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.