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.
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