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.