A week in The Lakes

When we told people we were going to the Lake District, everyone waxed lyrical about its beauty. I thought there was no way it could live up to the hype. Not for the first time, I was proved wrong.

Rusty cycling Honister Pass in the Late District — Riding in to Buttermere

We spent a week making plans more ambitious than our legs could keep up with, climbing peaks and pedalling over passes. We had the odd reassuring comment from weathered old cyclists along the lines of “not bad for southern softies” and spent our evenings flaked out on the couch and poring over maps for the next day’s adventures.

We stayed in the quiet Eskdale Valley, complete with grand hills, whistling steam trains, classic pubs, and very few tourists. A week here is just long enough to fall in love with the place and realise how soon we need to return and explore more. We will be back.

PS Thank you Tom for taking all the holiday snaps! My life would be a blank memory card without you.

A Paris reunion

Last Thursday I took an early Eurostar, headed for Paris and a girls’ family reunion with my mum and grama. We celebrated our triple birthdays, spanning the summer months, and stretched out our long weekend with plenty of coffee, art and wandering.

New discoveries included beautiful gardens at the Jardin des Plantes, tea at the grand old Cafe du Lion of the Musee d’Orsay, and sweet things on the streets of St Germain. We walked our feet off and, when they would take us no further, hitched a ride on a rickshaw.

Paris always offers new delights; an old city that never gets old. We stayed at the Hotel Chopin, which I would recommend to anyone. It has a lovely old shabby feel, with immaculate rooms, and friendly staff. I hope I’ll be returning some day soon!

Meanwhile, my mum and grama have headed South, to the Loire, while Tom and I head up North, to catch up with friends and explore the Lake District for the first time. Boots and bikes are packed. Can’t wait!

Time well spent

Perhaps my persistent positivity about the weather paid off. Or, we’re finally due some decent weather. Either way we’ve now had days of perfect summer sunshine. I’ve been soaking up every minute, maxing out on outdoors time and ignoring any screen draw (bar Instagram, of course!).

Tom’s school summer holidays have started off in the best of ways, with mini adventures and celebrations. I’ve been along for the ride and in complete denial about work. We’ve spent our weekends in the countryside riding and walking, and our weekday evenings on the beach, drinking bubbly and dipping more-than-toes in the sea (it’s really not too cold!)

We’ve had plenty cause to celebrate, with the end of term, a new job in the pipeline, and our second wedding anniversary. Here’s to long summer days, filled with sunshine and happiness. Cheers!

Look up

There’s no doubt that this July hasn’t been the most idyllic sunny month. With flooding across the country and many a county show rained out, I think it’s fair to say we’ve all had enough of the wet stuff.

But, every cloud has a silver lining, and in this case it’s the clouds themselves. The sky has been putting on some wild and dramatic shows recently. I’d love to be able to name every cloud type, but my knowledge is pretty basic and practical. After three months of cycling and camping in Europe with few weather forecasts, I became good at spotting the grey, dimply clouds that warn of rain. The rest of them, I just have to admire.

Ever since I was a kid I’ve loved those clouds that look perfect for a mountaineering expedition, so Andrew Bird’s recent track with the same sentiment is currently getting a lot of repeat playings.

The trials of Island living

Yesterday we reluctantly watched the Red Funnel ferry depart without us, and with it, our plans to see James Yorkston & The Athletes’ 10th Anniversary performance of Moving Up Country. A midday mechanical failure on one of the ships was still causing chaos in East Cowes by late afternoon and our ferry was so delayed we couldn’t make it to the gig that I was so excited about.

The ferry’s aren’t having a good time of it, what with this plus last week’s festival traffic chaos. And so ensues the usual rants about what a ‘nightmare’ it is being ‘trapped’ on an island, beholden to unpredictable and expensive boat travel, and in need of a fixed link. The woman behind me in the queue yesterday was keen to tell everyone that she’d lived on the Isle of Wight for “five impossible years” and now she was moving away and couldn’t wait to leave. I’m sure she’ll be far happier Up Mainland.

But, for me these few ferry fiascos don’t come near to the more common travel trials of motorway traffic, noisy aeroplane flight paths, and trains stuffed full of commuters. I’d rather miss the odd gig, and console myself with a walk along the beach, or a beer on the seafront. Half the charm of this place is its slow pace, haphazard muddles and ‘behind the times’ inefficiencies. Maddening and comforting in equal measure.