "Well Serge; I think that is quite arrogant". Rob managed to stop me from calling him a tit and ushered me through the small door of the homely cottage.

Watch out Peter Rabbit! The Fun Police (aka
as the posh guy) are out to ruin the children's fun and will
probably try to eat your radishes!

When you go into the cottage another well-versed and enthusiastic tour guide handed Bethan a copy of "The Tale of Pigglin Bland" as 2013 is the centenary of its original publication. The task for the children is to find which parts of the cottage have inspired the illustrations in Beatrix's books.

Bethan was in her element and it was delightful to see.
Although we were asked not to put our bums on the intricate furniture, we could sit on the cottage's beautiful window benches. It was here that Bethan decided to sit down and read the book in her own unique way.

Unfortunately, it was also the same time that the posh guy came into the room who decided to tell Serge that the piano in the room was actually "a long piano" or something. He did it so everyone could hear his knowledge of the musical instrument and seemed to stop when he heard Bethan reading. No, it wasn't to remark on how Beatrix Potter would have loved to see a child sit down and read one of her books in her revered cottage; oh no, it was to sshh her so that he could continue to discuss the instrument before him.

All I can say is thank goodness the artifacts and furniture in the cottage are protected by the National Trust otherwise he would have ended up suffering an injury and helping to create a new Chapter in The Hill Top saga.