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.