Not getting away

This has to be the dullest set of photos I have posted in my entire five years of blogging. In another world, this would be a post about a few pleasant days in the Lake District...but the fates were against us. Two hours after booking a pod at a nice camp site in Boot, Eskdale, a gunman went on a shooting rampage in that area of Cumbria (as many people reading this will know; it seems to have been covered globally). He eventually shot himself in the very village we were headed for. Devastating for the poor families and communities and our little problems pale into insignificance by comparison.

Ignoring this very bad omen, we packed our rucksacks anyway. Our landlord finally sorted out a new washing machine (after several years of our old one flooding the kitchen) and wanted to fit it while we were away - he rang to let us know just as we were getting ready to leave and everything came to a halt while we cleared our tiny kitchen so that the plumber could get in. We set off. The weather forecast was set to rain and storm all week. It rained on us, off and on, for nearly four hours of biking against a cold wind.

Past Birmingham the bike began grinding. We stopped a couple of times while Andy WD40'd the back wheel. It got worse. We drove slowly and - I think - illegally along the hard shoulder of the motorway, turning off into a souless hotel on the edge of Warrington. We weren't going anywhere except home. The AA insisted on sending out a repair van - just in case. It took him an hour to arrive and then as we expected, he had to ring a recovery van. Which would take two hours to arrive.

We waited in that grim car park - no shops or pub in sight - until 5.15. I took a nap on the tarmac, being blessed with the ability to sleep pretty much anywhere. When the AA recovery did arrive, he cheerfully announced that he'd only be able to take us some way home, as he was coming to the end of his shift. But he was a nice man and as soon as we arrived at his stop point, another AA truck pulled in and we switched over. By now it was about 8.00pm and we had had enough.

We finally got home at ten. At least there was a keg of home brew ready; we needed it. I am trying to look on the bright side of it all and have been playing Polyanna's 'Glad Game'.

1) I'm glad we weren't victims of a mad gunman.

2) I'm glad we didn't actually crash the bike on the motorway.

3) I'm glad we managed to get through it with a fair amount of humour and Dunkirk spirit.

4) I'm glad we at least returned to our dear little scruffy, falling down cottage in the Cotswolds, not some ghastly graffiti strewn tower block on the edge of a city.

5) I'm actually sincerely glad that the holiday DID fall through, as there have been a few problems with my present job which needed sorting out and would have been worse to deal with next week.

6) So despite being dragged reluctantly back to my studio, I'm glad to have had the extra days to work, even though I am still desperately tired.

7) I'm very glad have a spiffy new washing machine which could probably fly us to the Moon if we asked it nicely.

BUT

I am not glad that I didn't have the chance to send postcards of the scenic Lake District to many of my friends who haven't heard from me for sometime. I had a long list...



However we have our first courgette and first cherry tomato growing in the poly tunnel and the bike is not only mended but didn't cost too much to fix. The sun has returned and things are looking up. Next time we will take more notice of bad omens.