Following the truncated sleep and mewling, puking infants I was glad to disembark and get through border controls quickly. The Truffle-Major’s wife was awaiting his return and so I showed her my treasure trove of pro-EU stickers; she was far from amused. He returned from wherever and I teased him; he was far from amused. This damned issue seems to be dividing kith and kin and straining friendships more than a civil war.
Back at BSB I unloaded and chained the bike, as per usual, to a bridge stanchion – but having stripped off most biking kit was left with nowhere to put the keys (there are no pockets in my leather trousers), which eventually lead to yet another His Numptiness moment. Pete and Uta’s disentanglement continues apace, to her satisfaction if not his – and there is definitely no if not to it. She had found some bargain red wine in Tesco and it was their wedding anniversary; I was royally and liberally feasted – in part, I fear, to avoid the emotion of the day. He is not taking the imminent separation very well at all.
Wednesday was a bimbling day with the supreme joy of meeting up with The Andres. They had chosen a pub with a moderately common name but disaster was averted by me asking if they meant the one that I knew – which was not it! By great fortune the one that they had chosen was in an area where I knew a few bits and pieces of less than enthralling interest… It was also adjacent to the back door of Stanford’s, the bookshop of which dreams are made. When we parted I found that I could not just ignore it but did manage to escape (some three hours later) without a purchase! Salvation is indeed on way.
I had offered to do a depot day at White Van Man on Thursday re them having a full complement of drivers for the whole week , then Friday was load up and roar to meet M and N by Coniston Water for his to date longest ever open water swim. Jason suggested I move the bike as he has been renovating the bridge and had just some stanchion painting left and thereby hung the rub – I couldn’t find the keys. I had reported their absence in the chandlery when I decided just to check the squiggly connector which keeps them safely attached to my jacket. Wee scunners that they are, they had managed to sneak back and attach themselves. When I told Em of their recovery she asked where I had found them but I declined to answer. I know that I rail against USian incursions but claiming the 5th. Amendment seemd valid in this instance.
N had wanted to not use up too much of her leave and M had decided to see SENGO on his way through, hence I had an RV with N at Crewe railway station c. 16.00. After a couple of bank type admin jobs I trundled off to be hindered by heavy traffic sooner than I thought, then I turned off the M6 one junction too soon (the road number was correct, just not the junction number). At least I could refuel at non-motorway prices. Despite all we met more or less as arranged and continued to the campsite, where he had already arrived, booked in for his swim, and erected their tent.
Perhaps it was having done a day at WVM but I felt that this was a warning to all van drivers to check carefully before reversing:
Spectating at such events is a bit of a misnomer; 550 people in black neoprene babygrows with one of only a couple of different coloured hats (they denote in which group of the staggered start the wearer was allocated) in the water make individual identification somewhat difficult. Hence N and I went to a pleasant cafe with internet to allow her to send some urgent emails; it was Saturday and I had bought The i, so had a brand new travel toy to alleviate potential boredom. He outdid his expectations and was less than totally amused at hanging around in the carpark at the finish until we arrived. Despite that we had a pleasant evening.
I know that the red labelled beer celebrates the town’s local summit but there did seem to be a certain symmetry. With Coniston Water being the site of Donald Campell’s demise good taste dictated no sick jokes about Campbell’s Soups and full-bodied ales; I have never been accused of having good taste.
Owing to that unfortunate attempt at the world water speed record the town is awash with memorabilia:
As projected, while N had a training swim on Sunday M and I wandered up the Old Man (the Swallows’ and Amazons’ Kanchenjunga).
To find an alpaca on an Indian mountain tested geography and migration but apparently the South American interchangable wooly thingies with long necks make excellent sheep protectors. We have both been to the top on various occasions (but forgotten a pertinent detail) so after a thorough soaking – wetties/foullies as a far more accurate description than waterproofs) we abandoned a no-view summit and went for hot chocolate.
How clever are the townies, so much more quick witted than the bucolic locals… Near the road is a car park which attracts a fee and then a steep climb… to another car park which is free and a third of the way up; only locals and the aware know that. We had forgotten, damn it (see above).
As the proud custodian of Dominic’s boots, and being oop narth anyway I had decided to continue and walk further along Hadrian’s Wall path. For some reason I had thought that M and N would be leaving on Monday, so had arranged to stay with Dominic et al on Monday night and walk section 3 with him on Tuesday. Which is why I pitched up in a layby close to the village on Sunday evening where ends section 3, with a thought to walk section 4 before section 3; at sixes and sevens indeed.
Confounded weather forecast, in many senses, meant that the banned P word would have been damned again. Monday was so soggy, so dreech that I had a leisurely breakfast, did a leisurely crossword and then found a dhobikhaha before going on to meet Dominic et al. It being the last day of the school holidays Sarah was busy getting Phoebe geared up so Dominic and I took a wee stroll to his local – purely to be helpful by our absence of course.
lk57hsc 