Monday 5th August 2013: Keswick

It's incredible to believe that we have been in Keswick, in the North Lakes, for just over 48 hours.

My parents arrived yesterday morning and it's the first time all weekend that I have had time, on my own, to write my blog.

Keswick is stunning and although it is to be found right in the centre of the Lakeland Fells, there is certainly a sense that it could be a Victorian seaside town. A bit like Matlock in Derbyshire but with lots of outdoor walking shops instead of the many bleary lights of the slots to be found in deepest, darkest Derbyshire.

Actually, I would go as far as to say that the number of outdoor shops in Keswick outnumber people by 4 - 1; there are more outdoor clothing shops than there are sheep grazing on the Fells. And that's saying something.

Rob and I made this assertion whilst travelling around the Keswick one-way system a number of times; reminiscent of the Griswalds when travelling around London in 'National Lampoons'. However, instead of saying, "There's Big Ben!" many times we were saying things like, "Oh! There's a Bootles" (Bootles being a very posh food store in the North of England) and "Exciting! There's the Lake!"

10 minutes later...

"There is the flamin' Lake again, now where the bloody hell is our apartment?". It turned out the apartment was 5 minutes from Lake Derwentwater as stated in the brochure; however, our SAT NAV (i.e Rob) took a wrong turn. 

No one could blame him really. After having a poor night's sleep at The Black Bull in Coniston the night before we left, I'm surprised he didn't drive us into the Lake because we were that tired. Bethan's insistence on familiarising herself with the old Inn House (a place famous for its brewed onsite beer and frequenter, Donald Campbell) during the night meant that the hours ticked by very, very, very slowly.

When we arrived at the apartment, things got better...and then they got worse.

As I was frantically unpacking for the second time in two weeks I overlooked the fact that my 14 month old toddler aka The Destroyer was running around under my feet whilst Rob with Beth's 'assistance' (ahem) was bringing things in from the car.

Disaster struck as I walked backed into the kitchen, slipped, but managed to get up again to see James' face looking down at me whilst holding a bottle of cooking oil - with its lid off! Frantically, I tried to clean up the oil disaster with kitchen roll as my parents were about to arrive and I didn't fancy them re-enacting the end of Torvill and Dean's Bolero as they walked in to the apartment. Damn bloody laminate floors. And oil. And me for putting the bottle within easy-reach of, let's face it' a toddler on a mission of discovery.

It's pure luck that I didn't do any damage to my leg. Although, as Rob pointed out, I was in easy reach of the many outdoor shops that surrounded us if I need lint, bandages, cream... Whilst spread-eagled on the floor I kept imagining the headline, "Woman trips and breaks ankle, not on Helvellyn but on a kitchen floor".

The shame.

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.

 

Sunday 10th March 2013

We're back in the 'Swich! Fortunately (or unfortunately if you are betting on the entertainment stakes) it was a straightforward trip that had a few snow flurries along the way.

The most exciting it got was James throwing every single dummy I gave him between himself and the car door. Normally when James throws out his dummy either Rob or I will shout, "Dummy down!" but we lost our sense of humour after the fifth time.

Also, every time we drive through Penistone before or after we go over the tops, Rob sniggers uncontrollably. It really is like having 3 children at times.

I asked Rob if, when we got home, I could have a Mother's Day bath. This differs from a normal bath because it is an annual event whereby Rob can act as security and I am guaranteed a bath without having Bethan wanting to wash my hair at every given opportunity.

I wanted to relax in the suds whilst listening to the new Radio 4 production of Ibsen's 'A Doll's House' on BBC iplayer.

As the journey progressed I couldn't contain my excitement because a) after being 13 years away from uni I finally remembered Ibsen's first name and b) I would be able to shave my legs for the first time in 13 days without the fear of hacking off my ankle because I am so worried about what Bethan is up to whilst I'm giving myself the fortnightly MOT.

My enthusiasm spilled over into reliving memories of my time in Edinburgh when I went to see Chekov's "Three Sisters" at The Festival Theatre.

As Rob pulled off onto the slip road of junction 53, he said, "I didn't know Chekov from Star Trek had written a play". That and the Penistone saga got me thinking about alimony as we drove around the big roundabout outside the Asda's (where I'm from all of the major supermarkets are preceded by the definite article. If you just said "outside Asda" people would think you were daft).

It has been a beautiful weekend and now I'm back I feel sad but also very lucky. Seeing a good friend of mine dealing with raw grief made me realise, yet again, just how lucky I am.

22:39pm

Can't sleep so I thought I would listen to 'A Doll's House' finally on iplayer but it isn't 'A Doll's House', it's Hedda Gabler. I finally remember Ibsen's name and then forget what bloody play it is! Might just watch the Dancing on Ice final on ITV player instead.