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.