he was right the views were spectacular

(Thank God for Wine and Tea)

Having nearly reached the end of the holiday; the scales of sanity are being helped with copious cups of tea and gargantuan glasses of wine.   It is a fine line we tread to keep the troops occupied, fed, watered and ultimately happy.

A bare minimum of 16; a maximum of 26 individuals with needs and opinions of their own and we are still speaking.   Speaking may be a slight exaggeration as communication is not the strongest forte we display.  In a modern existence where every one of us is connected by mobile device of some description it is unbelievable how much of the day is spent chasing round after people.

A plan comes together and we prepare the lunch, the towels etc only to discover they have gone on ahead and not waited for us.   We don’t arrive and they are puzzled as to why we didn’t realise they were there, going there and would not be back till whenever!   We should have rung!  We did but they did not have their phone with them/switched on/charged.

We have managed an early morning discussion to plan the evening meal which is no mean feat.  Even together with all the different forms of accommodation; we lack pots large enough or forks to go round and we have resorted to shift meals.

I have been to the Lake District in the past, in the knowledge that for these geographical lakes to survive the area is prone to heavy precipitation.  In fact I, like many visitors, can recall rain soaked weekends and damp caravans and know that one does not come here for the weather.  If you want sun go to Greece!

Again this morning I have woken to beautiful clear blue skies; not a cloud to be seen across the horizon.   There is a feint breeze that will keep the sailors happy as we make use of the boat for the final day.    There have been many excursions across the lake aboard the boat; with each visitor being taken along the wide expanse of Windermere, mooring up where possible for a spot of lunch and enjoying the spectacular views not often seen through the rain.

I believed Sexy Sporty Dad when he suggested a walk;   it’s not far, slightly up but the views are spectacular.  He was right about that.   The not far bit may have had some essence of truth had I been a crow!   The slightly I would dispute at length.  From the time we had driven round and round to find a parking space (a feeling of foreboding in my limbs) to just the start of the walk was up!  A little incline I admit and one I felt happy to endure.  Then the walk; another fact I dispute, the climb went on and on.

Every step hurt, every step was up!   Some poor soul at some point in history had created a form of path for the hundreds of visitors who actually wish to do this sort of thing for fun.  There were steps made out of rough broken stones, some large some just rubble and easy to slip on.  Some were very wobbly and there were parts hewn out of the cliff which stretched the leg muscles in new demanding feats of unnatural challenge.

The sun beat down upon us as we discarded our coats then jumpers.  The exertion watered down by the bottles of squash we had taken with us.  Waterfalls and streams running parallel to the path providing ample cold water as we dipped our feet and hands with unreserved relief.

We made it as far as the small plateau of level ground, for lunch.  Yes he was right, the views were spectacular.  A view which probably few visitors will actually ever see, due to the normally, low visibility known to imbue the Lakes.

Then came the shock realisation; having climbed all that way which was tortuous enough; now we had to climb all the way down.   Going down is not a lot easier than going up.  Each step still hurt and each step required balance, determination and grit to see through the aches and pains of impending ancientness.  There was a large pot of tea with my name firmly imprinted waiting for me at the bottom of the mountain.  That is the only thing that kept my feet one after the other, pain after pain and heat wave following heat wave, going down.

Am I glad I did it?    Well I know I will not do it again.  The fact that my hips have seized up, my neck and back feel like they have done 10 rounds with Mike Tyson.  Dehydration is saturated in tea and the hallucinations of a large spa bath and massage are fading into a distant dream.  The achievement is enormous and I am sure after a good night’s sleep the pain along with the memory of the pain will disappear and I am left without the burn but the Grecian tan, along with the imprint of those incredible views and the elation at having triumphed through the agony.

We assembled for a meal together again, although gathering the clans is not an easy task.  Each family brings their own idiosyncratic foibles to the preparation and service of the meal.  It is a precarious balancing act, keeping those who claim to be starving hanging on, with our “just about ready to serve” and finding those who can forgo any formal recognition of meal times to come and join us.  Keeping the food hot for everyone and all the different component parts cooked and ready at the correct time has proved a challenge of extraordinary ingenuity.

We are early risers and hence reasonably early to eat then to bed.  Others are late risers missing large amounts of the day and cannot understand why we wish to see our beds this side of midnight.   As the evenings turn to night and the children keep going others begin to turn in not able to keep the candle burning brightly at both ends of the day.

Thank God for the many bottles of wine consumed this week and the liqueurs that followed.   Without these, emotions may well have reached fever pitch and the battles that ensued would be hard to recover from.

Tiggy