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.