The Lake District summer passed in a daze. Seems like that looking back now, anyway. At the time there were moments when it felt fairly enduring, mostly because of the heat which was relentless for weeks. Afternoons would be spent in Blea Tarn....Rachel & I would head down the valley, sometimes bundling Ben into the back of the van, too. On my days off I’d mostly drive over to Borrowdale, stay in my van, & play football for Keswick Ladies. That in itself is a highlight of the summer - it’s the 2nd season I’ve played for them, 9 aside on a Wednesday night. I love the friendships you make through team sport, feels almost like family in many ways. I guess there’s always going to be bonds formed when you turn up to a ground that has no facilities, and have no other choice than to have a team pre-match wee behind a wall. These are friendships that go beyond football, & I’m remembering now going for a run around Buttermere with Rach in the most horrendous weather. I’d got out of the van first, and still sat in the drivers seat Rach had a look on her face that made me think, “oh shit, she’s going to lock the doors, drive off, & leave me to it!” Turns out she actually ended up joining me for swim in the Lake half way round. I think she reckoned we couldn’t get any wetter, and at least the water gave some shelter from the wind! Then there was the camping trip with Laura up the Langstrath valley. The weather was stunning, & we set up camp near a beautiful pool in the river. That evening we headed up Stake Pass for a bit of a walk, light fading over the valley. Laura suddenly starts saying....”Do you ever come across a place and think, this would be a good spot to bury a body? No one would ever find it, & even if they did, they’d never know that I’d done it.” I kindly pointed out to her that this probably wasn’t the best thing to ask someone when they’re about to spend a night in a tent with you nearly 10km away from civilisation.
As with any team sport there is always a fair amount of banter and piss taking. I seemed to be on the end of quite a lot of it for some reason. During the warm up before one of our home games I was telling them that I’d been stood outside the hostel at Eskdale on Sunday cheering on the riders in the Fred Whitton. I must have clapped about 872 cyclists, and 3 of them commented on the speed of my clapping. One of them said, “why are you clapping so slowly, is it because I’m doing so badly?” I felt a bit put out and assured him that this was my regular, best clapping. Of course the girls then asked me to give a demonstration of my clapping, at which point they all burst out laughing & said that it did sound pretty sarcastic. For the rest of the season I had to endure their slow clapping every time I scored a goal.
I don’t know how it came about, it must have been after watching a Portugal game in the World Cup. I think I lost some sort of bet, and Laura said that if we got a free kick in the match I had to take it in the style of Cristiano Ronaldo. Of course we did get a free kick, and I managed to keep a straight face even when Laura was bent over laughing in the penalty area. After the match I apologised to the rest of the girls, “sorry for looking like such a d**k when I took that free kick.” Seemed though that no one had really noticed, & surprised I asked, “what, not even when I pulled my shorts right up?!” Ange just replied, “I thought you must have had an itch!”
I loved the weekly football matches, also loved catching up with friends at the Borrowdale hostel. Turned up one Tuesday afternoon, saw Kate, & said I’d got a present for her. “Oh my god, is it stale?!” I laughed, and replied that it wasn’t quite there yet. Something you should know about Kate, she’s got a thing for stale rice cakes. Has a stash of nearly empty packets under her bed, getting progressively more inedible...saved up for a special treat. I was explaining about this to Chris once, and he looked at me aghast, & said, “What kind of people do I have working here?!” I wondered if I should tell him about the time I nearly trapped Kate in her room...I tried pushing a packet of strawberry Angel Delight under the door, but it got stuck. So did the door, temporarily.
There was also the 2am chatting sessions with Helen, & no matter how often we said we needed an early night, it always seemed to be 2am when we said goodnight. She seemed quite relieved when I got a job elsewhere for winter, “at least I might get some bloody sleep while you’re away!”
That might have been the case had I not nominated Helen to take over nighttime Honister runs/antics with Charlotte from me. Charlotte took up running a little while ago, and in a really short space of time she’s become pretty damn good. We’d go out on a nighttime once a week, running up to the Honister Pass grit bin, & then a little bit further each time. We’d get back and if Ellie was still around she’d asked how far we went - and we’d answer knowingly, “ah we got to THAT tree this time.” I would rate these outings as rather tame though when compared to the day we decided to go up Barf. Charlotte is in the process of ‘Hooping the Wainwrights’ which basically involves summiting each of the 214 peaks and then doing some hula hooping at the top. These are all being recorded on video, and this particular afternoon I agreed to go along as camerawoman. It was only when we were halfway up the mountain, scrabbling in the dirt on hands and knees for bits of tree root and heather to hang onto, that I remembered where I’d read about Barf. “Hey Charlotte! I’m pretty sure that this route is a Mountain Rescue blackspot!” But we were absolutely fine, and even met a guy in jeans who seemed utterly unconcerned. He reached the top in time to witness the Hooping, & even made a sneaky appearance in the video. We mentioned that it would be put on twitter, and did he mind? He said it was cool, said that no one was looking for him, that he wasn’t hiding from the authorities or anything. He said that if anyone had anything to worry about from the hula hoop video it was us!
As summer in the Lake District was coming to an end, another was appearing on the horizon for me. Way back in January I’d applied for the position of Station Support Assistant with the British Antarctic Survey - a job based at Rothera Research Station, Antarctica. More of a story for another time perhaps, but I was successful with both application & then interview.
I was pretty excited when I told Rachel, “This means I can take the music of Chris de Burgh to the most remote continent on Earth!” No part of this planet shall remain untouched by his genius. Rachel, while not exactly disputing this, replied...”but surely he’d have to be known as Chris de ice Burgh over there?!” I’d also mentioned something about Chris de Burgh to my friend Clare who was visiting with her daughter, Naimh. They thoughtfully came up with a comprehensive list of ‘10 ways to die in Antarctica’, the most realistic of which was probably: You play Lady in Red too many times and everyone turns into blood-crazed zombies and eats each other. Including you. They also had this theory that Antarctica is actually heavily populated by sheep, it’s just that no one can see them because they are white. Anyway. Tomorrow I start the journey to Antarctica. Flying out from Heathrow, via Madrid, via Santiago, and via Punta Arenas. All being well with the weather & such, I should land on the 900m runway at Rothera Research Station on Friday. Even with it being so close now, there are certain realities that can only be realised upon arriving. Ever since it became a possibility, even when I was just considering applying, I’ve been imagining what it might be like (but never truly believing it might happen - because there are some things in this life that struggle to make it into our dreams). On occasions we can have a tendency to think that things like this only happen to other people, people who are more exciting, more inspiring. I’m experiencing a mix of emotions at the moment, mostly excitement, but also a healthy amount of nervous anticipation. I want to be able to take it all in, savour every second of this incredible opportunity. I also don’t want to lose sight of the significance of it all, not for me, but of the work being done.
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