Merry Marriage-day

Me Mam and Dad have been happily married for a good while, so I thought I'd do a cheeky blog to say: 

CONGRATULATIONS, YOU ARE LOVELY PEOPLE AND I THINK YOU'RE POSITIVELY SMASHIN'.

To celebrate, we're off to Arran for a week in August to stay in a cottage by the sea and do some whale-watching (apparently), beach walking and probably a few competitive rounds of Scrabble.

In the Whale-Watching Mobile

So, yeah. Happy Anniversary and that.

But perhaps more importantly, Happy National Sleepy Head Day to Finnish people everywhere! The 27th of July is apparently the time for waking people up by throwing them into lakes. 


Who knew.

Old Keswickian Adventures

Even yummy in the rain, eh

Eee, Keswick.


'Tis near that place which sells the Mint Cake that tastes like toothpaste.
It has scenery, so beautiful, that it continually provokes me to do a little happy dance.
And oh, how its annual day of sun brings joy like nothing else!

I just had a gander over there for a week and had a marvellous time.

Catching up with beautiful and gingey friends

(She's from where the mint cake is made! How very exciting.)

Derwent Water is also now officially the place where Pippa has learnt to swim. She looked like a flailing weasel.

Water-pup

And once a year, for three weeks, it's the place where the Keswick Convention is held.

The Convention is a Christian organisation where lots of people (generally wearing waterproofs) come together to hear teaching on the bible, to encourage one another, and probs to do a bit of fell-walking and tea-drinking on the side and that.

This year I volunteered on the Kids Team, helping out with three and four year olds. And despite them sometimes sneezing and wiping their hands down my trousers, I massively loved spending time with them and learning more about Jesus with them. Plus, dey are sum cute little people.

John 14v6 (Amen, bruv)

As a Christian, telling people about Jesus is a pretty important thing. His death and resurrection is the most hopeful, satisfying and purpose-giving news I 'ave, so I reckon it's definitely worth a mention (or having a good ol' chat about over a brew.)

Ooh, aah

Eee, I miss the place, I do. I miss how there, it is socially acceptable to wear waterproof trousers tucked into your socks. I miss the curry sauce from the Old Keswickian chip shop. And I dearly miss dem magnificent views.



Think Pippa does too.

Fringe

Made the decision. After years of contemplation. I got me a fringe.

This is me now (kinda).

I'm partial to this new heavy curtain of hair. It keeps my forehead warm. It makes me feel a bit sixties. And because it hides half me face, I don't have to pluck my eyebrows as often. 

However, I've found there are some drawbacks. Such as:

- even in the slightest breeze, I get horrific 90s style, boy-band curtains and look like that long-haired chap from Steps. My impending mono-brow is also revealed.

- If it rains, or is marginally humid, it will stick to my face and make me resemble Wolverine.

- On Skype/in photos/from long distances, I look like I'm wearing a shiny, dark brown baseball cap.

- When I go running, it constantly jabs me in both eyes so I canny see where I'm going.

So basically, in all situations where I'm not sitting still in an average and steady environment, it's a mess. BUT HEY. I'm starting to go back to my 90s roots and embrace the curtains.

Always was a fan of Steps.

As You Like It

Shakespeare. Outside. Rain. Wellies. Cold. Mittens. Live sheep. Brilliant.

Please note the sheep

When one thinks of an outdoor, summer production of Shakespeare, the mind tends to conjure up an image of rather suave-looking, tweed-adorned country-folk, grazing on a spread of sweated brie and other fine cheeses. The sweet and balmy summer air casts a calming and jovial spell upon the spectators as they sup well-chosen vintages.

In reality, it was me, Mam and a few others, in waterproof trousers with a packet of Jelly Babies. 

One redeeming feature though, was that it was held in the grounds of this beauty. (Took the photo in black and white to make it look a bit more mysterious and that.)

The Bowes Museum (just past Barney)

I jumped in and ruined everything. But I was dead excited.

Front doors on steroids.

That place is a bit magical, really. During the day, those muscled, oak doors are opened and you are able to wander round seemingly endless rooms of art and history, and there's even this whoppin' silver swan which occasionally descends from the ceiling to the sound of many 'oohs' and 'ahhs.' There's also a crackin' tea-room where they serve 'Mad Hatter Tea', the sound of which just gives me butterflies.

But anyhoo. The Shakespeare was round the back, under a massive tree. And despite the downpour, it was beautiful.

Smokin'

There were many merry songs and a man playing a lute in the little tent to the left. He was good. I really have to commend the actors too - they were sloshing around in the mud and even nose-diving in their pristine whites (the old women sitting behind me had something to say about that). But they did it all without a single slip (of the tongue).

'The Forest of Arden'

Mud-wrestling 

I couldn't get a picture of the sheep, but they were REAL ones and their sporadic baa-ing really helped the atmosphere along.

Kinda want this house

Pretty Bowes

Even though we thought we might be miserable sitting in the rain for three hours, it was a yummy eve'. We sat, wrapped up in our innumerable layers, Jelly Babies in hand, whilst letting the words of Old William (and the persistent rain) wash gently over us.

Barter Books

Possibly my favourite place on earth.

Yeeeeah!

It's a book shop. And a cafe. In an old train station.
There's a roaring fire. And a constantly warming coffee pot. And books. Oh, so many books.
(Funnily enough.)

It's apparently the one of the largest second-hand books shops in Europe, yet it still has that unique, train station atmosphere - the underlying sense of anticipation as to whether one will miss the next train, or in our case, the next bargain book. As me fam and I proceed through the station doors, we spread out in a focused, strategic fashion. As Dad heads for the theology section, me Sis promenades to the French literature. Mam moves, deep in thought, to the books on counselling, and I am generally, found among fiction.

We've also trained Pippa as a sniffer dog - that girl can find a bargain.

After an intense sweep of the vicinity, we regroup in the waiting room caf and await buttery bacon sandwiches and hot coffee.

Wanna steal dem cushions.

I think I want to decorate my house in precisely a Barter Books fashion. I might miss out the Mining and Engineering sections, but I'll nab that velvet sofa. (Future house-mates, beware.)

And those massive bauble lights. I'll 'ave them.

Also, I might stick this up in the kitchen:

Amen, sista

Early Morning Train-ing

It ain't as sporty as it sounds. Effectively, I was sitting down on a train for two and a half hours eating Quavers. However, it was 6:30am and I was aboard a south-bound train to the Big Smoke with a big old bag of literary goodness in tow. Clever chappy Oscar Wilde apparently once noted that 'one always needs something sensational to read on the train.'
Wildey was right.
The Quiet Coach of the National Express serves as a unique (bring-your-own-book) type of library, but with the added luxury of largely luscious views, along with the further bonus of cheeky tea-trolley appearances.

Smudged, sunshine

Spot the fringe

So, on my travels, I tucked into some Shakespeare (sounds pretentious, but I'm taking a module on Wills next year). With dusty tomb, Quavers and a cuppa in hand, it made for a proper nice journey.

Thing is though, I was heading to London. And the Big-L scares me. I think it's partly to do with those people who pretend to be statues and then jump out at you (I've not been the same since). But mostly, I just find the place too fast-paced and intense, to the extent that I feel like a slightly bewildered pigeon.

Waiting game at Kings Cross

Kings Cross doesn't remind me of Harry Potter or nuffink. It's just a bit sweat-inducing and high-pressured. The last minute announcements and sudden platform changes provoke crowds of commuters to stampede across the station like herds of disgruntled, briefcase-wielding wildebeests. What they need is, is to employ the services of several sheep-dogs to be part of the crowd control. 

Oh well, at least I enjoyed looking at the new ceiling. Looks like a metallic apple and custard lattice. Or something. 

Cafe Robin-who?

Cafe RobinEAU. (Apparently.)

This is da beauty.

Me friend's Ma very kindly treated us for lunch in this little French Patisserie (oh, OUI). 


And indeed, it felt very French, it did. There were macaroons built into towers. Cakes in the shape of hats. Bread which looked like it simply BELONGED in a wicker basket. And lots of things I couldn't pronounce the name of. 

However, after browsing the menu for a good while, we discarded the vol-au-vents and settled on scones.

Start of a cream tea love affair

I've also just discovered I have a rather passionate love of apricot jam. And tea strainers. (They make me feel like I'm Beatrix Potter.)

In her element.

Kate is a French'un to be sure. She likes strong cheese and skiing so I guess you could say she's almost a native. She can also pull off a beret like nobody's business.

Kate: excited by lighting.

I, on the other hand, am not very French. The most enjoyment I gain from the French language is saying the phrase 'Champignon Compagnon' over and over again because it sounds dead funny. But I do love baguettes, so that's something.

Dunno what Artisan means but the bread looks nice.

Next time, I may commit to a croissant or maybe even some quiche... if I'm feeling adventurous.