Have ya seen a haggis?

It has been a slightly off the schedule kind of week. I took my day off over Sunday afternoon and Monday morning so that I could help out on the YHA pitch at the Keswick Mountain Festival. It was great to meet up with some of the other staff from across the Lake District, chat to folk wandering past, and of course - getting a one-armed-hug from Alan Hinkes (my mum is well jel). 

Back at the hostel however, Fiona declared it to be a 'comparatively normal Mick night'. She then pulled out a box full of handbags and shoes - trying to pick out an outfit for her trip to London. I looked at the box, and said, "this makes me feel like I've failed as a woman - I don't have anything like this." Mick then chipped in, "does that mean I have succeeded at being a woman? I have lots of shoes and bags!"  

I went for a run (jog/slightly faster than a walk) one afternoon, and found a discarded fishing net (the cheap seaside type) down by the river. Thinking that some animal may get caught in it, & that it would make a good glow in the dark pooh sticks catcher, I carried it back with me. This, combined with the running, attracted some rather strange looks. So, to confirm my status as some sort of lunatic, I asked one group of passers-by if they'd seen a haggis - I lost it about ten minutes ago near the church. No reply.

Mick and Rachel have some strange ideas about proportional revenge. I threw a scrap of screwed up paper at Rachel, Mick later threw a bunch of keys at my head (and wandered off chuckling to himself). Rachel has declared herself to be Jesus (mark two). "God had a son the first time round, and for the second coming he had a daughter. It explains why I have special powers and you don't." She also said that it was God who pushed me when I nearly fell off a bed - getting me back for throwing things at the chosen one. And when I hit my head she simply asked me, "Do you feel more or less intelligent now?" I work with some really caring folk. 

Meanwhile, at the Woolpack....Harry took a break from mowing the grass to show me the latest arrivals - six tiny ducklings only a few days old. And Tom is planning some sort of secret pilgrimage on donkeys to a place with no roads. (Tom also mentioned how he wanted to have a code name in this blog. So, from now on, he shall be known as Tom-Tom, which shall undoubtedly conceal his true identity).  

Sometimes you think the day is over. That you've done everything you'd set out to do. Then you stop somewhere and are duly reminded that life always carries on. There are no cut off points, no divisions of time - if we plan life too rigidly the unexpected will always be a nuisance, and never a miracle. I've been reminded of that a few times of the past couple of weeks. & it's usually the people we meet by sheer chance that really brings it home. I watched the sun set over Crummock Water with a couple of near-elderly ladies from the Whitehaven ramblers club. I wandered around Fitz Park with a dinner lady from Keswick after her dog had come to say hello. I chatted to a woman from North Carolina while I was helping out at the Keswick Mountain Festival. It has taken each of us millions of years to get here, millions of years to be created by the universe. A million years, but one second out & we would have had different friends, different lives entirely. It's a miracle, it's magic, to walk alongside the people that we do. It's possible that we share atoms that once made up a former star, it's probable that we share the same soul & heartbeat as the entire world. Life is a marvel, life is in each & every moment, and this is the true wonder that is reality. 

Harry-Stotle, and 100 pairs of knickers

You know it’s going to be one of those days when you’ve had a marriage proposal before 9am. I didn’t even have to make him any porridge (or rice pudding), which Rachel informed me is the usual prerequisite. What can I say. It must be my natural charm and beauty which prompted him to ask, “Are you married? No? Would you like to be?” Who said romance was dead. (Don’t worry, dad. I politely declined). Things quickly escalated in the minds of my colleagues, though. Fiona said that I must already be pregnant by now, and when discussing baby names Mick suggested a mix between something modern and an ancient philosopher. For some reason though, carrying a fictitious child called Harry-Stotle did not get me out of cleaning the hostel.

My attempts to avoid Tom were thwarted a few days ago. As I ran past the Woolpack one afternoon, he was outside on the tractor – perfectly positioned to hurl abuse at me as I went down the road. I’m fairly certain he also tried to set the turkey on me. I went round the following day with some Grasmere Gingerbread as a peace offering (which I’m fairly sure would solve many world conflicts). Tom admitted that Arsenal were lucky, and that they were not at all the superior team despite their league position. I may have been daydreaming at this point….I zoned out when he said that he had thought about buying me a Newcastle shirt with 5-1 on the back which he was going to nail to my door. At least I got a warm welcome from Harry and Wooly.

We had a visit from the Environment Agency yesterday – they have a rain gauge station set up at the hostel, and they come round every now and then to collect the data. What we weren’t expecting though was for the chap to start hoeing the surrounding soil. A colleague of mine (who shall remain nameless), informed me that there had been a spate of hoeing recently. She then went on to ask me, “Shall I tell you how I made the delivery man come?” Apparently, that wasn’t exactly what she had meant to say. But in case you’re wondering, if you’re waiting for a delivery order to arrive – eating tomato soup is the key (but don’t forget to soak the bowl afterwards).

Rachel made a grand discovery the other evening – “Look, K, you can buy 100 pairs of cotton knickers from Amazon. I would never need to go shopping again.” It concerns me slightly that I’m often the voice of reason at YHA Eskdale. Like the time I had to suggest to Rachel that it might not be such a good idea to put lit candles on a guest’s bed to help celebrate his birthday. It was a lovely thought, though. Fiona , on the other hand, has violently accused me of turning into her mother. I only told her that something can’t be very unique.

 

(Thanks for reading – hope you’re having a lovely day)

Thank god for Dutch bikers

It's that time of year where a lot changes. I went away for a week, and on my return the valley was noticeably greener and covered with bluebells (and other flowers I don't know the names of). I had long thought Scotland to be the most beautiful place on earth, but when it comes to beauty, comparisons are tedious. Beauty is beauty is beauty. You either see it or you don't. Other changes have taken place, too. It's not just the landscape. Rachel and I are now Facebook friends. Although, she looks a lot more hairy (and black) in her profile picture than in real life. Fiona has had her haircut, and I think it's probably a good job she didn't take my advice (skinhead or purple). She also had a great tale of woe to share with us. I can't remember if it started with the dentist or a lost phone, but the conclusion was being rescued by eight Dutch motorcyclists on Wrynose Pass. She was pretty much out for the count that evening, so Rachel and I spent the time discussing the possibility of laminating a fried egg. I did ask at one point if she thought Fiona might be dead. To which Rachel sensibly pointed out that there was no way she would go quietly. I had brought Rachel a present back from Scotland, but there was a little misunderstanding about what it was. I said it was half a dead thing, but she thought I said a half dead thing (and wondered why I was keeping it in the boot of my car). That was a mistake either way. It stank. And Rachel didn't even seem that grateful when I presented her with a giant crab claw (she put it straight in a 'special container' - the bin).  

There are somethings though that do not change. Rachel is still obsessed with me. Mostly obsessed about my death, actually. She showed me the newly dug flower bed in her garden, and asked if I'd liked to be buried there or thrown into the bog. She has also been threatening to write a spin-off blog entitled 'The Truth'. I'm not entirely sure what she is insinuating about this one. For all her violent tendencies, she does have the odd interesting idea, though. "All people should be behind hatches, then life would be like an advent calendar only more exciting. And if you didn't like someone you could shut that particular hatch and open another one." I actually have a witness to this particular conversation; we had the great privilege of a soil doctor visiting the hostel (despite his misgivings that he might appear in this blog). Dr Shaw and his botanist mistress came to stay for a day. He regaled us with many interesting facts (which he admitted we wouldn't realise if he'd made them up), and revealed that worms are his heroes (as they effectively make soil). Jen, meanwhile, took about two hours to walk two hundred metres as she photographed every leaf along the way. Both lamented the poor conditions for pooh-sticks, but that didn't stop Jen from taking part in a spot of environmental doping - actually getting in the river to find out the location with the best rate of flow. She still didn't win. Not even a maillot jaune for her troubles. (Please come back again soon - lots of love). 

My latest great initiative (I can't quite remember what the previous ones were) is setting up the Plato Hotline (I'm still deep in contemplation about its exact purpose). Fiona thought I said the Potato Hotline, which would also be a good idea. "Excuse me, but how should I cook my potatoes today?" Mick just thought that I had named the dishwasher Plato. Fantastic. The philosophy theme seemed to continue - the following morning at breakfast we were cracking out the René Descartes jokes (which always involved him not thinking about something, and disappearing in a puff of logic). We have had some quite lovely guests staying at the hostel this week, including three ladies with the surname 'King'. Fiona was most excited to check them in, and when she asked where they were going, they replied without hesitation: Bethlehem. 

I am sat down by Derwent Water as I write this. I fancied an explore of the Lakes on my day off. I am also going to extreme lengths to avoid Tom at the Woolpack (something to do with the last day of the premier league season, and not being able to take the ribbing). But I should start thinking about getting back. The milk I bought for Rachel hours ago has probably gone off. Oops. 

A Highland Coo-Eee

 

The hostel has been closed this week for washroom refurbishment. Anti-vandal showers are obviously the must have in Eskdale. I just hope it won't affect Fiona's masterclass on how to get hot water out of a tap (expertly delivered a few days ago). I took this time as holiday, and it really couldn't have come at a better time for me. The results of the blood test I had a few weeks ago confirmed what I already knew - I wasn't feeling great! It is something I have lived with for many years, but if the dose of medication is too high or too low, then it can start to affect me (although I do try my best to carry on as 'normal'). I suspect though, it was less of a bother for me than for my lovely work colleagues who had to put up with me! Anyway. I took the only road that always makes sense to me - to the Highlands of Scotland, and to Aviemore where my cousin and his family live. There are places I usually stop along the way, just across the border at Gretna service station, and Faskally woods by Loch Faskally and Pitlochry. My parents used to live and work near Pitlochry many years ago, and it would be somewhere we would often go on subsequent holidays (as well as the north east coast). It is a place that is thick with memories, just as the hillsides are thick with the scent of pine forests. I was greeted by a strange and wonderful sensation as I wandered through the trees and down to the water. I could suddenly remember every single time I had ever been there, and it was as if all those experiences were happening now and at once. For that moment it felt like my mind had brushed against eternity, and that time and everything else that normally governs us had faded away. I am not religious, although I did think that I once was (I called myself a Christian and went to church - but now that I don't, I suppose that faith was never real). There are times though that I feel the presence of something greater, perhaps it is God, perhaps it is nature, perhaps it is simply the awareness that life is not confined to myself (or to humans). I don't think I want to know the answers, though. It seems a bit of a waste to fill one's brain entirely with knowledge, when you can have mystery, instead. Scotland has long impressed upon me a sense of mysticism, a sense of magic. It is the place I love most in the world, because it is the place I feel most at peace with myself. And that is not because I am always happy here, but because it somehow allows me to be comfortable with both my joy and my sadness. Because you see those things reflected in the landscape, and in the long journey to get where you want to be. 

The weather in Aviemore this week has been stupendous, with temperatures hitting 24°C most days. I've spent the majority of the time outside, on my bike, walking up a mountain, or having an afternoon nap by some little stream. Once you get away from the village you can be fairly certain to find relative solitude - where the few people you do meet will stop and have a chat about this and that. I was down by the river Feshie one day when a man seemed to appear out of literally nowhere. He had taken the sleeper train from London to Dalwhinne, and had been walking across country all day. He wanted to know where and how far the next river crossing was, as he was beginning to wonder if he would make it to the other side. I went to favourite places, I went to new places, I went to places so magical I wondered if they could be real places at all. I also spent time with family, and went to the pub quiz where there was a Chris de Burgh question in the music round. I kid you not. It has been an amazing, refreshing week, and now I'm looking forward to going back to the madness of Eskdale. 

 

Two camels and a gobby Gooner

A lot can happen here in a morning. And today it all started with Mick, who created a mirage in the kitchen. Rachel and I were quite certain that we could see a large expanse of water, a palm tree in the corner, and a couple of camels munching their way across the room. (Mick has not yet attained his advanced mopping badge). Judging by the state of the campsite, he had also been mopping there overnight. Rachel and I then went off to make beds, while Fiona was telling anyone who would listen (and even those who didn't) about the league of extraordinary gentlemen. Rachel started to ask me about my death, and what sort of thing I would like at my funeral. Having watched that wonderful film, 'What we did on our holidays', I told her that I'd quite fancy a Viking send off - and the attendees could toast marshmallows or roast chestnuts. As far as music goes - of course I'd want to start off with Lady in Red. Rachel then suggested that 'Sex on Fire' could be played once the flames had reached a certain area. It became clear why Rachel was asking me about all of this when she started to suffocate me with a pillow (perhaps she just threw one in the direction of my head - my memory gets a bit blurred sometimes). I count myself lucky to still be alive. I don't think I would be if Rachel's back wasn't still 'broken'. She said that trying to kill me probably hurt her more than it hurt me, but it was so much fun and she couldn't stop herself. No doubt she realised later on that her actions were unacceptable, and by way of apology she put an information booklet about Lyme's disease under my door. I have, on this occasion, decided to forgive her. 

I'm continuing to enjoy regular visits to the Woolpack - they make a mean coffee (and have free wifi so I can update this blog). The only downside is the slightly gobby Arsenal fan who works there - I've been trying (unsuccessfully) to avoid him until after the season has finished. It's quite possible that he is louder than the entire home support at the Emirates (but that's not really saying much). Just goes to show - you can't have everything in life. (Honestly though. The pub is great). There are a number of exciting staff 'YHA Eskdale v The Woolpack' challenges in the pipeline, including glow in the dark pooh sticks at dusk, extreme croquet, potato sack football, and a valley wide treasure hunt! Tom is providing a trophy, but really, it's the bragging rights that everyone is after. 

There's a fair bit of cardboard going spare at the hostel, so I've decided to recycle some of it through alternative means. Last year I started a project where I would make postcards by painting on scrap bits of cardboard, write a message on the back, and then send them to random addresses in the UK. It is an exciting creative process, and a reminder (to me and to others) of the magical way in which we are all connected  in a world that can seem quite impersonal at times. I do love the internet. I think it's great. But there is the danger that all our sense of worth gets tied up in how many people like our Facebook status - and that nothing really has any meaning until it appears on the web. There is life, and a deep connection, that often lies forgotten in the physical realm where our physical bodies exist. Our emotions and our thoughts often take longer to process and understand than the instantaneous world of the internet allows.  I also thought it would be nice for whoever ended up receiving the postcards to get something other than bills and brown envelopes in the mail. 

Home & Away (season 1, episode 9054)

I still think it was a conspiracy. Mick, Rachel, and Fiona all took holiday at the same time, leaving me alone (and more worryingly, in charge). I honestly didn't think my Chris de Burgh singalongs bothered them that much. But perhaps it was the accompanying 'lamb dance' that really pushed them over the edge. It was just for one night, but I was most relieved to see that all the guests were still happy (and alive) come the morning. 

It was then my turn to get away for a few days. I needed to return to Cheshire for a blood test. When I went to say goodbye, Mick told me that I needed to sign something before I left. Seeing the look of confusion on my face, he added, "not because you're going out of the valley, it's just a training record thing!" It wasn't the fist time that morning he had had to clarify what he meant. Wolly, the Woolpack's dog, had made an appearance in the hostel grounds, and was running around playing with Moss (Mick & Rachel's dog). We watched them for a few moments before Mick said to me, "why can't we do that?" He didn't actually mean me and him. But the whole carefree attitude to life thing. Phew.  

It was strange, but not unpleasant, returning to 'civilisation'. It's always good to see my mum, and my younger brother (Hamish). I also got the chance to catch up with a good friend, and we were kicked out of Costa at closing time (again). I certainly wouldn't want to make the trip every week, but it provided an interesting perspective, and reminded me of many things. When I returned, there was snow on the higher ground, including a little on the road over the Ulpha fells. Fiona was still away, but we have been joined by Rob for a week or so (who has had many years experience with the YHA, and gained his sailing qualification aged 19). I already hold him in very high esteem - he printed out a photo of Chris de Burgh (complete with what Rachel describes as his trotters) and pinned it up on Chris' cupboard door. I think he could be talked into helping me organise Eskdale's first Lady in Red Convention. 

 Rachel has hurt her back. She claims it was from doing overly energetic cleaning. I'm not saying that I don't believe her, but she has been known to tell a tale, or two. Like the time she accused me of trampling on her windpipe when she wasn't looking. As a result of this mysterious injury, she has been walking around like Virgil Tracy, and feeding me sob stories about not being able to lift up the full container of blackcurrant squash (so please could I make her one). Anyway. When I came in for the evening shift, Rachel proudly said to me, "look what I did this afternoon." She opened the fridge, and pulled out a pumpkin which was stuffed with what looked a bit like....you know. I simply raised my eyebrows and said, "well it's no wonder your back was hurting you." 

A little later on, Rachel asked me to give her some clues for difficult vegetables that she could try to guess. At breakfast I had introduced both her and Rob to the delights of Word Brain Themes. Rachel confessed that she was already addicted, and it wasn't even downloaded on her phone. "I was terrible with Candy Crush. I'm so glad we don't have wifi here, as I'd be embarrassed to let my Facebook friends know how I spend all my time." Meanwhile, Mick was on the phone saying something about a three hour emergency call out. I asked Rachel afterwards if that was because of all the little men in the roof? Apparently not. It was for a leaking pipe. Which actually makes more sense. We had a slight sandwich disaster later on, which I managed to sort out in seven minutes. Rachel was extremely complimentary, "you see, K, all you need is a good attitude and a knife. And that's exactly the same for all of life - a good attitude and a knife." (Rachel has a favourite knife, which she has named 'Stabby'. I'm less sure about her attitude, though - you should see how little she cares about tying up bin bags properly).