Travels – Page 10

To Nether Wasdale

Another big breakfast gave us the energy we needed for a relatively lazy day. Apart from anything else, it felt only fair to give Andrew a day off from driving.

Our first bus was an open-top and the commentary was supplied by Count Arthur Strong, either that or CAS has a vocal doppelganger.

We spent some time in Grasmere, the village, having driven by Grasmere, the lake. I’m not saying Grasmere doesn’t welcome visitors, but I think the sign could be a little bit more prominent, maybe with a larger typeface than this embarrassment:

Grasmere Parish Church is dedicated to Oswald of Northumbria, king and champion of Christianity, who is believed to have preached on this site sometime before 642AD when he died in battle.

It is a Grade One Listed building of national historic interest. The oldest parts date from around 1300AD, but it is probably the third church to have stood on this ancient site by the side of the River Rothay.

It’s not really keeling over, but you knew that, didn’t you? Almost in the shadow ow the church is the so-called Grasmere Gingerbread^® Shop. It’s a very small shop, so Pauline went in on her own to buy some gingerbread^®. We have Sarah Nelson to thank for creating this cross between a biscuit and a cake and I wonder what the secret ingredients are?

We visited William Wordsworth’s grave as did some of his descendents, or so they claimed. I took a photo for them but didn’t think to take a picture of them with my own phone.

(I recently played Taylor Swift’s song The Lakes on my radio show, which includes a nod to Wordsworth. See what you’ve been missing?) The Daffodil Garden is full of daffodils, but not at this time of year. It was interesting to walk along the path that acknowledges the hundreds of people who contributed to the garden.

After a pleasant wander, we took the bus back to Ambleside. You can’t help but admire the lady who put this display together in the bookshop window.

A third bus took us to Coniston. The driver was very patient on the narrow roads, and very skilful. I think we were all glad to let someone else do the driving for us. Some of the car drivers going in the opposite direction looked terrified, I suspect a couple of steering wheels will have been crushed, they were being gripped so tightly.

As Pauline pointed out, here’s something you don’t see very often these days:

I trust they’ve been failing to sell for a number of decades because we just don’t want to be catching butterflies any more.

Coniston Water is famous for two things. It’s where Donald Campbell died in 1967 during his attempt to break the water speed record in his boat Blue Bird. And one of its islands was the inspiration for Swallows and Amazons,
the first in a delightful series of books by Arthur Ransome that I enjoyed over fifty years ago. Time for a re-read?

Andrew, Pauline and I took advantage of our perfect timing and climbed aboard for a guided boat tour of the lake. The commentary wasn’t provided by Count Arthur Strong on this occasion. In fact, she didn’t even look like him.

After a quick cup of coffee, we walked back to town, consuming blackberries on the way, and took the bus back to Ambleside. As Crowded House might sing: Four buses in one day. We greeted a few locals, although some were a bit wary of strangers.

The return bus ride was less exciting, in the sense that there was far less traffic fighting the bus for space.

Our evening meal was taken sitting inside a tuk tuk in a Thai restaurant. The waiter was very apologetic about this being the only table available, but we didn’t mind at all, even if the whole edifice moved every time one of us did.

Andrew returned to driving duties and took us to the other side of the Lake District to what was our final b&b. To quell any doubts you may have, we went in the rental car, not in the tuk tuk.

Buttermere is a good place for a walk. It’s a small lake, but we didn’t walk all the way around. We did climb the hill, though Pauline and Andrew went a bit further than I did.

It was fascinating to see water flowing out of the lake into a stream. We know it happens, but we’re more used to seeing streams flow into the main body of water.

Just as we thought we were making good progress, the road was blocked.

We weren’t held up for long, the sheepdogs were doing a great job of controlling and herding their charges.

The hotel in Nether Wasdale was very easy to find, after a long and beautiful drive through the mountains. I realised that after all the time spent in Ambleside, we never did get to stop at Dove Cottage, where William Wordsworth lived for a while with his sister Dorothy. But as with all tourist attractions, it’ll still be there next time.

The three of us went for a short walk in the direction of Wastwater and returned for a drink. St Michael and All Saints is a very small church, very quick and easy to explore.

Pauline stayed in the area over fifty years ago, so our mission was (partly) to track down the cottage in which she stayed. Our drive towards Wasdale Head was curtailed because there was too much traffic coming towards us and there was nowhere to park.

We ate a late lunch (picnic food again) and quaffed our drinks on a bench over the road from the hotel, enjoyed the sunshine and the quiet. Car headlights flashed us, announcing the arrival of Liesel and Leslie. Liesel had successfully completed a couple of work projects at home. On the way to Nether Wasdale today, they’d stopped at a Bobbin Mill for a break. And it was more interesting, I think, than they’d anticipated.

The big evening meal was closely followed by a big breakfast in the morning. We were well stocked up with energy for a long hike, even if we had a lot of extra weight to lug around. On this occasion, Liesel drove us to Wasdale Head, and it was a much more pleasant ride than yesterday, much less traffic.

It was hilly, gorgeous view of the mountains and, occasionally, the lake. Becks, streams, waterfalls and sheep all competed for our attention.

In fact, at one waterfall, we met a couple who were enjoying the outdoor shower, emerging as if in an old advert for shampoo. That’s what they do. The previous day, they’d showered under four waterfalls.

The blackberries were bountiful. Some were bitter, sour, most were ok but some, on the sunny side of the bush, were sweet and juicy, the taste of childhood Autumns.

The going was tough in places, but we all kept going, with encouragement from the others. We were greeted by sheep now and then. They drew our attention to the dry stone walls which are different in style to those in Derbyshire and Yorkshire.

We tried not to worry the sheep, at least we didn’t have a dog with us. But when I mentioned in passing to one ram that Liz Truss might become our new prime minister, he looked horrified.

St Olaf’s, Wasdale Head, is England’s smallest parish church.

This one was built in about 1550 but there has been a church on the site for about 950 years. There was no need for a guided tour on this occasion.

On the way back to Nether Wasdale, we stopped on a beach by Wastwater for our lunch. We sat on rocks for a bit, but my sister and her partner went over to sit on the grass. Again, we consumed a few handfuls of blackberries. What a wonderful lifestyle. Perfect temperature, gorgeous scenery, no deadlines to meet, no work to complete.

The postprandial perambulation up the hill proved too much for me and Leslie so we waited while the others conquered the mountain. Or so they claimed…

We fell asleep to the sound of people enjoying themselves over the road, as they celebrated Holly’s Dad’s 70th birthday. Did we gatecrash? No: far too knackered! Besides, we don’t know Holly nor her Dad.

To Ambleside

Newby Hall is a Grade I listed building in North Yorkshire. Pauline chose this as the venue where we could meet up with a school friend of hers, Yvonne, and Yvonne’s husband Ian. They live a bit further north in Yorkshire. I haven’t seen Yvonne for over fifty years: in fact, the last time I saw Yvonne in real life, she was wearing her school uniform. Sadly not the case today.

The gardens are quite extensive and we wandered through chatting and admiring the work of the gardeners.

The colours were almost out of this world, I’m sure this verges on the ultraviolet.

During the guided tour of the house itself, we weren’t allowed to take any pictures. But there was more Chippendale furniture here, lots of books and pictures. Somehow, we missed seeing Gyles Brandreth’s collection of teddy bears.

We admired the miniature train as it whistled on by, but we were more interested in going out on a boat ride, on the River Ure. I saw a flash in my peripheral vision, and that was all I saw of the kingfisher, although others saw it for longer. Neither did I see the otters nor, thank goodness, the minks that are wreaking havoc on this stretch of the river. Still, it was a very enjoyable way to pass the time, sitting down, after walking around the gardens.

What a beautiful day too. We ate lunch outside, torn between sitting in the shade and soaking up and enjoying the full blast of the Sun.

The shell grotto was interesting, Martha would love it, although there are warnings about the sharp edges.

It was lovely to meet Yvonne again after all this time and I said I hoped to see her again before another fifty years have passed by.

Back at Pateley Bridge, we weren’t tempted by the Oldest Sweet Shop in England. I don’t need to eat the oldest sweets in England, wherever they come from.

But we couldn’t resist visiting the local car boot sale early the following morning. I tried, unsuccessfully, to conceal from Liesel the ten CDs that I’d bought. But I really do need them for the radio show. I do, I do.

Nidderdale AONB from Pateley Bridge High Street

We drove to Brimham Rocks, another place that was previously unknown to me. Everyone else on the planet knows about the place though, so they all came along today too. One car park was full but as members of the National Trust, we were directed to the upper car park. By ‘us’, I mean Liesel, Leslie and myself. Pauline and Andrew weren’t so lucky. They arrived a few minutes later and were sent to the overflow car park, quite a long walk away, as I discovered later in the day. Jenny, Liam and the children arrived in a third vehicle and found a parking space somehow.

Brimham Rocks is a fascinating place. There are several stacks of rocks which all invite you to climb them. I quite enjoy climbing up such rocks, intermittent shortness-of-breath issue permitting, but I really don’t like going down again. My depth perception while looking down has always been a bit dodgy, I almost have to do it by feel, even if that means using both hands and shuffling down on my bottom.

But William especially was in his element, he is such an adventurer.

I think each of the stacks has its own name. I was surprised to see some of the individuals who scampered at least halfway up some of the rock formations, just to have their photo taken.

Again, the weather was quite agreeable. Except that when we sat down for our pre-packed picnic lunch, the wind got up a bit. Later on, we realised we’d plonked ourselves down in the middle of a wind tunnel.

Jenny, Martha, Liam and William the conquerors

The café and ice cream shop are at the top of a hill, you just keep walking up until you see the queue. When you look away from the shop though, you will see lots of big golf balls on the horizon.

This is RAF Menwith Hill, a top secret listening station that at one point didn’t even appear on OS maps. Don’t tell anyone.

Get back from the edge, William!

We all returned to out accommodation in Pateley Bridge, all 9 of us, where we ate supper from the local chippy. William must have Duracell batteries, he never slows down. But he did lose the wrestling match with a foot stool.

As I hinted at earlier, Pauline, Andrew and I walked a long, long, long way back to where they’d been encouraged to park. Liesel and Leslie wanted to leave earlier. Oh well, we always need more exercise. But if I’d realised that Pauline and Andrew had parked in the next country…

Before leaving for our next base of operations, I needed to get some cash out of the ATM. They saw me coming, and watered the hanging basket. I was typing in in my PIN code and wondered why my leg was being splashed. I stood back, looked up and got a faceful of water too. There are some jokers in Pateley Bridge.

Mick’s coming, quick, let’s water the flowers

Liesel had some work to do and the 4G and Wifi services hadn’t been too reliable recently, out in the countryside, so she and Mom chose to go home for a couple of days.

I accompanied Pauline and Andrew on the drive to Kendal, which was long but uneventful. Yes, the country lanes were narrow in places. And inevitably, we followed a tractor for a short while. On the way, we passed by close to Giggleswick, Wigglesworth and an advert for Biggles removals. Like Bakewell, Kendal was a bigger town than we remembered from previous visits. We’d moved on from Yorkshire to the Lake District for more adventures in the big outdoors.

My sister Pauline is always more than happy to pose for a photo.

During our travels, we visited a few churches. I like to light candles for my Mum and Dad and Sarah, but this year, there has been no facility to do so. I wonder if they’ve stopped this practice because of the fire risk? Having said that, no, we didn’t visit this United Reformed Church.

I’m sure there’s more to Kendal than bad puns for shop names! Oh yeah: Kendal Mint Cake. But in the end, none of indulged in that very sweet and minty delicacy. We walked down an alleyway to look in the bookshop, only to be greeted by the sign: ‘Sorry, this is a storeroom, not a bookshop’. So we schlepped all the way back up the alley and wondered why they didn’t put this warning at the top. There are some jokers in Kendal.

And so to Ambleside, where we stayed at a b&b for a couple of nights. The first thing you notice about Ambleside is the ridiculous amount of traffic (yes, I know, we were part of it) and the one-way system. We couldn’t park outside the b&b, so we stopped as soon as we could. Andrew and I waited for Pauline to go back to ask our hosts where to park. They told us. Reluctantly, they gave us a Parking Disc that would allow us to park on the street for up to an hour at a time. We also got a pass that allowed us to park in the nearby car park overnight. We later found several of these rare, precious and beautiful Parking Discs in a basket by the Co-op supermarket.

We bought some groceries for a quick picnic which we enjoyed while sitting by the river, in view of Bridge House which was built over Stock Ghyll more than 300 years ago, probably as a summer house and apple store for Ambleside Hall.

Mostly we enjoyed our bread and cheese and tomatoes and crisps, which we ate without the aid of a knife. But, we were joined and pestered by a very aggressive mallard. He pecked at our shoes, attacked Andrew’s leg, and scared away the sparrows.

We went for a nice, long walk to the head of Windermere, passing by the sporting facilities on offer: bowls, tennis, rugby and crazy golf. We were quite lucky with wildlife too.

Well, I admit the last two aren’t the real thing, but they’re as close as we got on this occasion. There was a tree close to the lake that drew my attention though.

Our walk took us through a field of cows, which Liesel would have enjoyed, but they weren’t interested in us. We also saw a deer, a female deer with twin fawns, which was nice and unexpected.

Silhouetted again a bright sunset sky was the church of St Mary’s.

Liesel and Leslie decided to stay at home in Northenden, leaving me, Pauline and Andrew to amuse ourselves here in Ambleside.

To Penistone and Pateley Bridge

Liesel and I didn’t hear them go, but Pauline and Andrew left early to take Rob back to Manchester Airport. His short time here in the UK was over but I’m so glad he was able to come over for his cousin’s wedding and to spend a couple of days with us in Derbyshire. Afterwards, Pauline and Andrew drove to our next b&b visiting Ladybower Reservoir on the way.

Liesel and I and Leslie got up, packed, and looked out of the window. It was drizzly, we could no longer see the castle at the top of the hill. So we decided not to walk up, we wouldn’t see the views today.

We drove to Nostell Priory, West Yorkshire, in the rain, quite hard rain at times, on more narrow roads. Liesel drove, I navigated, as is out usual practice.

Call me cynical but I have a theory. The harder it’s raining, the further the car park is from whichever venue we’re visiting.

The highlight for me was seeing an original John Harrison long-case clock. I took several pictures of it from different angles so that one day I can 3D-print one of my own.

But the main collection is furniture designed by Thomas Chippendale, even if he didn’t do all the woodwork himself. He was a local lad who did very well. Some chairs looked more comfortable than others, but I wasn’t allowed to try them out. ‘This isn’t Ikea, you know’.

Gentleman’s dressing table and writing desk by Chippendale

The tour of the house was interesting, lots of old stuff to look at and a reminder of how easy it is to acquire too much clutter!

I was introduced to a lady in a wheelchair. This is Daisy, said her guide, she’s 105 years old. I wished her a happy birthday. For safety reasons, she wasn’t allowed up to the first floor, not even in the lift. So I took more pictures upstairs than I need to, so I could show her. By the time I went back down, she’d disappeared. Fast mover.

When buying tickets, and a couple of times later on, we met a guide with a French accent. I was curious/nosey enough to tell him that his Yorkshire accent wasn’t very convincing. Where do you think I’m from, he asked. France? Maybe Switzerland? Nope. He’s from Lithuania and has been living here for 11 years.

I haven’t even mentioned the library or the doll’s house! We walked around the garden for a while so here’s the obligatory photo of a flower with raindrops.

We might return to Nostell one day, not for the house or the garden, but to take the children to enjoy its adventure playground.

We found our next b&b in Millhouse Green, near Penistone, very easily. We have an en suite bathroom. So I won’t be disturbing everyone when I find all the squeaky floorboards as I make several trips to the loo in the middle of the night.

We sat outside in the Sun and chatted, watching the mallards on the river Don at the bottom of the garden. Pauline and Andrew arrived, soon after which, Andrew and Liesel went to the local chippy to buy our evening meal. We dined outside. What a nice way to end the day.

The breakfast was very satisfying, thank you, Di and Dave. But the best news today was that I completed the Nerdle puzzle for the 200th day in a row.

The first time I visited Yorkshire Sculpture Park was in 1991. It was a campsite for the night during our cycle ride from Land’s End to John O’Groats. I’ll Rot13 the next bit, it’s not for squeamish souls. Vg jnf cbhevat jvgu enva fb bs pbhefr, V arrqrq n jrr va gur zvqqyr bs gur avtug. V jnfa’g tbvat gb jnyx nyy gur jnl hc gur uvyy sebz zl grag gb gur gbvyrgf, abg va gung enva. Vafgrnq, V jrag oruvaq gur arneol Urael Zbber fphycgher. V guvax vg jnf guvf bar, Ynetr Gjb Sbezf. Fbeel, Urael.

Today though was bright and Sunny and we had a lovely wander around the park. There’s plenty of space between the items.

There’s something about the combination of primary colours I like, here.

The Corby Rocker (by Jason Wisher-Mills)

“The Corby Rocker was made with a group of adults with learning disabilities, based at Oakley Grange in Corby, Northamptonshire. The rocker’s exuberance and love of life was my attempt to capture how much this group had inspired me, how I felt about them, and how they had given me a new artistic voice. Simply put – meeting them changed my life.”

And it impressed and amused several visitors today, too, Jason!

I remember seeing this little girl, and other charity collectors, outside shops when I was growing up. Damien Hirst made this larger-than-life version.

Not all artists take their work seriously of course. One piece celebrated William Harvey, who first discovered the circulatory system in the human body. This is on the back:

Well, it made me laugh anyway! (That’s William Hartnell, not William Harvey.)

There are still a few signs and indications around, marking the Tour de Yorkshire races from a few years ago. The event stopped during the pandemic, and I don’t know whether it will come back.

But one highlight was the early morning visit to the local car boot sale. I tried unsuccessfully to hide the ten CDs I bought from Liesel, but I do need them for my radio show. Andrew enjoyed a bacon buttie and I’m not sure anybody else bought anything.

We’ve been to the National Trust property, Wentworth Castle Gardens before, but it was only when we arrived this time that I recognised it. It was a good place to meet up with Jenny and Liam and Martha and William.

We had a picnic, which included cherry tomatoes, by the folly that is Stainborough Castle, which William in particular enjoyed exploring. When he wasn’t impersonating a hamster, that is.

Jenny and Liam were looking good after being married for six whole days.

There’s a fun playground here too and between them, Martha and William nearly wore out the zipline.

This was a nice, sunny day, and we enjoyed watching the sunbeams as we drove to our new place at Pateley Bridge. No, we’re not on the run, we’re just touring around staying in different b&bs for two or three days, doing some sightseeing.

There’s a car park just down the road from our new place, and we spent a lot of time walking up and down Pateley Bridge High Street, which is about the same gradient as Guildford High Street. This is the only town within the Nidderdale Area of Natural Beauty and I think the locals are very proud of this fact.

History of Pateley Bridge in two plaques

Our only regret in Pateley Bridge is that we weren’t invited to the party on our first night: it was only just over the road. One of those where the blokes have a contest to see who can impress the boss by laughing the loudest. Actually, not my sort of party at all…

To Castleton

Following the absolutely fabulous Wedding Weekend, after all the fun and farewells, we drove to Bakewell. Six of us altogether: Liesel, Leslie and myself in one vehicle, Pauline, Andrew and Rob in their rented car.

The last time Liesel and I visited Bakewell, we were on our bikes. We’d had a good day cycling around, visiting Eyam and a couple of other places. The lady in Buxton Visitor Information told us that the bus back to Buxton had bike racks on the front. She lied. The bus came, with nowhere to hang our bikes. Plan B: ride back to Buxton as quickly as possible along the A6, in the rain, as it got darker and darker. It was not fun. Too much traffic, too many close passes. We left the bikes at our b&b and legged it towards the Opera House. After a bag of crisps for supper, we settled in for a groovy concert. I can’t remember the name of the Pink Floyd tribute act now, but they were good. We would have enjoyed the show more if we’d arrived at a more leisurely pace and having eaten properly. Still, an event not to be forgotten. Nor repeated, if I understand Liesel correctly.

Today though, we had a nice break in Bakewell, including of course one of their famous tarts. Bakewell is bigger than I remembered. I had to ask in the Information Centre where the nearest public convenience was located. She told me. I trusted her. I found it.

There aren’t many record shops left around the country, but I have a theory that every remaining one now has at least one David Bowie album in the window. Bakewell didn’t disappoint.

The bridge over the river Wye is in danger of collapse, being weighed down by a million padlocks. I hope they’re not, but I suspect many of the keys have been thrown into the river below.

We backtracked a bit to spend some time at Haddon Hall. What a fascinating house, even if the presence of bats and/or their produce induced a coughing fit in me. There is a lot of original building work here. GM knew how to keep the roof up.

This place has been used extensively for filming and the guide told us that after a recent episode of a TV series was filmed here, the crew left behind the protective pedestal at the base of this very old supporting pillar.

21st century protection for the 500-year old supporting pillar

The windows look warped, but they were constructed this way.

I looked for but could see no obvious mathematical pattern, so maybe it was just random on the part of the window-maker. Or maybe he just couldn’t cut the lead beading to the right length.

The gardens were delightful too, so here’s the obligatory photo of a flower with a bee, a very distinctive bee, as it happens.

We followed some very narrow roads on the way to Castleton, which was to be our home for a couple of days.

I’m not going to list all the toilets I visited but one invited me to leave the door open when I’d finished, due to nesting swallows. I saw the nest, but the occupants were probably out shopping or something.

Monsal Head provided a good viewpoint, just one of very many gorgeous sights we’d see over the next couple of weeks.

Castleton is a small town, with narrow roads, several pubs and lots of shops selling ‘stuff’. The GPS told us we’d arrived at our destination, but I couldn’t find it. Neither could Andrew who I bumped into, also wandering around aimlessly looking for it.

It took the man in the pub to show us where we were supposed to be. Up a steep hill, behind the road we’d been searching on. Now, if they’d told us our cottage was above the fish and chip shop, we’d have found it much sooner! I suspect the b&b has a deal with the pub. Their guests will get lost, go to the pub for directions and then feel obliged to take a drink there.

We looked up at Peveril Castle and decided to visit it the following day. Instead, now, we went for a walk towards Blue John Cavern, which we would also visit the next day. This Cavern was the main reason for being here: Pauline’s wanted to visit for many, many years.

So, yes, of course we had a drink at the pub. A nice refreshing pint of shandy in my case.

Liesel and I have tickets for a concert here in September, so it was quite funny to see we’ve ended up so close by today. Will we stay in Castleton overnight again, then? To be decided!

I took pictures of the hills surrounding us, but they’re never as good as the real thing. Nor, as Liesel and I have discussed several times, as good as water colour or even oil paintings, which seem to capture the essence of a place much better than a photograph. But I can’t paint, so I’ll continue to take pictures.

While the others returned to our digs, Pauline and I roamed a bit further afield, around the town. We can buy lots of Blue John based jewellery, as well as other stones and, yes, ‘stuff’, ‘clutter’, items to sit on a shelf and gather dust.

A cacophony from the sky drew our attention. It wasn’t quite a murmuration, but certainly a large flock of birds was flying around as a group. What were they? We didn’t recognise the call and couldn’t identify them. They settled on top of a tree. I used an app called Chirp-o-matic which identified them as jackdaws.

In our cottage, we only found one toilet roll. Two of the lamps weren’t working and the replacement bulbs were the wrong sort. I suspect the b&b has a deal with the local supermarket. Their guests will visit the shop desperate for toilet paper and then buy lots of other items as well.

It was a muggy evening and the following day, we awoke to slight drizzle. Despite this, we aimed to be at Blue John Cavern by 9.30.

Pauline contemplating life the universe and everything

Behind us as we looked down towards the cavern stood Mam Tor. This used to be a much bigger hill, covering the whole area. Yes, we thought about walking up the hill. And it’s the thought that counts.

Liesel and Leslie weren’t interested in the cavern, so it was just me, Pauline and Rob who descended the 245 steps. It was wet inside, dark, damp, and a bit slippery in places. Blue John stone gets its name from French, bleu et jaune, and it is a coloured variety of fluorspar. This is the only place known to have Blue John.

Meanwhile, Liesel nipped home to work and to get some more clothes, as well as take back all our wedding gear.

The guide illuminated some of the more remarkable rocks. The place started off as a lead mine but people still like to mine for Blue John, but on a much smaller scale of course.

Climbing back up the steps wasn’t too bad. We stopped a few times to look at other features. I must say, though, it was nice to get out in the fresh air again. I didn’t even see the large rock spiders that scurry from between the rocks when they hear a loud noise, such as a clap.

The three of us with Andrew visited Peveril Castle in the afternoon, just up the hill from our b&b. It was a well-made path but, whinge incoming: I don’t like it when there are steps, each one of which is on a slope. Steps are ok, slopes are ok, but I find the combination very uncomfortable, especially going down. We stopped a few times on the way up, to admire the views, but mainly for the brief rests.

The views from the top of the hill were fantastic of course, but photos will never do them justice. Nevertheless, here’s one.

The spiral staircase in the castle was a bit intimidating. If I were to be tried here for some minor felony, in the days when the castle was used as a court of law, I think I might plead guilty just to avoid it having to climb it.

In the evening, we enjoyed a meal at The George, table 52 at the end of the garden, if you’re interested.

In an unusual turn of events, we watched TV in the evening: the first couple of episodes of Ghosts. And I think this was the only TV we watched for over two weeks. Most of us, anyway.

This was followed by a good night’s sleep, in preparation for the following day’s adventures. The smell of fish from the chippy below was not at all a problem.

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Yes, it’s been a while but I’ve been busy, man.

The next post is, er, in the post.

Your cabbie is just around the corner.

We are taxiing towards the runway.

And back home again

I was fully prepared for a stressful journey back home. I told myself that whatever happened, it was out of my hands, I could do nothing about it. I could control my breathing. What’s the worst that could happen?

But then reality kicked in and as I write this at home several hours after the events, I am still breaking out in cold sweats. This post is quite negative, so feel free to skip it. I’m only writing it because in years to come, it will be hard to believe that any individual trip can be this stressful.

If I were an explorer, venturing into the unknown, I would expect to be scared and hesitant. But my plans entail using supposedly well ordered 21st century travel infrastructure. It should be comfortable, safe, predictable, civilised.

After two weeks with the family in Anchorage, it was time to go back home. Liesel and Leslie dropped me off at the airport in very good time, at 10.00am, for my 12.40pm flight. The queue for checking in was already quite long but, as I said, I was in very good time.

At 10.30, I was able to report that the queue was moving, albeit slowly. There was only one person behind the desk but I told myself I’m sure they know what they’re doing. After all, this flight is a weekly event, they know how to process all these hundreds of people in good time, right?

As well as all the potential passengers, we were surrounded by dozens of chill boxes containing newly caught Alaskan salmon, destined for domestic freezers back home in Germany. I was glad I wasn’t checking in any luggage, it might have been crushed by all the fish.

10.50 arrived and so did the other queue, the so-called Premium Economy passengers. At this point, the still solitary check-in person gave them preferential treatment. This was the point at which I first began to feel uncomfortable. The dad in the family behind me in the queue was becoming agitated too. He was edging their luggage forward a centimetre at a time, even though nobody else in our queue was moving.

At 11.11, I reported to Liesel via Whatsapp that our queue hadn’t moved for 20 minutes. There were about 20 people in front of me at this point and probably well over 100 behind. 70 minutes in a queue seems unreasonable to me. Still just one person working, processing people in the other line.

The bloke behind spoke to a passing uniformed woman, asking for reassurance that we would be checked in in good time?
Uniformed woman: I don’t know, I don’t work for Condor.
Agitated bloke: But you work for the airport, no?
Uniformed woman: No, I work for a cruise liner.
Agitated bloke now deflated. This brought a rare smile to my face, thankfully hidden by the mask.

11.25, she took a group from my queue for the first time in 45 minutes. Via Whatsapp, Liesel commented that at least I had snacks. Well, yes, but eating was the last thing I wanted to do. Not throwing up was a major achievement. I know it’s out of my control, but that’s the problem. I can see the problem is not enough check-in personnel, and the solution is obvious: get more people. But I can’t do anything about that.

11.28, ‘holy moly’ is the phrase I didn’t use, someone else turned up to work at the check-in counter.

11.30, oh, she’s gone away again, a man appeared from nowhere to tell her that she couldn’t use that terminal.

11.42, Liesel asked if I’d reached the counter yet: nope.

11.45, I’m at the counter and my two boarding passed were printed within 30 seconds. 105 minutes waiting and less than one minute at the counter. Paradoxically, I felt short-changed, it should have taken longer, there should have been more of a ceremony, fireworks, everything.

Deep breaths as I now walked round the corner dreading the length of the queue I’d have to contend with before going through Security. It was now within an hour of the scheduled departure time.

12.00, Security was a breeze. A short wait, my bags went through without being pulled aside. At this point, I was shaking but no longer felt like I was going to be sick. I knew it was only a 10-minute walk to the boarding gate, so I took time out to buy a coffee. If I’m gonna be shaking, I might as well take on board some caffeine, was my strange train of thought.

I arrived at the boarding gate. No staff here and nothing displayed on the screen, just a lot of people sitting or milling about, some of whom I recognised because I’d been watching them ahead of me in the queue. What’s going on? Nobody knew. So I backtracked to find a screen displaying all the departure details, just to make sure the gate hadn’t changed since my boarding pass was printed. It hadn’t, but the information gleaned was much worse.

As you can see, my 12.40 flight actually departed at 11.55. Cue another surge of adrenaline, panic and cold sweat. How can a flight depart so early, especially when so many people were still in the check-in queue at that point? I know, I’ll ask a member of staff what’s going on. Only there were none.

12.42, two minutes after the scheduled departure time, two members of staff turned up, the two who’d been checking people in, one of whom had turned up just as I was being processed. The screen here at the gate was still not showing anything, so people swarmed around them asking for information. It seems this flight was so over-subscribed, they’d squeezed in an extra flight. Well, that’s great, but why not tell us? Why not update the departure board to reflect this fact, rather than telling us our plane had taken off a long time earlier? The lack of communication probably caused more anxiety than anything else.

And now of course, I know this flight will be leaving very late, making it more difficult for me to make my connection at Frankfurt airport.

1.12, finally, I am sitting on the plane, trying to tell myself that I just don’t care any more, but even this little trick isn’t working today. The stewardess (do we still use that term?) welcomed me in German to which I replied ‘schanke dön’. Proof that my brain was well and truly addled.

The pilot made an announcement, welcoming us on board. He also apologised for the delay, which was because it took longer than usual to move the plane to the departure gate from the other terminal.

Some good news though: I had two seats to myself.

Oh, but the bad news: my vegetarian meal wasn’t. There was a huge lump of beige meat on a bed of vegetables. The crew-member took my ‘non-lacto’ meal away and replaced it with a proper veggie meal. This didn’t bother me at all. A mistake was made somewhere along the line, and the problem was resolved. This is on a different level to the general level of incompetence experienced at the airport.

At some point, over Canada or Greenland I guess, I asked a crew member what time we expected to land at Frankfurt. About 9am local time, she said. Which was good news. My onward flight to Manchester departed at 9.45. Last time I flew from Anchorage to Manchester, transiting at Frankfurt, I just walked from one gate to another, dead easy, took five minutes or so. I was happy that I would not, after all, miss my connecting flight.

I couldn’t sleep during the flight, but I did start to relax a bit.

It was an unusually bumpy landing in Frankfurt, and for a moment, I thought I had plenty of time. But no. Instead of disembarking into the terminal building (just a few gates away from where my next flight would be boarding, as I thought), we stopped in the middle of nowhere, and had to take a bus to to the building. A quick 5-minute ride, surely? Nope. 15 minutes, so of course, the panic is now beginning to build again. Still, once inside, it should be a quick walk. Breathe.

I followed the signs to my departure gate, checking the screen on the way, which was just as well, because we’d been promoted from B24 to B27. Follow the signs. Just round the corner, surely. Down the stairs. Round this corner, then. Nope. Down more stairs. To a shuttle bus that would take us to the gate. A quick 5-minute ride, surely? No, another tour, seemingly of the whole airport. I really had not considered the possibility that I’d have not one but two shuttle bus rides at Frankfurt.

At the gate, I joined the queue to go through, not really caring what ‘group’ of people they were letting through, I just wanted to get on board, now, with only 5 minutes to spare. The machine rejected my boarding pass, it flashed red, but at least klaxons and alarms didn’t go off. The flashing red light stirred an otherwise disinterested man into action. He told me to go to go to that desk over there.

In front of the desk was a woman asking the young assistant what had happened to her luggage, last seen in Bucharest. It was probably a short conversation but at the time, I thought she’d never stop talking and get out of my way. But she did, eventually, and I presented my errant boarding pass.
Assistant: Have you just flown in from Anchorage?
Me: Yes I have.
Assistant: You’ve been cancelled, you flight was delayed, we didn’t think you’d get here in time.
Me: Oh. (And much more in my head.)
Assistant: How many checked items do you have?
Me: I don’t have any checked items. (Thank goodness, good planning there.)
Assistant: Would you like to be reinstated?
Me: Yes, please. (People were still going through the gate, so I thought I was OK for time.)
Assistant: (A million clicks on the keyboard. Then she gave me a brand new boarding pass.)
Me: Thank you very much.

I walked straight back to the scanning machine, jumping the queue, I’d already queued once pointlessly, and I’ve never seen such a welcome sight as this green light.

Of course, my seat had been reallocated and I was now sitting much nearer the front, by an exit, with plenty of leg room but no little table in front of me.

This flight was uneventful. The worst part was me being in the toilet when they went round giving out the chocolates. Huh. So when a crew member was distracted by another passenger, I just grabbed a chocolate off his tray. He didn’t notice.

Going through passport control at Manchester airport was a breeze on this occasion. All the machines were working. I had to temporarily remove the protective ‘I am European’ cover from the passport before the machine could read it.

Nothing to declare of course, so straight through Customs, also straight through the unavoidable but I’m sure very lucrative duty free shop, and out into the real world. Of course, the taxi I took home only accepted cash, so we had to go via an ATM.

At home, I climbed the stairs, went inside, collapsed on the bed and had a quick and very welcome nap.

As I said to Liesel, if I were a spy and you wanted to extract my secrets, you couldn’t come up with a more severe form of torture than making me fly internationally through under-staffed airports.

Thanks, I feel better, now. Very cathartic. I feel purged and cleansed but I will be searching for ‘industrial strength anti-anxiety medication’ when I’ve had another nap.

Party, plants and Petra

It was good fun going through photos for a couple of days, on Klaus’s computer, on Facebook and some really old, physical photos. They made for a fascinating slideshow at the party to celebrate Klaus’s life.

Here is former marathon runner Klaus, with baby Liesel and her grandmother, with a freshly caught fish and barbecuing. Here’s Klaus’s obituary.

There was far too much food for the hundred or so people who turned up, so it’s been leftovers all week. Huli-huli chicken and kalua pig are two Hawaiian dishes that Klaus was especially fond of. The family have been enjoying the leftovers for a few days now.

Klaus was famous for his sense of humour. He was always telling jokes, so with that in mind, we set up a Joke Board, inviting contributions from the guests. Well, needless to say, some of the jokes are too rude for this family-friendly blog, but here goes anyway:

Fifteen years ago, Liesel and I visited Bremen with Klaus and Leslie, a family reunion with some long-lost German relations. One of the side-trips was a tour of Beck’s brewery. Afterwards, we were given some samples to try: six, I think, small glasses of various beers and lagers. Which one did you like best, Klaus? To everyone’s surprise, he picked the non-alcoholic beverage. I imbibed some Beck’s today, it seemed the right thing to do. Prost!

Amongst the guests was Holly, our friend who flew up from Washington. Liesel and I were happy to give up our bed and sleep on the blow-up bed for a couple of nights, even if it did make farty noises every time one of us moved.

On one of our walks to Kincaid Park, Liesel picked both of the raspberries. Yes, there were only two ripe ones on the bush, but there’ll be plenty more soon. Maybe all that rain helped speed up the ripening process.

It’s nice to be out in the Sun again, of course. And we do like seeing the odd splash of colour.

At least, I think this is elderberry. But I wasn’t confident enough to pick the berries with a view to making elderberry wine. Well, I can’t help thinking about the times you were a wife of mine. You aimed to please me, cooked black-eyed peas-me, made elderberry wine. That Elton John song came to mind and was my earworm for the rest of the day.

Well, I think this is fireweed, it’s quite prolific in some places.

Selfie of the day: Holly, Jyoti, Liesel, Mick

I have to confess: Holly took this picture: if I’d tried to take a selfie, there would have been at least half of someone’s face missing.

There is a cat who lives in the house with Leslie. Her name is Petra and she is very shy, timid, secretive. I have often seen the tip of her tail disappear around the corner as she heads towards her favourite hiding place, the back of the closet. But one day, I was at home on my own, glanced down from the den, the upper landing. I saw the cat. The cat saw me. The cat crouched, ready to move off. I slowly extracted my phone. Turned the flash on. And I now have photographic evidence that the beast exists.

As you can see, her headlights are on full-beam. And this is the face that greets Leslie when she wakes up each morning. Luminous green, scary, starey eyes and everything.

Liesel, Holly and I walked on the boardwalk at Potter Marsh. One of those borderline days when even I was taking off and putting on my coat as the wind cooled and warmed up again.

The water in one of the streams was a bit murky, but it was good to see the salmon swimming upstream

No birds to speak of, but I had some success with the dragonflies. One was on a lady’s shoe, so we helped it escape, and out of the way, we didn’t want anyone to stomp on it.

And then there was this chap.

He was very cooperative, he stayed very still, but at least he was alive. Or she, I don’t know how you can tell. I was able to get a nice close-up without him flying off.

We drove up to see Catherine and Hans. Their rhubard crumble was delicious. Holly knew Catherine from a long, long time ago. Holly and Liesel were travelling in Europe and spent some time with Catherine and Hans in the Netherlands. We had a good chat, enjoyed the view and the sunshine. George the Bernese mountain dog lives with Catherine and Hans. He wears children’s grippy socks indoors so that he can walk on the wooden floors without slipping.

When he’s out for a walk, he’ll let you know he’s had enough by lying down on his back, in the middle of the road.

Later that afternoon, Aaron, Jodi, Asa and Gideon came round with friends visiting from Germany: Fee, Jorn and Philip. It was a raucous evening, and again, there were stories about Klaus.

Jyoti, Liesel and I had a quick walk around Little Campbell Lake, also known as Beercan Lake. The ladies had a longer walk than I did, but it was nice sitting on the bench, watching the young people in their kayaks. This lake is where Liesel and I were married all those years ago. It was frozen at the time, so a very different vista today.

In Kincaid Park, near the chalet, we admired the multi-coloured bench.

It was windy here today, and a few people were flying kites. The clouds were fascinating to watch, swirling and whirling around. Someone suggested it was like a scene from Harry Potter.

Indoors, I was quite busy doing some DIY. The key lock box combination is … haha, I nearly revealed it. I tightened up the screws holding up the hanging basket bracket. I changed a lightbulb outside the garage, quite possibly the most awkward lightbulb in the world, in a brass and glass case, with a hole not quite big enough to fit a bulb and fingers at the same time. Duct tape, as is often the case in Alaska, was my saviour.

Last week’s radio show was themed around Religion, but as someone commented, it’s not at all dry and preachy. Please give it a listen here.

If you would like to see a list of all the shows that I’ve uploaded from Wythenshawe Radio and beyond, then please follow me, mick_the_knife, on Mixcloud, you’ll be notified every time a new show appears.

An unexpected job was to clear out some cr I mean rubbish, old stuff, from the garage. Some was thrown away but a lot was taken to the charity shop. This provided the day’s scary moment. Do something scary every day, someone once said. Well, I don’t manage to every single day, but I made up for quite a few days on this occasion. I had to climb up the ladder several times, to take things down from high shelves and to put other items up there. My palms were sweaty, but I didn’t show my fear to Liesel and her Mom. I am very proud of my stoicism. Ladders and me have never really got along. This was after Liesel had taken me to the local supermarket, Carrs, for my second Covid booster jab. I have a slightly sore arm, but otherwise, no problem. The bonus was, the pharmacist gave me a voucher, so we got 10% off the groceries we bought. $12 saved. That’s almost as good as the chocolate I was given with my very first Covid jab, last year. Almost!

My time in Anchorage is nearly over. Before I arrived, Liesel and I had the following telephone conversation. (Remember, on my last trip, I ((very) briefly) swam in the lake at Nana’s Cabin in Talkeetna):

Liesel: When you come over, will you bring my swimsuit?
Mick: Yes, of course, where is it?
Liesel: Under the bed, I think.
Mick: OK. Why?
Liesel: We’re going to Talkeetna and I thought I might go for a swim in the lake.
Mick: Oh great, I’ll bring my budgie smugglers too.
Liesel: You’re not going.
Mick: Uh?
Liesel: I’m going with Mom and Jyoti after you’ve gone back home. (There was an evil cackle at this point, or maybe I imagined it.)

Huh.

Ou est le soleil

Yes I’m back in Anchorage. I described the journey earlier and a couple of people have asked for the password. I wrote the previous post more in sorrow than anger, mainly for my family, with the feeling that I’d never, ever go anywhere else. Someone pointed out that I’d have to go back home sometime. Well, yeah, s’pose so. And then the travel bug will bite again. If my recent experience is as bad as it gets, at least I now know I can cope with the situation. And in the end, of course, the mechanics of the journey aren’t as important as the fact that I’m going somewhere different. But, if you would like to catch up, the password to Wows and Woes is anchorage, obvious really, all lower case of course.

The first sight of land from the plane was Greenland.

Its stark beauty certainly helped me put all the nasty, ridiculous airport shenanigans into some sort of perspective.

And then, several hours later, was that Denali I saw way over there in the distance?

In any case, at this point, I knew we would very soon be landing at Ted Stevens Airport, Anchorage.

A groan of disappointment made its way around the cabin as we realised how hard it was raining here. But this dismay was somewhat mitigated, for me at least, when I noticed the registration number of the aeroplane we’d flown in on.

I don’t know why the word ‘bum’ always lifts my spirits. But it does. It did a few days later in a local shop as well.

Two bums for the price of one. And no, I didn’t investigate, I shall let the mystery of ‘trust the bum’ float in the air.

The house feels emptier without Klaus of course. Just Liesel and Mom and me. And, outside, the rain and a bird having a bath. Which, of course, I wasn’t quick enough to take a photo of.

The rain showed no sign of relenting, so Liesel and I walked wetly to the stadium in Kincaid Park to watch Gideon’s team play football against what seemed to be an older team. I don’t know what’s worse: walking in the rain, playing football in the rain or standing around watching people play football in the rain, in the rain. Actually, I think the last option was the least pleasant.

On the path, a couple of cyclists stopped to ask us whether we’d seen any moose. Not today, no, they’re probably all taking shelter somewhere. We did however see a million and one earthworms on the path, some very long and juicy ones. Any blackbird passing by would be spoilt for choice.

Liesel and I went to visit Jyoti for a quick cuppa. We decided against going out for a walk, we still weren’t fully wrung out from the earlier jaunt to the football game.

The shop I mentioned above? Well, we went to buy me a new, waterproof coat. I might need it but really, I’m hoping I won’t, because the rain will stop sooner rather than later.

Liesel, Leslie and I paid a visit to Costco. I’d been happy to help with the chores at home, on this occasion, shredding years and years of confidential documents, now surplus to requirements. Well, sadly, the shredder too is now surplus to requirements. It overheated, stopped shredding and never recovered. We bought a new one at Costco, and this new model completed the job beautifully within a couple of days. We bought some other stuff as well, it would have been absurd to go to a shop like Costco for just one item. In particular, we’re preparing for the party at the weekend to celebrate Klaus’s life. Another task of mine is to gather together photos of Klaus for a slide show at the party.

Mountains. We can see the mountains again, hidden until now by the rain. Look:

I’ll bear this place in mind next time I have back issues

I was hoping the rain might ease. It did, briefly. But as far as rainfall is concerned, this is a record-breaking month in Anchorage. The average rainfall here for July is 0.06″. The record from 1981 is 0.39″. On this one day, we had 1.00″ of rain. There are flood warnings. There are floods. Aaron had left the motorhome parked up near Willow and was advised to go and move it due to the river potientially breaking its banks.

Meanwhile in the UK, they experienced record-breaking temperatures approaching 40°C, and even the long, hot Summer of ’76 was nowhere near this hot. Climate crisis? What climate crisis?

Jyoti, Liesel and I went for a walk over at Potter Marsh. The rain had stopped, but I took my new coat, just in case. We didn’t see many birds of interest, no eagles nor swifts, but we did see a baby moose and its mother. I don’t think Liesel was impresssed, they see mooses here all the time, but such a sight is still novel to me.

I want to believe this insect was just having a rest, but I fear it was an ex-dragonfly, it was defunct, demised, expired and had gone to meet its maker, it had shuffled off this mortal coil, kicked the bucket, run down the curtain and gone to join the choir invisible.

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Wows and woes

You’ve probably seen this picture before, but it was undoubtedly the best photo I saw this week, the first taken by the James Webb Space Telescope and released to the public.

Galaxies 13.5 billion years old with gravitational lens effects, I couldn’t stop gawping at this picture for a very long time. It reminds me, I still want to be a spaceman.

Closer to home, these poppies brighten up an otherwise dreary part of Northenden.

So where else have I been this week? The dentist where again the hygienist asked the same questions about my oral hygiene regime and I reminded her that I am 145 years old and I will continue to look after my teeth and gums as well as I can.

Not sure if it’s more exciting or not, but I took the car in to have a light bulb replaced. Not a 5-minute job as you’d expect, because they had to take out the wheel arch to access it. Why do they design cars that way?

What is definitely more exciting and interesting is that the heron was not in his usual spot this week, on the weir. He was in the river, halfway to Didsbury.

I went with Jenny and William and Liam to a suit hire shop, funnily enough to hire a suit, for a future event. Later in the week, I went clothes shopping, by myself, not my favourite pastime, and came home with a pair of shirts and a pair of shoes. Not trainers but actual, Italian leather shoes.

Martha and William both enjoyed their sports day at school, and not only because all the children got an ice lolly afterwards. It was a very nice day for the event.

Liesel reported a couple of earthquakes from Anchorage. At home, three pictures fell off the walls within 24 hours. Now, I’m not saying the earthquakes caused this, but what a coincidence. One frame broke and by luck, the glass remained in tact. Another one, I think the Blu Tack just melted in the heat, same as the rest of us.

I may have mentioned my very long to-do list from a few weeks ago. Mostly quick jobs that weren’t so quick in the end for one reason or another, mostly ticked off now, and this week I succeeded in preparing, recording and editing three radio shows. That was quite a feat, and I probably won’t repeat it.

In Anchorage, Liesel has been working with Amrit and Suvan again, staying out of the scorching Alaskan sunshine. There’s a heatwave here in the UK, but Anchorage was much hotter for a while.

I enjoyed a few walks locally this week, including a couple with the well-being walking groups. And in a repeat performance from two months ago, I got up ridiculously early on Saturday morning, to take a taxi to the airport for my flight to Frankfurt and then onwards to Anchorage for a couple of weeks.

This week’s radio show is all adverts. Well, a few actual adverts but mostly songs that have been used in commercials over the years. Sing along to a couple of old favourites!