Lord Elrond, & the Archbishop of Canterbury

It promised to be a calm, uneventful evening watching Lord of the Rings. But then Trefor walked in. I'm not saying that he is entirely to blame for the conversation which ensued - had I not been there he would have been alone. We spent quite a while trying to work out how old Lord Elrond was, & where he placed in the history of the world (ignoring the barrier between fiction and reality). We soon decided that, in order for everything to make a bit more sense, we needed to add a couple of extra days onto the creation story. One to allow for the creation of Middle Earth, and another, day nine, to allow for the creation of Elrond. We both agreed that the best course of action would be to write a politely worded letter to the Archbishop of Canterbury, asking if he wouldn't mind making these small, insignificant alterations to the book of Genesis. I'm pretty sure he will make the announcement when he delivers his special Christmas message on the 25th (and take all the credit for the idea). That wasn't the end of the great ideas, though. I had a sudden thought for what we could do as our next staff activity - let's all go Orc hunting! Tref hastily agreed, but suggested that we shouldn't rush in to it, as these things need to be carefully planned, and a risk assessment would almost certainly have to be written. Rhys and Zach were also keen, and immediately started discussing what they would use as weapons.  We were almost Lord of the Ringsed out when I asked Trefor if he had ever lived in a cave. 

"Well, yes." 

"How long for?"

"Three hours." 

I don't think these special people will ever cease to amaze me. Rhys, for example, putting on a funky remix version of Chris de Burgh's Lady in Red (just because he knows how much I love it). & Bianca, sat at the table eating angel cake for breakfast (not so much because she had just had a wisdom tooth removed, but because she wanted to eat cake for breakfast). & Glen. Well I don't really know where to begin! But my favourite quote of his from this last week has to be, "I don't normally talk to people that I can't see." I'm sure that's the essence of wisdom, right there. To be fair, though. Glen was brilliant when Hanna decided to remove a section of her finger - he was the only one who wasn't fainting. 

Orla (of Keswick hostel & general fame), called into the staff house one day, & asked, "Has anyone seen my axe?!" It was only after she had taken the time to recommend buying PJs and hats for Christmas presents, & asked if anyone wanted the chest of drawers which were currently in the car park, that she added a little clarification about the missing item. Turns out it wasn't a murdering kind of axe that she was missing, but an ice axe. The atmosphere noticeably relaxed after that.  

This last week has not exactly provided ideal conditions for skinny-dipping. Either I have run in the daylight (in relatively busy places), or I've run at night but with company. I met up with my friend Imi one evening, it was dark (as you would expect), raining, and I managed to get us a little bit lost. Imi kindly referred to it as nothing but an exciting detour (of which every run should have one), & it was amusing when the person who stopped to give us directions was clearly more wildly lost than we were! We weren't that lost at all really, I'd just got a little bit carried away talking about something or other, & missed the turning. Midway through the run I did point out a good swimming spot, & even though Imi said "don't let me stop you!" I thought it best for everyone if, this time, I stayed out of the water! 

 

I'm now away from the Lake District for a couple of weeks - time to be spent with family, and in Scotland. It is unlikely that I'll post again until the New Year, so I'd like to take this opportunity to wish each and every one of you a wonderful Christmas, and all the best for 2017. This time we have together, it's all we have, and it's so incredibly precious. Lots of love. K x

Skinny dipping, & hitching lifts

It was really good to get back to Borrowdale, the people here, and the place. Timing couldn't have been more essential in fact; I walked in the door to find Glen worrying about what a long way it was to Keswick. I was able to reassure him that, 99.9% certain, Keswick was exactly the same distance away as it had always been. & everything was going to be alright. I then added that he must be really glad that I'm back. He started laughing and said, "Yes. Because no one else in the world would possibly imagine that I've spent the past week panicking at the idea of Keswick getting further and further away!" It's good to know that I can be a great source of comfort at such troubling (fictitious) times. 

My departure from Scotland was not quite as smooth as anticipated - the handbrake on my van was stuck on, & it required some standard Al Dargie 'driving' to get things underway. It seems that my cousin is making a habit of having to rescue various members of the Shaw family from the Scottish Highlands (in vehicle related mishaps)! Thanks. I booked my van in for a much needed service when I returned, & sure enough the brakes were number one on the list of things that needed fixing. I hitched a lift back from Keswick with a lovely couple who dropped me right at the doors of the hostel (even though they weren't going all that way). To make things even better we had to stop to let four massive deer cross the road, & they had a story tape (CD) playing in the car (even if the plot line seemed to be about someone being murdered by a stranger). 

It would seem that the skinny-dipping episode in Scotland was far from an isolated incident. I went for a nighttime run up the valley to Seathwaite, & onto Stockley Bridge. It was cold, wet, but the pools there were so enticing I just couldn't help myself. What I hadn't bargained for though, at nearly 9pm, was four guys with head torches walking down off the mountain. It's safe to say that they got far more of a 'view' than they were expecting, and there really wasn't anything I could do - apart from a spot of naked waving. The same thing (minus the audience) happened on a Moonlit run up Honister Pass, & again in Derwent Water last night. It seems that it might have developed into a bit of an addiction, to the point that when I come back into the staff house the first thing Dave ever asks me now is, "did you get naked?" But perhaps more worryingly than that, someone has actually asked me if they can pay me to take them skinny dipping, & show them which way north is. No. 

With my van still in the garage, Bianca very kindly gave me a lift into Keswick one evening so I could have a blood test. She asked if I had everything I needed, to which I gave a moments thought before replying, "Yes. I have my arms right here still." It took a little while to actually leave the hostel though, as Bianca announced that she was not very good at parking, or un-parking (the term now used to describe reversing). It was no time at all though in comparison to how long it took us to set off back to Borrowdale - I wasn't sure of the etiquette of being a passenger and having to tell the driver that they need to turn the engine on before they can hope to go anywhere! Thankfully though, Bianca figured it out in the end. I might have been safer however sat in Booths car park for the rest of eternity - it was slightly alarming when, half way back, Bianca suddenly said, "I really must remember to put my hands on the steering wheel when I'm driving at night!" Three days later my van was ready to pick up. Chris kindly gave me a lift in to Keswick, & the cheerful chap at High Hill garage informed me that everything was now fixed. He did warn me however to be careful when stopping at a junction - "when you put your foot on the brake pedal, you'll find that it actually works now! So don't put your foot down too hard, or....!!" Noted. 

It is really good to have wifi access at Borrowdale - I have been able to keep in touch with folk a lot more readily, especially Rachel (in deepest darkest Eskdale), and Tom-Tom & Evie who are currently in Bali. To the casual observer, Rachel and I have developed a thing for writing inappropriate messages on each other's Facebook profile. I can't remember who started it exactly, but I'd hazard a guess at it being Rachel when she used the greeting, "Hey big tits!" Evie, meanwhile, is having a great time travelling, although I think I have tempted her into changing her flights home so that she can have Christmas dinner at my mum's (I explained how my mum had asked me if I just wanted chocolate for Christmas dinner). Tom-Tom on the other hand was far less chatty - he simply sent me a message which read, 'update on life in general please'.  To which I replied in kind, 'I'm spending a lot of time naked.' 

The wild places of the world, and the heart

Sometimes it's what you need, a week, some quieter time away to think. Not always about something in particular, but a chance to reset, to regain your centre. I found life so wonderfully busy with friends, work, and adventure, that it had been a while since I last stopped and cut loose a bit. Scotland has always been the perfect place for me to do that, to be however it is you happen to be, feeling sad, blue, hurting, happy, full of love. So I drove north in the low cloud and rain to Aviemore where my cousin & his family live. Staying with Al & Naomi has long been an incredibly warm experience - it is somewhere I feel so welcome, & totally accepted. You can't choose your family, but I'd choose the family I've already got anyway. 

I couldn't wait to get out running on the forest trails of the Cairngorms National Park, & within a few hours of arriving I had my head torch on down by Loch an Eilein. I couldn't see a lot of the magic, but I could still feel it. The smell of the pine, the sound of the last bits of ice cracking, and crashing into boulders. The cold spell had broken a few days previous, and the weather was now suddenly unseasonably warm. After the run I sat down on a bench, with the moon, looking up at Orion and wondering about my place in it all. Something so strong, and me, well I felt at once so connected but yet so distant and small. But I think that's probably how it's supposed to be, I think that's probably how it always really is. 

A few days later I headed to Glen Feshie, to once again experience the transcendence of that place. I ran out along by the river, heading into the wild places of the world, and the heart, to do battle with the wind, and my demons. I realised, at some point along the way, that there are things in life which are impossible to un-feel, and that the truth sometimes belongs to just one other person. You could tell it to everyone, but no one could possibly understand or even hear it. There were bridges here that had been washed away, and a landslide, from the storms of a year ago. But all such things can be overcome - cold, wet feet are a small price to pay, push on through. On the way back I headed up into the forest, to the hidden, magical waterfalls and pools. It was totally unplanned, and before I really knew what I was doing I had taken all my clothes off and gone in for a quick dip. It was cold, as expected, but invigorating and utterly liberating to be naked in the middle of the Scottish mountains. There was no one else about, I should probably add! 

On my last full day, I went for a run around and up by Loch Morlich. I had an overwhelming feeling of being engulfed by emptiness, in my legs, in my soul, and by the landscape. It was a struggle in more ways than I can relate, and when you get so worn down there is that tendency to dwell on your failures, mistakes, and above all (perhaps) the hurt you have caused people along the way. Redemption seemed a million miles away, and self-redemption was even further adrift. I sat and watched the sunset, sat and watched as an elderly couple scattered three bags of duck feed on the shore. For a moment it had all felt pretty final. But the things I thought I'd lost turned out to be impossible to lose, and any sense of loss was the sadness that often comes with love, and growth. I knew then that I'd be back, and in time, back again in every sense.

A Borrowdale Nativity, & The Woolpack Inn

Before heading off to Eskdale for a few days there was time for one more night of madness. I'd been out walking in the dark with all of my hopes & affirmative answers to hypothetical questions, and returned to the staff house to find Rhys and Dave still awake. They talked for a while about life working in a factory, and then we turned to arguably more important matters - planning a YHA Borrowdale staff nativity scene. I was straight away given the role of Mary, which I think has more to do with the fact that I was wearing a blue Berghaus jacket (and being the only female in the room) rather than having any profound acquaintance with an angel. Rhys said that Dave would make a good Joseph, and we decided that Tref would make such a good shepherd (must be the beard), that he could play shepherd number one, two, and three. When we spoke to him in the morning about it he wholeheartedly agreed, & asked excitedly what he should wear for a costume. Bianca asked if she could be a sheep, and Glen said he'd be more than happy to be an angel. All of this meant that, by process of elimination only, the three wise men would have to be Chris, Rhys, and Zach. It was almost 1am before we decided that all the details were in place to make the ultimate Christmas card, and that we could therefore now go to bed.

I headed over to Eskdale the following afternoon, and as I drove along the valley I caught myself smiling like a lunatic. It felt so good to be back, and later that night I went for a run along the river. I asked Mick and Rachel if they'd like to join me, but they were too busy trying to work out anagrams of number one hits by the Spice Girls. Fair enough really. They actually had a pretty lucky escape, as it turned out to be a fairly hazardous run. There may or may not have been an incident involving a number of sheep nearly knocking me over in the dark. That was nothing though in comparison to Rachel's long tale of woe about how many aerosols you can legally send in the post, not to mention something about a power cut, a fire alarm, and incurring a groin strain while tripping over the dog in the dark. I only went away for three weeks....!! 

I seemed to spend a large proportion of each day hardcore drinking peppermint tea in front of the fire at the Woolpack Inn. It was lovely to catch up with Harry, Paddington, & Ellie, as well as chatting to a few of the folk staying there. My brother Rory & his wifey Jen came up to visit for the weekend, announcing their arrival with a big coo-eee coo-eee what's up?! We got a fire going back at the hostel, and spent the evening listening to Chris de Burgh, & witnessing Jen's conversion to said musical genius. She was so serious about the whole thing that she insisted upon undergoing an initiation ceremony or baptism. This basically involved draping herself in a red curtain, and posing for a photo (which unintentionally made it look like she was stood behind it with no clothes on). Making the most of her current state of euphoria, I managed to persuade her to 'run' up Harter Fell with me in the morning to watch the sunrise. It was pretty chilly on top, but the views were utterly stunning. It was absolutely worth getting out of bed for, and the photos I took are going to be in the next issue of the Live More YHA magazine. I was pretty wrecked for the rest of the day, but summoned the strength to go up to Hardknott Fort with Rory in the afternoon for a sword fight. As we walked up to the walls, he turned to me and said very seriously, "I've never gone into the mountains carrying a sword before. I'm a bit worried about visiting Eskdale again, I seem to end up doing slightly crazier things each time, and I'm usually a really cautious kind of guy." I suggested that it is the type of place which can have that affect on people, but for some reason he seemed to think it was more to do with the fact that I was here. 

One of many exciting things to happen over the weekend was Mick building a bed (recycled from a clapped out caravan) for the back of my van. It really is incredible, and I can't thank him enough for all his help with it! There is definitely going to be some sort of house warming party - probably comprising of a challenge to see just how many people it is possible to safely fit in the back of a transit connect (the safety element here simply refers to not spilling any tea). 

Upside down jumpers and the KGB

I'd always put Trefor (deputy manager) down as being a quiet and reserved kind of a guy. That was until I spent an evening in the kitchen with him. It started fairly mildly at first, with Tref detailing his specific dislike of tartar sauce, or anything else that goes in a ramekin. But it soon escalated when later on he informed me, somewhat out of the blue, that he had never assassinated anyone in Johnny's Wood (out the back of the hostel). Trying to change the subject slightly, I asked him what his favourite movie was. With accompanying hand gestures, he explained that there was no way he could give an answer like that off the top of his head. But he clearly went away and thought about it, as when I saw him the next day he walked up to me, shrugged slightly, and said, "Die Hard." I'm beginning to wonder if he wasn't actually joking when he told me that he has been living in Borrowdale all these years hiding from the CIA and KGB. All thoughts of this were thrown from my mind though when Dave walked in looking for a plaster. He opened the box, had a search around, and then exclaimed loudly, "This is an excellent First Aid kit, it even contains a door wedge!" 

Life is the staff house is never dull, especially when Tref wanders through the lounge and treats Bianca and I to an impromptu rendition of Phantom of the Opera. He didn't stay to watch the film with us though because he was disappointed to hear that it had neither car chases nor aliens in it. Earlier in the afternoon Dave appeared, and as I glanced up at him I just had to ask, "have you put that jumper on upside down?" To me it looked like a double A rather than a W with a line through it. Dave laughed, but was clearly a little put out...."what are you trying to say? That I have an enormous neck?!" One thing is for sure, you can always count on Glen to lighten the mood. He had returned from walking up Blencathra, and had picked a few things up from the shops on his way back. I asked him how much I owed him for the milk, but was a little shocked by his reply. 

"Eight pounds." 

"Eight pounds, for milk?!"

"Yeeeeh, it was from a really good cow. And it's only actually a shot of milk. It wouldn't let me have four pints." 

"Ok. Well here's a pound, and I'll make the rest of it up to you in Knock Knock jokes." 

On the morning of my last shift, Chris asked me if I'd like to rearrange the drinks cupboard. I really don't think he could have given me a better job to do. But just as I was thinking that the day couldn't possibly get any better, the post arrived and Tref excitedly told me that we are one step closer to getting YHA themed bins for the hostel. Although my three week stint at Borrowdale has come to an end, it is thankfully only a temporary end. I'm taking two weeks off before returning as a volunteer. There are a couple of projects which I'm really looking forward to working on over the winter, not to mention my happiness at being able to spend more time with such lovely people, in such an incredible place. Big thanks to Chris for making all this possible. In the intervening weeks I will be spending a few days in Eskdale with Mick and Rachel (if Rachel can tear herself away from the delights of Egremont), and then up to Scotland to visit family.

A Manchester Barn Dance

It has been a while since I last posted a blog, not because there has been little to write about, but quite the opposite in fact. Things just seem to keep happening, and I love this mad, mad way of life. Once again I find myself living and working with the most incredible people - they are kind, funny, and more than a little bit bonkers. At times it's tempting to ask who am I to deserve such good fortune, but really the most important thing is to enjoy every moment with them, to enjoy every moment of this life (and be thankful). 

One evening, Hanna and I were working in the kitchen, and we decided to put an Oasis CD on. This, combined with my incredibly stylish dancing, prompted one of the guests to ask us if we were having a Manchester Barn Dance? I'm definitely taking that as a compliment. It wasn't a particularly busy night, and when I popped into reception later on I found Dave putting up Christmas decorations. He told me that Chris had asked him to make the place look subtly  festive. There's was no doubt that he had achieved the festive part of that, but I tactfully pointed out that although it all looked lovely, anyone taller than 5 foot 2 ran the risk of being strangled by tinsel when they came to check in. Said tinsel has now been safely relocated.  

Over the weekend I was down for a couple of bar shifts. These were fun, busy nights, pulling pints and chatting to interesting people (including a couple of guys who worked in aviation, and nuclear waste 'disposal'). Also made the time to pop by the kitchen every now and then, to see how they were getting on, and to tell Glen a quick 'Knock Knock' joke. This didn't go down too well at first though....

"Knock Knock"

"Who's there?"

"You" 

"You who"

Laughter from Bianca and Dave, but Glen looked confused, and said "I don't get it." This prompted Dave to tell a joke of his own. 

"Knock Knock!"

"Who's there?"

"Not Glen!" 

Anyway. I returned to the bar where a couple  from Australia wanted to borrow Scrabble. They had been playing a little while when one of them politely asked me, "There's a load of pretzels in the letter bag, is that a normal thing here - to leave some snacks for the next people who play?" As tempting as it was to say that this was a Lake District tradition, and that they should likewise pay it forwards, I conceded that there was simply no explanation (and that if the pretzels weren't too stale they should help themselves). When work was all done and dusted, I went back to the staff house and had a late night conversation with Glen and Dave about the eating habits of sloths (or rather, which animals eat sloths).

Away from work it seems that I've well and truly got the running bug back again. I must have been feeling particularly loopy when I decided to head up Catbells solo one night in the snow, ice, and temperatures of at least minus five. It was quite something though to stand on the top, turn the headtorch off, touch the stars and look down on the lights of the world below. It brought at once a sense of numbness, of separation, but also simplicity and perspective. It's a haunting, maddening life at times. I've also been on a few more lighthearted runs, meeting up with friends, round Lonscale Fell, being pushed in a stream by H (elbowed in actually - straight red card offence) because she didn't want to get her feet wet. I'll always be grateful for such moments.

Impersonating the last 10 Grand National winners

There were a few of us sitting around the staff house one evening chatting. I'm not entirely sure how we got to the point of conversation though where Glen told me that I should try impersonating the last 10 Grand National winners (horses rather than the jockeys). I've been here long enough now that suggestions such as that don't really surprise me at all. Anyway, I knew that he was just taking the piss because I'd out of the blue admitted my sadness at never being able to do a good horse sound impression. He takes the piss out of me quite a bit, actually (mostly for no good reason at all that I can see).  

On Wednesday evening I met up with a friend to go for a nighttime trail run. On the way there H was telling me all these stories about Gelt wood - strange things that had happened, etc. I don't really go in for any of that so I paid it no mind, and once H had managed to sort out her hat, jacket, shoes, gloves, socks, strava, and switch a headtorch on, we set off (myself without a care in the world). It wasn't long though before H casually mentioned that she hoped she could remember the way. We had left the roads by this point, and I cautiously asked her if she'd actually done this route before?! But everything was going ok, until H told me, "it's down there." I was in front, and not for one moment doubting her geographical knowledge of the area, I ploughed on ahead. After about thirty metres though, I slowed, turned around, and asked H if this really was the way, if she normally had to fight through massive clumps of ferns and brambles? "No. No. I don't think it can be." We turned back and returned to the point where we had forked right, and went left instead on a glaringly obvious path. H shook her head and said to me, "you were leading, why on earth didn't you go this way in the first place?!" A mile or so further on, and we were now in what felt like the heart of the woods. The gradient increased slightly, and up ahead we could see the back of a man walking in the same direction as us. This in itself was of course of no particular alarm, but the massive saw he was carrying made H and I exchange 'what the f**k' glances. I was extremely gallant, and put myself between the man & H as we ran past (probably almost sprinting by now). I even wished the man a good evening, and asked how it was going. To be fair, he did reply pleasantly, and even hid the saw a little bit probably realising it might have worried us. I reckon he was probably out innocently stealing Christmas trees. That said, I was not particularly keen to experience the encounter again, but H......well. A little further on she insisted on trying to get a photo of me running, but I wasn't actually allowed to run, I had to pose (like the mannequin challenge) mid stride. For one reason or another I was having difficulty living up to her expectations of what this photo should look like, and when I looked around I spotted that the man with the saw had caught us up & was walking up behind her. "H, watch your back!" And so it was that I twice protected her (in a round about way) from potential danger. But was she grateful? No. I just got a load of shit about my inability to pose for the camera! "I can't use these photos on twitter - it looks like you're dancing!" Anyway. We made it safely back. 

After a lot of hype, the big day finally arrived - YHA Borrowdale pitch & putt! I'd received an email that morning from the wonderful people at Hope Café asking if we still intended to play (the course is rather wet underfoot, & the weather forecast is fairly horrendous). But we are intrepid souls, and we weren't to let a little bit of water put us off. Six of us (Bianca, Hanna, Glen, Dave, Chris, & myself) piled into various cars, and headed down the Borrowdale road. I got a lift from Glen, but it was only after setting off that he told me that the brakes and steering didn't work too well, and that he'd often been tempted to drive into Derwent Water to see if the vehicle worked better as a boat than it does as a car. Thankfully we all got to Keswick in one piece, and assembled at the start of the pitch & putt course. Chris, as manager, was nominated to go first and inspire us all to greatness. After a couple of practice swings he made contact with the ball, but it only went a couple of metres off to the side - it might even have gone slightly backwards. The funny thing was though, it was still probably a lot nearer to the hole than my shot which went way, way beyond. Meanwhile...Hanna was busy setting some sort of world record for the number of times it takes to hit the ball......"can I just pick it up and throw it?!" The fact that the weather was so uninviting really worked in our favour. It meant that we weren't in danger of holding anyone else up, and nor was anyone else in danger of being hit by stray balls or stray golf clubs (GLEN!!). That said, Dave (bringing his own unique style to the game of golf) very nearly hit me with a ball, and in misplaced retribution I almost hit Glen. The amount of puddles were slightly problematic at times, though. Especially for Bianca, who seemed to have an almost unnatural talent for finding every spot of standing water on the course. Two hours later we were huddled into the café with an assortment of hot drinks, and already planning the next staff activity afternoon. Chris suggested taking a rowing boat out on Derwent Water, at which point I looked at him and said, "what could possibly go wrong?!" It was an incredibly fun afternoon despite the rain, and for the 'records' I should probably announce that Chris won (and now regrets not having sorted out a mystery prize!). 

The YHA Borrowdale Carpet Appreciation Society

I received an email from Mick the other day. "Strangely not quite as mad as normal over here! Has any of it followed you to Borrowdale? Just wondering." 

I've been in Borrowdale for a week now, & two weeks left to go seems far too short a time to spend with such lovely, slightly mad people (who have all made me feel so welcome). It took me a couple of days to get my bearings, but since then I've found a pair of Darth Vader socks under a bed, and made, what Rhys described as, radioactive custard. I've been doing a mix of shifts, early, late, bar, & splits in the kitchen. Bianca spent an evening going through the role of the 2nd chef, as well as treating us to a rather marvellous musical medley. I think my favourite moment was when she went seamlessly from a heartfelt rendition of 'Jerusalem', into 'Popeye the Sailor Man'. I didn't think Honey G could possibly improve, but I'd really like to hear her take on that. Everything went ok with the cooking, apart from when Hanna suddenly exclaimed, "Oh no! Look at Dave's tiny sausage!" 

I think perhaps my most exciting discovery so far is just how much of a delight it is to vacuum the carpets here. All but the most stubborn of sock fluff vanishes like a charm. I am not alone in my appreciation of this - Glen for one shared in my enthusiasm. Although, at times, he does seem a little bit perplexed about my general enthusiasm for just about everything. Walking into the staff house one day he asked how my day had been, to which I replied it had been really fun. 

"What did you do?" 

"Well, I spilt half a bucket of water over the dining room floor, and later on I found a really cool pen behind reception." 

Much of the talk in the staff house this week has been about the super moon (which Glen was very disappointed about the size of), and the upcoming staff pitch and putt golf competition on Thursday. There was also a fair amount of piss taking (out of me) by Dave & Bianca when I was trying to explain that the secret to making a better Cappuccino than Chris was all down to how it feels - like when you're playing sport. (Dave: "oh the froth, the froth!"). I can accept that I was fairly deserving of it on this particular occasion. But it was nothing really in comparison to some of the things that Chris says & does. I should perhaps say at this point (being utterly serious for a moment) that Chris is a fantastic manager to work for, but really....having to line up all the coat hangers in the drying room in a most particular way??!! & that's him saying he's not as bad as he used to be. I think perhaps as a form of retribution, I might have been landed with the job of writing 100 plus hostel Christmas cards! 

More news from Eskdale meanwhile: Rachel excitedly informed me that she has bought me a sledge (which looks like a giant squashed spoon - what could possibly go wrong?!). I think (if snow conditions allow), we'll be having a bum slide race down Hardknott Pass (next of kin on speed dial). I also had a slightly strange Facebook message from Fiona - something about her dislike of cooked blueberries and big letters. I'm sure it made absolute sense to her. 

A spot of Quidditch, and the Castlerigg Druids

I arrived in Borrowdale on Monday night after running around Keswick with the football girls. It was the first run I'd done in a long time, and I enjoyed it so much that I've agreed to go nighttime fell running with a friend next week. I'm beginning to think that this was just the endorphins talking - definitely not sense or reason (not that I'm well acquainted with either of those). But despite the fact that I'm probably going to die - I'm really looking forward to it. I wasn't exactly sure where I'd be sleeping when I arrived at the hostel, and as the staff house is full I've been given a camping pod for the first week (which is amazing). Although there is no mobile phone signal here, it's quite a novelty having wifi access. It means I can keep in touch with people more often, and discuss with Rachel writing reviews about blueberry bagels on the Asda website. The first few days here passed in a bit of a blur - information overload. Although both Borrowdale and Eskdale are YHA hostels, they are vastly different in pretty much every way. The first thing you notice it the size of the place, Borrowdale is bigger, has more staff, and the shift patterns are varied and different. It has crossed my mind that I'll still be asking a million questions on my last day here! Although, I do get the impression that some of my questions are not exactly considered 'normal'. One morning I had to ask (very seriously) about vacuum cleaning logistics, and later that afternoon (while sweeping up some leaves) I inquired as to whether we could have a five minute game of Quidditch. 

I had a day off on Thursday, and once the rain had mostly stopped, I went out exploring the neighbourhood. I took a wander up to castle crag, where the views were amazing, & I got chatting to a lovely couple who were staying locally. It was good to be outside, in the fresh air, with no talk of elections - only nature. Later that evening, I drove up to Castlerigg stone circle (about 25 minutes away). The skies were clear, stars were bright, and there was a possible chance of seeing the aurora borealis. The really big problem though was the moon - conditions were just not dark enough. I was talking about the moon when I got back to Borrowdale, and Glen started telling me that the moon was going to be really big next week. I asked him what that meant for the world, to which he replied, "well, we will just see a really big moon." But he did reckon that the moon has been unnaturally large all year, and that perhaps it has moved much closer to earth. "Or it could just be my eyesight...it hasn't really got bigger, but I can see far away things more clearly now." 

There were a few other people hanging around the stone circle, and although I was slightly worried that they could be Druids (and might be interrupting some sort of ritual) I walked over and started chatting to them. They were in fact just regular human beings (and very nice at that), two from Scotland, & one from York, and we'd all just randomly met there. I stayed for a little while before heading to Tewet tarn. It was at this point that I encountered a slight difficulty - I couldn't seem to get my £7.99 headtorch (from the Spar in Durness) to work. It turned out that I wasn't actually pressing the on button, but thankfully there was no one around to ridicule me. 

When I was back in work, I decided it was time to address a very important issue with my new work colleagues. "So.....what are you thoughts on Chris de Burgh?" The response on the whole was more positive than I expected - I'm pretty sure the word 'legend' was even used. That, along with the general enthusiasm at my idea to have a staff pitch and putt game, has made me realise that it's going to be a good few weeks. 

3 Spurs fans, & the King of Thailand

The last few days in Eskdale (until December at least) passed in the usual eventful style. Saturday night, bonfire night, was our final staff get together for a while, although I don't think all four of us were actually ever in the same place at the same time. Fiona had been out running and broke herself slightly, she hobbled back to the hostel complete with a great tale of woe. Despite Rachel and I offering to carry her to the firework display at the George, she opted (most wisely) to remain with her feet up in the warm. Mick was busy setting up the outside pizza festival for the Bolsover Woodlands Enterprise group, so Rachel and I headed down the road alone. (But not before Rachel had stood outside the toilet door singing 'Islands in the Stream' to me whilst I had a wee). I think I'd been telling several people over the course of the day just how excited I was to be going to a bonfire. I'd been in Switzerland the year before, and as I had to explain to someone, they don't celebrate 5th November there as I'm fairly sure ours was the only parliament that Guy Fawkes tried to blow up. So you can (perhaps) imagine my disappointment when we arrived at the pub only to discover that there was no bonfire, only fireworks. But the fireworks were very good, and I felt incredibly safe because Rachel was standing next to me with a glass of soda water (which was meant to be lemonade, but now she could use it as a fire extinguisher). We joined in with the pizza festival when got back, and threw down some moves to Dolly Parton. There was even time to head to the Woolpack afterwards with Mick, but all that really sticks in my mind about that was when Paddington walked in and offered us all some fudge. 

It must be something of a phenomenon, that amongst the tiny population of east Eskdale there are three Spurs fans. We gathered together in the Woolpack at midday on Sunday to watch the north London derby (much to Harry's mild disapproval - "isn't there any proper sport on?!). In between giving an alternative commentary on the game, Struan was earnestly telling me and Dave that apart from the King of Thailand, Mick is the nicest man he has ever met. And since the King of Thailand died, he has now promoted Mick to being the nicest man in the world. I was naturally intrigued as to where and when Struan had actually met the King of Thailand, and upon hearing his answer I wonder if perhaps 'met' should be downgraded to 'seen along with hundreds of others from a considerable distance'. "I met him in Bangkok. It was his birthday. There was a procession, and he floated along throwing bread to people like a Roman dictator. I've never seen anyone float before, apart from David Blaine." There's not a lot you can say in reply to that, so I changed the subject slightly and said what a shame it was that Tom-Tom wasn't here - an Arsenal fan to spice up the rivalry. Dave was not convinced by Tom-Tom's dedication to following the sport, though......"he wouldn't know if Arsenal had lost to Partick Thistle at the weekend!" The match finished 1-1, and the biggest controversy was when a woman came to the bar and ordered a decaf expresso. I spent the evening singing songs in the style of Honey G with Rachel, and packed a few things into my van ready to leave the following day. I did have time for a wander around Eskdale in the morning, and it was stunning with the Autumn colours and a dusting of snow on the high mountain tops. Even for three weeks I will miss this place, and these people. Now it's to the other side of the mountain. 

5 Horse Chestnut trees, & a caravan in the wheelie bin

It seemed to me a natural time to bring this blog to an end. With the end of the season, and people moving on for the winter. But then I remembered that stories do not finish, they simply change. It may not be easy for a while - the abrupt shift from routine to an undefined quietness. I'm finding it hard at the moment, probably more difficult than I'd care to admit. It's not just the stopping, but the thought of starting all over again. Don't get me wrong. I'm very much looking forward to working at Borrowdale for 3 weeks, but there is that nagging, primitive worry about wanting to be accepted. To be accepted without having to compromise who you are - to have the courage to be who you are, and more importantly - the courage to know who you are. To make sure the things which I believe to be important, being kind, being patient, are things that I actually do rather than simply being ideas that exist in my head. Writing brings, amongst many other things, a certain aspect of accountability to my life (by virtue of reflection), and it also encourages me to be more outward looking - to pay attention to the world around me. I know I'm in danger of missing out on so much, new people, new places, if I even begin to compare the present to what has gone before. It is because of this that I have decided to continue updating the blog. I realise that the title of it is now slightly misleading, but hey, summer in the Lake District is pretty much an elusive concept anyway. 

You would be forgiven for thinking, based on what is written above, that I've spent the past week curled up, hibernating in a contemplative silence (or sat with a coffee in front of the Woolpack's fire). It's not quite true, though. I would say that I've only spent 80% of my time doing that. Maybe a little less. For a few days at least things felt fairly normal, and by normal I mean, well.....!! We went out for a staff meal on Sunday night, & entered the Halloween themed pub quiz. Rachel was all for dressing up, but my only agreement was that I was definitely going to be putting clothes on. We won the quiz (absolutely smashed it) mostly thanks to Fiona's obscure musical knowledge, and Rachel's enormous brain. I was chatting to Tom-Tom afterwards, saying goodbye as he heads off for the winter with Evie. I asked him why he wanted to go travelling to Birmingham for 2 months, but it turns out that I hadn't been listening carefully enough. He was actually going to Birmingham to get a flight to go travelling for 2 months (to Nepal & Bali), which made a bit more sense (safe travels x). 

On Monday morning I buried several conkers in the small flower box outside my window. I was laughing to myself at the thought of them all shooting up next spring. The only trouble is, I'm not sure that the flower box is strong enough to support five Horse Chestnut trees. But I'm more optimistic about that than I am about Mick's assertion that the caravan (currently lurking behind the hostel) is going to be taken away in the wheelie bin. It's not quite the right shape for starters. 

I think the real low point of the week for me was trying to guess the cost of Mick's new calculator. He was proudly showing me and Fiona his new purchase, when I said excitedly, "Oooo! Let me try to guess how much it cost!" (This is usually one of my favourite games). I thought about it for a moment, and decided that if I knew which shop he'd bought it from I might be able to make a more educated guess. But instead of refusing to answer, he utterly spoiled it by telling me that it was very expensive, and that he'd bought it from Poundland. I went off in a bit of a huff. Still haven't forgiven him. Rachel managed to cheer me up a little bit though by telling me about the long walk she'd been on, and how all the Little Egret's she saw (rare for these parts) were probably flocking towards the sticky toffee pudding factory. 

The Last Supper (Club)

It was touch and go for a while as to whether I'd actually be able to write this end of season blog post. Rachel has been trying to create a bit of extra drama by killing off one of the main characters (me). I had suspected this for a few days, but it wasn't until she asked me to take the bins out at the dead of night (running the risk of being eaten alive by foxes or an army of field mice), that my suspicions were confirmed. I consider myself extremely lucky to have survived that particular ordeal, and thankfully (??) Rachel seems to have turned her attention to singing Power Ballads. 

Tom-Tom popped round on Friday evening to deliver the first ever edition of the Eskdale Beacon (local newspaper). I thought Evie was joking when she said my article would be called 'Kirsten's Column(s)', but no, apparently not! I haven't actually read that particular section - but the rest of the paper is very good indeed! I was particularly enthused by the horoscopes - according to the stars I'm going to start a new dance craze this week. 

I was assigned, more by accident than design, the last late shift of the season. I'd been going on about it for a while, about how I was going to have some sort of party (the nature of which would be determined by what actually happened that particular evening). Not in my wildest dreams though had I imagined that I'd get to play Tottenham Hotspur Top Trumps with some of the guests, nor that there'd be a group from Wales in fancy dress (including a man wearing a green fairy costume). To be honest though, by the time a guy from South Africa said to me (in all seriousness), "You must be from the Southern Hemisphere too, with an accent like that?" I was pretty tired and ready for bed. It already seemed a long time ago that, earlier in the evening, we had served the Last Supper (club) of the season, and Rachel had asked us to pick a Jesus. When I told her that that was a bit mean, she changed her mind and said, "OK. Pick your favourite cheeses." 

It was slightly strange saying goodbye to all the guests on Sunday morning, knowing that once they had left there would be an empty building (to clean). Before that had happened though, we sat in the dinning room having our breakfast break whilst discussing forehead size and optimal hairband positioning. This was briefly 'interrupted' when a young lad from one of the families we had staying walked up to the table and asked me for my autograph. He was a Spurs fan, and I'd been chatting to them all the previous evening and mentioned that I'd played for the Spurs Ladies team for a season. I did warn him never to bother trying to sell it on eBay! It was such a lovely moment, though. One of many that have happened over this past 7 months. However, the mad times weren't quite yet at an end (I doubt they ever will). We made a start on making beds, and I asked Fiona if she would treat us to a brief history of her CD player ownership? What was described is quite unrepeatable, but it left us doubled up in laughter (to the extent that Rachel declared that she'd achieved a temporary six pack). Then we put on Dolly Parton, and finished the cleaning.  

 

Postscript 

Whatever happens (because we simply don't know from one day to the next), Eskdale will always hold a most special place in my heart. I would think it near impossible for anyone to visit here and not feel that way. Whether it be for a single day, or to be fortunate enough to live here for a spell, to feel a love at first sight, and for that love to then change and deepen. I no longer feel the separation of time like I once did, nor do I feel the separation of my thoughts nor of my person. My existence is not divided - there is at last a sense of completeness to life. It has been an extraordinary coming together of people and place. 

I would like to thank each and every person who has been reading this blog, thanks for sharing, and thanks to Tom-Tom who allegedly tells everyone who walks into the Woolpack about it! I hope you have enjoyed reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it. Thank you also to the YHA, without whom none of this would have been possible. Hand on heart this is the best job I've ever had. 

Thank you most especially of all to Mick, Rachel, and Fiona. I'm not sure you knew what you were letting yourselves in for when I asked if it was ok to write about you all in my blog! It has been an honour and a privilege - it is not often that a person gets to share so much wonderful truth (with a hint of what Rachel might describe as 'LIES'). It has been an incredible 7 months - WE SMASHED IT. I love you all (but not as much as I love Chris de Burgh. Obvs).

COOOEEEE-VOIR!!!  

Picnic bench rolling, & Jedi Knights

There is just one week of the season left to go, and it's all so wonderfully busy. It's hard to believe that next Sunday afternoon I'll be able to run around the building yelling "coo-eee" without disturbing anyone (apologies until then). Things have undoubtedly been made more 'interesting' with five days of not being able to access our computer system. We took bets on when the new router would be delivered, and even invented the new sport of picnic bench rolling (risk assessment still pending) to pass the time. I'm not sure it's a sight that the Parcel Force delivery driver is used to seeing on a Friday afternoon. I think we managed admirably (sans computer), and it was just another example of how well we respond to all different types of crises. Here follows a brief conversation which took place after a minor incident (paper cut sized) occurred. 

"I have Star Wars plasters?"

"No, Ki-Ki. I don't want to find Obi-Wan Kenobi in my porridge." 

"Well. It would be more exciting than seeing the face of Jesus in the butter." 

"No." 

And that was that. Back to work as if nothing had happened at all. 

There has been the odd occasion however when that is most definitely not the case. On one particularly busy evening Mick, who was on reception, seemed to be getting into a spot of bother. I walked out of the kitchen to see if everything was alright, and found him knee deep (quite literally) in streams of till roll. I managed to ask what on earth had happened before starting to cry with laughter. "This till roll is too big for the new PDQ machine, so I had to try and take some of it out, and, well.......!" Later on that evening I asked Mick how he was feeling on a scale from 1 to 100 (with 1 being pretty miserable, and 100 being other worldly). I don't think he quite understood the magnitude of the scale because he answered laughing, without giving it any real thought, "6, but rising." I doubt that Mick is ever below an 80 on cheerfulness. But just in case he was being serious, I told him a joke to lighten the mood: 

A football fan asked René Descartes a question. 

"Will Sunderland stay in the Premier League this season?"

"I don't think so." 

And Descartes disappeared in a puff of logic. 

I enquired as to whether Mick would miss me over the winter. "Yes. But we will still be able to talk to you, once you've set up that new communication device!" I have got three weeks work in November at YHA Borrowdale (very happy/excited). How exactly is a bit of a mystery to me, though; I forgot to mention at my interview how much I like writing the fridge temperatures in the kitchen diary (especially when fridge 2 is 3° and fridge 3 is 2°. You really have to concentrate then). They must have decided that I have sufficient skills aside from that. Anyway...as Borrowdale is, roughly speaking, on the other side of Scafell Pike to Eskdale, I was telling Rachel of my plan to attach lots of yogurt pots to an enormous piece of string that would stretch from one hostel to another (and we could use it to talk to each other). I asked her if she thought it would work, to which she replied, "what could possibly go wrong?!" She also helpfully pointed out that it might just be easier to use the telephone. 

A butterfly aquarium, & 60 over par

With our entire computer system (two computer screens and a couple of mice) knocked out, I went down to the Woolpack to drink coffee by the fire (and check email). I was lucky enough to hear (& see) Struan extolling the wonders of a well fitted belt, "If it's too tight then it's uncomfortable, but if it's too loose then my trousers will fall down. I've been using this bungee cord I found lying around, but now I'm going to Ambleside to get a new one. What's Ambleside like?" Ben proceeded to describe Ambleside as 'Blackpool, but for the outdoors', which certainly raised a smile. 

Back at the hostel, life without any computer access was beginning to tell. Fiona, perhaps believing that we had been sent back many years in time, asked Mick, "Do you know anyone who has a fridge?" That she asked this whilst standing next to the two main hostel fridges left me utterly unable to answer (I think I did that goldfish thing). Mick, however, was obviously thinking about this carefully, because after a good moments pause he replied, "Yes. My parents have a fridge." This of course wasn't really what Fiona was getting at, but we all went along with the more amusing version anyway. It was then Mick's turn to highlight just how much we've come to rely on Google when, at breakfast, he was trying to convince us that butterflies live in an aquarium. "Yes, I think it's called a butterfly aquarium." He did seem to question his information though when I asked him if the butterflies and sharks generally had a good relationship, or did the Cabbage White attack the Great White at every opportunity. Even when we do have technology up and running, conversation has always been a huge part of what makes this place so special. With an open fire going, chatting to a man who, quite by accident, had earned a couple of international caps for Monserrat. Telling me how they'd ordered a kit from Britain, and ended up playing in 30° degree heat wearing a fleece lined strip. 

Headed over to Keswick on Wednesday to meet my friend, Graham (who I'd somehow managed to talk into playing pitch and putt). I purchased a spare ball in advance (wise decision), and was most happy that Graham agreed to make certain allowances for my golfing ability. "Is it ok if we make it a maximum of 10 shots for each hole? So if it takes me 17 then we'll just call it 10?" It soon became apparent that Graham had a much better grasp of the game than me, "well, that shot looked really good, so we should knock a couple off for that." We quickly decided that the ascetics were far more important than proximity to the flag. It all went a little bit wrong though when Graham said, "oh look, you can hit it as far as you like from this tee, there's a great big fence at the end to stop anything getting through." So up I stepped and promptly hit both the first ball, and then the spare, clean over the top of that 'great big fence'. Oops. There were a few others playing on the course at the same time (one of whom was dressed like a proper golfer, which Graham said was definitely cheating), and we bumped into a couple of them in town later on. They asked how we had got on, and if we'd enjoyed it. We both said how much fun it had been, and I proudly let them know that I had scored 60 while Graham only managed 35. "60?! 60 over par?!" I could tell that they were seriously impressed. 

A telephone postcard, & fake sticky poo

Everything about the check in was going to plan until, that is, the gentleman looked up and into the kitchen, and asked me if there was a strange purple light in there (or was it just his eyes). Rachel had obviously overhead this question because she replied through the door, "Oh, that's just my aura." The gentleman seemed happy with this explanation, and assured Rachel that purple was a good aura to have. He then went on to ask me at what time breakfast was served, "7.30.........am". He was glad that I had clarified the am/pm distinction, as he thought it might be possible that we existed in some sort of different time dimension here (and served all our meals at once). By this point we were both rather struggling with words (such was the ridiculousness of what had initially been quite a normal check in), but I somehow managed to get all the relevant information across before going to add another item to a packed lunch bag. 

The slightly bizarre theme to the evening had been set not long after coming into work. There was a message on the answerphone for all of us - a telephone postcard from Fiona. It was a bit of a cheat really, because there's no way in the world she could have squeezed all those words onto an actual postcard. I had to ask Rachel at one point, "is she really still talking?" Apparently so. It was of course though utterly lovely. Perhaps somewhat less lovely (but utterly amusing) was Rachel's revelation about what she had been doing the previous night. "I started reading these reviews of fake sticky poo on Amazon, and just couldn't stop. Some of them are hilarious - I can't believe I haven't discovered this before. You'll have to take a look later, Ki-Ki!" 

Later however, I had my attention drawn by other things - Mick gluing a piece of bark to an old, ripped pillowcase. I'm not sure what prompted him to ask me, "K, do you like wolves?" I did wonder briefly if he'd acquired one for the hostel grounds. I told him that I wasn't particularly fond of them, certainly wouldn't want to meet one in the wild. "Well at least they can't swim/live underwater!" Mick informed me. I conceded that this was indeed a bonus, but as wolves can swim normally (and humans can't spend any length of time underwater) I didn't really see how that could benefit me in a confrontation. He then explained that if I was sitting beside a Loch eating my lunch, a wolf wouldn't be able to sneak up and steal a sandwich entirely unnoticed ("you would see it coming from the woods, or its head above the water."). I had to admit that I hadn't thought of that particular scenario, but that was probably because there are no wolves in Britain. 

Cottaging, & Honey G!

Last Saturday evening I received an invitation from Rachel which was, quite frankly, impossible to resist. "Ki-Ki, do you want to come and watch X-Factor with me and Moss, and eat some cheese and potato pie?!" It's a good job she didn't mention the copious amounts of Asda value lemonade that needed drinking so that the empty bottles could be used to make space rockets. I was pretty much too darn excited already. Of course I agreed, but had to make it absolutely clear that I was only really interested in one of the acts, surely the odds (odd) on favourite, Honey G. And I was not disappointed, with any of it. As Louis would say, "That was the best performance of the night." There was also something about the other contestants taking the mick out of her in the house..."when I say coffee, you say tea!" We both agreed that this would be a really funny thing to rap to the customers at the hostel when they ordered a hot drink. Who knew the X-Factor could be so inspirational. 

Fiona was, by this point, off on her holidays for a week. She had been very excitedly telling anyone who would listen that, and I quote, "I'm going cottaging in the Yorkshire Dales!" I don't think she really was going cottaging, but you can never tell with Fiona. This left me and Rachel to do a complete clear out of the hostel on Sunday morning, and although it was quite a task I did come away with my pockets full of nerf gun ammunition. Bit useless as I don't actually own a nerf gun, but not as useless as the shooting skills of the group we had staying (judging by the location of some of the foam pellets). 

My days off seemed to come around very quickly this week, and on Wednesday afternoon I packed a few things in my van and headed over to Borrowdale. I called in at the hostel there, but actually spent the night at Stonethwaite campsite (which cost a fiver and I had the place to myself). I took a wander along to Black Moss Pot, stopping quite often just to stare at the river, the autumn colours, the details and the whole beautiful scene; A life so simple, and yet so full. The following day my indecisiveness led me to many different places, including a petrol station near Kendal where I heard the news on their radio that a songwriter had been awarded the Nobel prize for literature. I'd missed the name first time around, so of course I naturally assumed that it must have been Chris de Burgh. But, on listening a little longer, it soon became apparent. And, in absolute truthfulness, I was so made up I nearly cried, danced around, and had to restrain myself from hugging the person behind me in the queue. C de B aside (plus Paul Simon, & Bono), Bob Dylan is my all time favourite artist, but here favourite seems too cheep a word to describe him. His music, his lyrics, have been the soundtrack to so many different times of my life (perhaps most especially the hard times); it's not always easy to listen to, nor 'enjoyable', but you listen and you get through. Blood on the Tracks. 

Before returning to Eskdale, I called into Workington where I was sold an off-cut of Lino for my van by an Arsenal fan. I also bought some fruit tea cakes for Mick because he told me that he urgently needed one. Perhaps the most exciting purchase that I made though was a £1.99 Where's Wally? mug for Rachel (after Mick had snapped the handle off her old one earlier in the week). I wasn't looking for it, but just happened to find it. Which was more than can be said for Rachel's deliberate attempts to find Wally! "I don't think he's on there, K. Do you think they've forgotten to put him on, and that's why the mug was so cheap? Can you imagine the number of complaints they'll get about that?!" It turns out that amongst Rachel's many skills, Where's Wally? is not one of them. 

Scenes!

I hadn't been in work long, and not yet being entirely awake it took me a few moments to realise that Rachel was trying to tell me something about bumble bees and icing sugar. ".......and there are these parasites, which would be like having a brown crab stuck in your leg." That was too much for me, I had to ask Rachel if I was hallucinating, or hopefully still dreaming. But I was doing neither, apparently. Rachel assured me that she had been awake for several hours, was in her right mind, and knew exactly what she was talking about. I could do little else but frown, and put another coffee on. I can't say that things improved at breakfast - Fiona was now busy talking about how much she'd like a wax work of an 1981 Adam Ant in her room. Some sense finally returned when Rachel had this amazing idea - she would contact both Chris de Burgh and Rod Stewart to tell them that the other was coming to Eskdale to join our band. What could possibly go wrong? I really did expect the pair of them to turn up the very next day. But instead all we got was Iain (running school group activities for the week) singing one of C de B's less well known songs to me. Iain, it turns out, is also a big fan. But Rachel and Fiona were more sceptical about this than me, "K, he probably got dragged along to those concerts by slightly crazy ex. Or, he's just taking the piss out of you." I don't really understand how either of those suggestions could possibly be true (haters are going to hate). 

On Friday afternoon we had an intruder at the hostel. I was doing a spot of washing up when I heard someone/something trying to get through the kitchen door. Not being able to see anything at the window, I was momentarily perplexed. But a whining sound from outside, accompanied by a quick glance at the CCTV solved the mystery. Woolly, the Woolpack Inn's dog, had evidently decided to take a wee wander up the road. I took Woolly outside, and reluctantly rung up the Woolpack to let them know (I would have quite happily spent the rest of the afternoon in the sunshine playing with the dog). Apparently she had been in a sulk because Harry was away! 

I had a rare Saturday off work, and made plans to meet up with my friends Kath, H, and their two boys. I set off for Keswick giving me what I thought would be plenty of time, but I hadn't even got out of Eskdale before I began to doubt this. First of all I saw Tom-Tom & Evie driving the other way, so we stopped for a chat (which was basically Tom-Tom being sat in the middle of what would otherwise have been a most pleasant conversation!). I then found myself driving behind a coach which had a minor collision with an oncoming car. Disproportionate chaos followed, with no one being able to pass, the coach passengers getting out to look, and the car driver getting more and more irate. A small queue of vehicles soon developed, and drivers started getting out of their cars to ask what was going on. One of these was Paddington (from the Woolpack) who marched up the road wearing a bright pink tutu with matching face paint (as if it was the most normal thing in the world), and told them in no uncertain terms to hurry up and move out of the way. Just your average Saturday morning scenes in Eskdale.  

Keswick was a different kind of crazy.  Kath & H for one thing, but just the sheer number of people about. The plan had been to walk up Catbells, but by the time we'd had coffee (or had the piss taken out of you for drinking peppermint tea), & H had categorically stated that she would not be rushed into buying a pair of welly socks which she didn't like the colour of, there were no parking spaces to be found. This was despite Kath's best hopes and efforts - "ooo do you think I can get in there?" I still can't work out which 'space' she was referring to. In the end we decided to go back to town, and go for a wander along the lake. H seemed pretty upset that Kath wouldn't let her buy some duck food (I think she was asking for herself and not the kids), but things like that are soon forgotten on such a beautiful day. It all worked out kinda perfectly in the end, and we even got to witness the phenomenon that is H skimming stones. She had one really lucky go (which only I saw), and after that announced loudly that everyone had to watch and she would show us all how it's done. But the pressure of the situation must have got to her - the stone barely made the water, and the only 'skimming' that occurred was thanks to it hitting the bottom and bouncing up again. Skills. Discounting their suggestion that I try on some utterly stylish (if you happen to be 95, & perhaps not even then) grey shoes from Keswick market just so they could have somewhere to sit down to eat their chips, it was a fantastic day. Thanks. 

Eskdale baseball

For one reason or another I seem to be running a week (at least) behind real time. I’m not going to pretend that this is entirely without merit, but it also gets a little confusing at times. In that respect I have some sympathy for the guest who turned up a day early, and who had also booked under a previous name. She assured me that this was nothing – at least she had come to the correct hostel this time. It must be the season for this sort of thing – I asked a couple hoe they had got on up Scafell Pike, to which they replied, “Oh, we got a little lost, and ended up walking the Old Man of Coniston, instead. I think we drove over Hardknott Pass, and couldn’t find our way after that.” I cautiously enquired whether perhaps they had turned left out of the hostel rather than going right. “Yes. I think that must have been what happened.”

Mick, however, was not in the sort of mood for accepting the simplest explanation for things. He came in from walking the dog, and announced to us all that he thought there was a creature in the biomass, probably a bear. “You think there’s a bear in the biomass, actually living in there?” Rachel asked. “Yes. Probably.” Rachel then went on to seek clarification about this animal, “Is that the type of bear that is very very small, with a tail, whiskers, and little pointy ears?” Mick did at this point concede that it might be a possibility, that it could well be a mouse rather than a grizzly bear. He then wandered off contented that this great mystery had been solved. More of a mystery to me though, is how/why he ever allows me and Rachel to go on a road trip to Whitehaven together. I can’t go into too much detail here as it’s quite possible that the authorities are still on the look out for two women who ‘may have escaped from some institution or other’. I for one however think it’s perfectly acceptable to get excited about free Kellogg’s pencil cases, and 39p Star Wars lucky bags. “LOOK AT THAT, RACHEL! LOOK AT THAT!” (Perhaps I should get out of the valley a little bit more.)

First weekend in October, Rory (brother number two) and Jen came to visit. We were all rather sad that Rory’s friend Graham wouldn’t make it (due to being ill with bronchitis) – we really could have done with an extra fielder for our afternoon of baseball. Eskdale baseball isn’t exactly like MLB, very similar I’m sure (in terms of standard), but with the slight difference that we use blue plastic balls from Aldi (which have to be retrieved from the sheep field every now and then). It wasn’t all fun and games, though. I had some serious discussions with Jen about dinosaurs and avocados, and whether of not she will soon be known as The Last Botanist (a breed not quite yet as rare as lichenologists). The weather was beautiful, and it was lovely to be out and about. Rory even brought along his harmonica, and treated us to an ode to something or other when he felt inspired.

Motivational t-towels, & 50p Rich Tea biscuits

I returned from a break in Scotland to find that everything had changed. Well. Perhaps not everything. But certainly the laundry system had been revolutionised. I wasn't used to a life of such advancement and luxury. Although, to be fair, sleeping in the back of a van and waking up to nothing at all but the most incredible sunrise is just about as luxurious as you can get. Plus, when there is no one else around to smell you, the need for a shower doesn't seem so pressing. The weather was decidedly un-Scottish, and there were other unforeseen joys such as a 50p packet of Rich Tea biscuits from the Spar shop in Scourie (the seagulls were complimentary). I pulled over one day to take a photo of Quinag, and before I knew it I was walking up it. I met a lady on the summit who, I found out, plays badminton around the corner from my mum's. Any notion of it being a small world was soon dispelled when I then met a couple from California who I had absolutely no previous connection to at all. It seemed to be a week characterised by meeting interesting people, and then going through long periods of seeing no one at all. The north west coast of Scotland is stunningly beautiful, raw, exposed, and an utterly terrible landscape for when you're outside and need the loo. Where's a bloody tree when you need one?!   

I was able to pick up the odd bit of phone signal and internet while I was away. This was rather lucky as I had a message from Rachel asking if it was ever acceptable to buy underwear for your work colleague. I think this was merely an afterthought though, as she had already purchased me a pair of Where's Wally? knickers (with a pirate ship theme). It was really quite tempting to abandon my holiday right there and rush straight back to Eskdake.  But, alas, I still hadn't found a suitable addition to the hostel's motivational t-towel collection (without which I reckoned they wouldn't let me back in the door). The week before, Rachel had been telling us all of her vision; a cupboard full of t-towels from all over the world. Mick had fully got on board with this, and decided that it would be a good way to inspire the workforce (and even better if they were educational). It was even declared to all the hostels across the North, that Eskdale staff were currently being motivated by place names of the Cotswolds. I have warned him however that this initiative could well backfire and cause serious in-hostel fighting - because no one is going to want to do anything other than the drying up anymore. 

The weather started to turn on the west coast, so I packed up and headed east -to Aviemore to visit family. I still slept in my van (through choice), but it was lovely to spend the evenings indoors and witness arguments as to who was the most deserving of Jarlsberg cheese. It has become a home from home for me there, and as such it was no surprise that I had the best nights sleep of the week up by Loch Morlich. It took me a while to realise that I was in a van when I woke up, and I got madly excited when a load of pine needles blew into my bowl of breakfast cereal. It was back to Eskdale not long after that, via many service stations (I'd drunk a lot of tea) and Gretna Green to get a couple of t-towels.

That smells like the best Twiglet ever!

Spent my days off doing a spot of hostel hopping around the Lakes. Keswick again for football, then a night at Windermere which featured the purplest sunset I have ever seen. Somewhere in between all that I called into Kendal to get windows put in the back of my van, and made use of having phone signal by Facebook messaging Evie Plumb. My favourite writer is a plumber from Sheffield. & all I've ever read of his is the occasional Facebook status about yodel deliveries and geraniums. It's a special talent to be able to generate interest in something like that - most other people would have you asleep in seconds. I don't think he has any idea just how good he is. But that's a slight digress from Evie asking me if I'd like to write for Eskdale Now! - an Eskdale based monthly newspaper (run by herself & Tom-Tom). It's always a compliment to be asked, and especially so when the person asking is as creatively talented as Evie. I was listening to her band's (LOWES) debut single on YouTube the other day, and let me tell you, it's really something. I wouldn't put them in the same musical genre as Chris de Burgh, but don't let that put you off. Speaking of C de B - I hit the charity shops of Kendal whilst waiting for my van windows to be installed, and I thought I'd struck gold when I found a best of Chris de Burgh album for only £1. But when I opened the case and saw that the CD missing, a little part of me died inside. 

 

I was on my way back to Eskdale when I received a voicemail from Rachel. The first part reminded me a little bit of those birthday cards which, when opened, sing a recorded message to you. "Oh come with me to the rolling sea where the weather's calm and still....hello Ki-Ki-Deeee!" But then the singing stopped, and Rachel asked in her most serious voice if I could pick up seven loaves of brown bread, some ham, chicken, and cheese. I figured that either Mick was really really hungry, or the sandwich delivery hadn't arrived. Mick and Rachel had returned from Scotland the previous evening, and I was super excited to see them again (and super proud that I hadn't blown up the hostel in their absence). One of the first things Rachel told me about their holiday was how she had mistaken the packet of ginger biscuits I had given her for plain regular oatcakes. That in itself wasn't too much of a problem, but it made for interesting eating when she put a thick layer of cheese & chive pâté on top. Jo however was not to be outdone by this, "well I've put chocolate covered Kendal mint cake in my porridge. I thought it was actual cake, and when I discovered it was just a bar of sugar it was the biggest disappointment of my life. But, it needs eating so I thought I'd try it in cereal." I didn't really know how to respond to all this, so I quietly offered Rachel a Marmite rice cake to try. I'm not quite sure what she made of the taste of it, but she had no hesitancy in declaring, "that smells like the best Twiglet ever!" 

I had a near death experience the following day. I'd gone out to the Solar Garden to hang up my washing when I saw an Adder sunning itself on the gravel. I somehow managed to get Rachel's attention (who was inside the hostel somewhere) by calmly saying, "there's a snake!" Rachel arrived just in time to see its tail disappearing into a bush. When I saw Mick later I told him about the snake, and said that he would have been very impressed with how cool I was about the situation, given my fear of them. 

"Oh really? I saw Rachel, and she told me that you'd been screaming your head off?!" 

Fiona's Theory of Everything (& our wonderful neighbours)

I went training with Keswick FC Ladies, and absolutely loved it. There was more chat and banter in the first five minutes than there had been the entire time at Whitehaven the previous week. Plus, there was no one suggesting that because I am good at kick-ups that I must be a bloke. In fact, now that I think about it, it probably rates as one of my most positive footballing experiences ever. I stayed the night at YHA Keswick - still undergoing repairs after the devastating floods, but very much back on its feet. I have stayed there a few times many years ago, and it brought back happy memories as well as feeling happy for the present. It was great to meet Ellie (once taken dress shopping by Fiona) who was working the late shift, and to wander around town which was decorated to celebrate the Tour of Britain passing through. The following morning I drove down to Derbyshire to play in a YHA charity 5-aside football tournament. But, to cut a long story short, they hadn't informed me of the change of date, so there was no football to be played that day. Sure, it was a long way to travel, but as I sat outside YHA Hathersage (where I spent the night) watching some bats fly about, I thought to myself 'well, nothing for nothing'. And the next day I drove back over Snake Pass with Frank Sinatra on loud. 

It might go down as my favourite late & early shift ever - the night we had a Sean Connery lookalike and his three friends come to stay. They were all so down to earth, friendly, and funny. At breakfast I mentioned something about the Sean Connery likeness, and it was obviously a running joke between them. 'Sean' asked if his mate had put me up to it, but I assured him that no, you really do look like him! His mate then told me that it wasn't just his face, but his chest also looked like Sean Connery's, and he'd probably show me if I wanted to see it?! Well. That was all a bit much for me....so I muttered something about needing to check on the tomatoes, and disappeared into the kitchen. 

We had a slight mid-week freezer crisis; one of our main freezers decided that it had pretty much had enough (& wanted to be a fridge). This problem was exacerbated by the arrival of the food order, and there was just not enough room for everything (despite our best attempts to play freezer Tetris). However....the Woolpack Inn came to our very great rescue - saving seven boxes of frozen chocolate fudge cake (and other goods) from ruin. We really can't thank you enough. 

Fiona has developed an obsession with Grey's Anatomy (I believe her friend Becca is to blame). I'm not convinced she is actually getting any sleep at night - judging by the number of plot updates she gives us each morning. She keeps asking me to pass her a scalpel, when what she really wants is a wooden spoon or a ladle. Our kitchen is no longer a kitchen - it's an operating theatre. Although, this is potentially less concerning than the new Grey's Anatomy inspired theory that she has developed to explain pretty much everything in life. "It's really quite simple, K." Fiona began as I was getting all tangled up in a double duvet cover. "Basically, if there's something not quite right with you, it means you need brain surgery. But try to get the type which you can remain awake for - then you can stare into eyes of Doctor McDreamy." She went on to list a whole range of scenarios, from breaking your leg at an imaginary football tournament to having a slight cold, which could all be explained by having something wrong with your brain cells. She concluded by saying, "I feel so much better about life now that I've realised this. Next time someone is acting strangely around me I won't take it personally - I'll just know that they need an operation on their frontal lobe." Then she wandered off, leaving me standing there looking like a green ghost with the duvet cover now draped over my head.