I have just returned from five glorious days in the Lake District. The views are extraordinary; vast, dominant mountains an absolute contrast to flat East Anglia where I reside. You become used to hearing fresh, running water instead of car engines, sheep absolutely everywhere, smelling the array of plants and flowers dotted about the mountains, taking photo after photo (while enjoying being there in the moment) to retain the visual pleasure. Camping in the valley of Borrowdale, we met a whole host of different families who we may otherwise have never spoken to. That was one of the fascinating things: going to the sink to wash up, swimming in the river, simply passing by a tent, people would always politely say hello. Could you imagine that happening at a Butlins or Center Parcs holiday resort?
****************************************************************************************************************** Walking is one of my key passions. To reflect, relax, exercise and take in the environment, it is the perfect hobby for me, acting as the commute for all the places I have to go. However, that is on flat (strong and stable) tarmac. On hilly boulders, the conditions are quite different. We decided to attempt to climb Scarfell Pike, the highest mountain in England. It was a journey, mentally and physically full of ups and downs. As we got nearer the top, the surface became more uneven, I felt more tired, desperate that every peak we saw had to be the top. Yet we made it. To sit on top, feel ‘a part of the mountains’ (as I stated in an earlier part of our climb) and look over the whole of England while eating sandwiches was an unforgettable experience, not least because a sheep had also made it to the peak. ****************************************************************************************************************** A visit to a fairly urban spot, compared to the mountains, also took place. We drove six miles to a National Trust property and walked the last mile to Keswick, past the serene, calm Derwent Water. Keswick is a fine, friendly town, full of people: some wearing footwear most suitable for steep exploration, others wearing anything but. Gazing around the town centre, it is full of hotels, restaurants, cafes and mountaineering shops. While it can only be welcomed that multiple independent businesses are doing so well, how an Earth can they financially surviving in the off-peak season? More importantly, in a town so reliant on tourism, the essence and community spirit that made our visit so pleasurable can only be damaged by both excessive tourism now and near emptiness during term time. Between a rock and a hard place, quite literally. ****************************************************************************************************************** Back home, emails beckon. To return to the online world after a necessary break away is no easy thing. I found 22 lurking in my inbox, probably below average for your cappuccino loving city worker but far above what I am used to. Even though most of them were automatic publication emails I’ve signed up to (Times Red Box, New Statesman Morning Call and the Spectator Evening Blend, in case you’re interested), the media returns like a slap in the face when wi-fi becomes available again. In Seatoller, a snug hamlet far away from the worries of the world, I could have remained blissfully ignorant of geopolitical affairs forever. Back home, it’s impossible. ****************************************************************************************************************** More holidays lurk around the corner. Next month, I head to Oxford with my mother. Though most of my impressions towards the place have been negative, due to the intense rivalry in the Boat Race and on University Challenge with Cambridge, the comparison of similarities and differences should be insightful. Before then, our annual family galivant at the Oxfordshire-Berkshire border looms. You may recall we celebrated Christmas last summer. This year, we’re dressing up as pubs. You read that right: pubs.
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