Christmas Day 2006

Yup, it's Christmas Day morning. It's cloudy and murky, so where do we go? You guessed it. Crummock Water.

Hairy was going to go to Derwentwater and stroll there. We usually do that if the day is sunny (ish), which it has been for the past few years, but today it was murksville, Kentucky, so it was old faithful again.

To add insult to injury the S put gold tinsel on our collars. I suppose it was better than the silver tinsel and bells we had last year. I had a major photogenic moment on the fishladder wall. Hairy has entered it into a compy. Don't know if it'll win. He called it "Why am I wearing this gold stuff?"

To be fair to the H, we did actually go up Smithy's fell, and then fetch up at the fishladder. Doubly fair really as he didn't then stroll, drive or in any other way end up at the Kirkstile Inn afterwards. However, he did have his Chrimbo dinner at the Beeches Restaurant in Gilcrux. A feat which took him and the Screature over two hours! We thought we were going to miss out on the goodies but the Beeches prepared a doggy bag of the stuff the two of 'em couldn't manage, so we had our Chrimbo dinner too. Very nice it was.

Even better was to come as Hairyface cooked Chrimbo dinner on boxing day so we had two.

What do you think of the photograph? I'm not sure it's my best side. (Io said my best side was my back side, so I bit her ear. Madam!)

Here's one of the two of us to show you how silly we both look in our tinsel.

More water everywhere (December 16th 2006)

The weekend before the Chrimbo hols started proper, The S was at Higham again, so Hairy took us to The Kirkstile for lunch. It was dead wet. The water was over the weir at the car park and the fish ladder bridge was flooded out. It was a good job Hairy was in his wellies or he'd have got his feet very wet.

The last time it was this bad was over a year ago. October 2005. That time we got to the fish ladder bridge and H decided he wasn't going to get his feet wet so we turned around and went somewhere else. I don't remember where. (Io thinks it was Whinlatter but I disremember!)

We had great splashings about. Further on the frogspawn pond was over whelmed with water too and the only way past was by the concrete reinforcing wall! We walked round to the pebble beach (at the foot of Melbreak) and that was gone too. Covered by lake water! It was very wet under our paws and Io kept going on about how it would soften her pads. The wuss.

I found this huge stick that'd been swept up by the water and carried it for ages and ages. It was really long. I whacked Hairy behind the knees with it about four times! He thinks I'm a daft dog and I don't know what I'm doing with sticks... little does he know! I had to leave it on the grass near the small gate we go through to get to the pub, and do you know what? It had gone when we came out!

Io thought I should put in a picture of the pub as we go there so much. Here's one. It's a bit murky as it was so cloudy and gloomsville. The big bump behind is Melbreak. Hairy had total chocolate overload up there, with Great Aunt Gaia once, and had to sleep on some heather at the top until he recovered. Phaedy told me, that Gaia said, he was out for two hours!!

I'm writing this in March 2007 and I've just been counting up. Since this picture was took, he's had lunch at the Kirkstile six more times! Six! That's just greedy. Even more so when you realise that he's chuffed and stuffed his face silly at several other pubs between then and now.

On the way back the clouds parted and we could see that there was white stuff on top of the giants. Bodes well for Chrimbo we all thought. Just goes to show how wrong you can be, eh? The last photo is me looking for tadpoles in the frogspawn pond. I know it's too early, really.

Remembrance, retail and rain in Rickerby Park (Nov 11th 2006)

Two years ago (nearly), this bit of Carlisle, where we walked was under a huge pond as the River Eden flooded and swamped lots the city. They had to play water polo at Brunton Park.


This damp Novenmber Saturday the S nagged Hairy into driving her to Carlisle so she could do the retail therapy bit. H just usually puts her on the train in Aspatria and picks her uplater but this time muggins agreed, saying we could go and do the Rickerby Park walk. It's dead flat and goes along the Eden for quite a way, we've done it before. Lots of great smells and interesting stuff to carry. Plus, Io likes a paddle in the river.



Ha. We didn't do hardly half of it. It rained on us. It rained on us a hell of a lot. Just like when we went up them bumps with Uncle Tony last month it didn't do it straight away. Oh no! It didn't rain until we were about a mile from the car and Hairy hadn't got any real waterproof gear on! To try and avoid the spots he kept tree hopping in the park hoping it would stop. It didn't. This picture shows you the first bridge over the Eden past the Warwick one. In the flood we'd've been swimming over this!!
Mind you, the trees you can see across the bridge did give us great shelter. We coulda stayed there all day and not got soaked at all. There are lots of enormous oaks, we could easily have stayed put. We didn't. The hairy was gettting huffier and huffier as it got wetter and wetter. In the end the tree hopping stopped and he just trudged it out back to the car in Bitts Park. He was really, really soaked by the time we got back. So were we. He didn't even dry us off when we got back either, just put us in the car and whapped the heater on full blast. He sat on our dog towels so his wet trousers didn't wet the seats through. He even used his mobile to call the S and cancel lunch at Moreish, because he was so wet! He musta been really peed off to do that. He loves the snap at Moreish. Especially their cherry and almond scones.

The S turned up about half an hour later, weighed down with bags and not all that sympathetic really. But we did look so bedraggled and forlorn that she cooed and fussed at us. Hairy had got a bit drier by then, so he suggested we went to the Horse and Jockey for lunch instead, that way we could go in and sprawl by the fire and dry off. That tipped it. Twenty five minutes later the H&J had a rather pleasing drying dog odour in the bar area, and two chuffed hewmings were getting themselves round sangers and chips.

Why remembrance? Well, the Carlisle war memorial is in Rickerby Park and although it was only Saturday there were loads of hewmings braving the rain to honour the soldiers. We didn't. Hairy said we could do our remembrance up Gable next year, instead. He says that every year!



This picture was taken in the floods of January 2005. The building on the left is the Sands Centre. Hairy goes to concerts there. The yellow and red line behind the road sign is the Shell garage. In front of that is the flood water, filling the underpass called Hardwick Circus!! For a while it became Carlisle's new swimming pool.

Meeting Uncle Tony (October 25th 2006)

Hairy's pal Uncle Tony had a few days off so he and H decided to wander up Bowscale Fell and Bannerdale Crags. This was quite a feat as H arranged for them to meet at a car park just along from Mungrisdale at 10.15. Why was this a feat? You have to remember that H was only driving 19 miles from Gilcrux but Uncle Tony was driving 205 miles from Boston! U. T. arrived at the rendez-vous about two minutes after Hairy arrived. Impressive, eh?

Bowscale Tarn is dead pretty and miles away from the touristy stuff, although it was a huge favourite in the past. The stroll is a doddle. A gentle stride along the Glenderamakin valley. The tarn is the sort of spot that would be great for a picnic and a paddle in the summer. In deepest October it's a bit chilly. Io and I decided we wouldn't have a splash as it was freezin.

The climb out from the tarn is a bit dodgy. It's really steep and very grassy. You gain height very quickly but then hit the brow and find a sort of plateau which takes you up to the summit. At the summit we had a bite of snap. I was trying to get more from Hairy by giving him the deep stare. It didn't work.

Io had a go as you'll see in the next piccie but she didn't get owt either. We only discovered later they'd packed only a few bits as they were planning a bite in the Mill Inn at Mungrisdale.

Ah, the best laid plans etc etc...

From the top of Bowsacle Fell, Bannerdale Crags is a mere spit away. (I know dogs can't spit but it's a figure of speech.) However, as we strode out the darkness descended and gloom was spread across the land - wow, sounds biblical, eh? OK, it clouded over and began the drizzly stuff. This was fine for a while but then things really warmed up as the drizz turned to rain with a capital R. By the time we reached the top of Bannerdale Crags we didn't even stop! It was raining so much. The path down was great. Really steep and rocky. I found this dead smooth stone that I carried for ages (but I digress). The two idiots had all their anti water gear on now and were splashing and splooshing about. Not for fun but because the path had turned into a river!! It was the wettest I'd ever seen a path (apart from when the Cocker floods near Crummock, of course).

I carried the stone all the way to the Mill Inn's doorway where I had to leave it, as the hewmings managed to negotiate getting themselves and two very very wet woofies into the bar.

The beer was Jennings, and according to them both not as good as it could've been. I know the radiator we lay next to was good. I noticed that poor beer didn't stop them having a second! Two disasters befell them that day: getting wet on the fell top and the fact that the pub had stopped serving food until the evening! Serves 'em right for not having a proper pack up.

It was actually worse for Uncle Tony. It rained virtually all the rest of his five days with us, so Bowscale Fell was the only serious thing he did!

Smithy's Fell (October 24th 2006)

In the Lorton Valley, Hairyface has commandeered a fell and claimed it as his own. It was called Cinderdale Common but has renamed it Smithy's Fell. It's quite tiny really, but has a very steep bit. There are deciduous woods and conifers. There are caves and a mountain stream. At the foot there's Crummock Water. Just around the corner is The Kirkstile Inn!

H has said that when he pegs it he wants to have his ashes chucked off this fell. He's also got Great Aunt Gaia's and Phaedy Poo's ashes to chuck off too. I think it's a bit morbid really. In one of the pics we're sitting on the scattering spot!

The walk is one we must do at least once a month and guess where we always end up?

Yup, the Kirkstile.

I have counted up and found that in the last year Hairy has had a lunch there at least once every three weeks! We like it cos they let dogs inside in the winter and the garden is brilliant in the summer. Plus it carries "The Times" so that H can sit and read it while he sups his Kirkstile Gold. (Especially on Saturdays!)

Steaming On Coniston (October 1st 2006)

We went to Coniston so that The Screature could go to the Ruskin Museum for some sticking needles into cloth. That left us to go up The Old Man. (Sounds a bit rude!)

The weather wasn't too hot and looked like we could get drenched at any minute, so after Hairy had dropped off the S, he went for a bun and cuppa at the lakeside cafe to have a rethink. While we were sitting there Io said she could smell La'al Ratty. I was just about to dis her sniffability when I got a whiff too. There was a huge whiff of La'al Ratty. It was the Coniston Lake Steamer.

Yup. It's a steam boat that goes on the lake. Io wanted to know where they put the tracks. I think she does it on purpose to just wind me up. I told her she was a daft dog. This gave Hairy a great idea. We'd have a boat ride and zoom back across the lake shore. The boat is called Gondola and looks really smart. On board there's a similar smell to a steam engine but without the oily niff. We got loads of fuss from some visiting Americans who were just driving round the water.

Here I am watching the boat whizz off into the water. It's a floating jetty which wobbles really well when you walk on it. Io wasn't a bit worried walking along the deck but was dead scared coming off... wuss.



The walk back to Coniston was a hell of a lot quicker than even Hairy anticipated. It was probably the thought of a bite to eat at the Black Bull Inn - which happens to be the home of the Coniston Brewery - which put Hairy into overdrive rather than his usual saunter.

We actually hit the pub about 90 minutes before H had planned. He was very chuffed. It meant that he could have a few more jars of Bluebird! He was even more chuffed when he found out that the menu included a Meat and Tatie Pie. He had a huge piece of M&T and got a side portion of chips. We were slipped chips under the table. H makes a mean meat and tatie pie - it's his mum's recipe! We don't get much when he makes it.

The anticipated weather finally happened. While we were sat outside the heavens opened and chucked buckets at us. Luckily, we were under a mega brolly and didn't need to shift at all. We could watch all the grockles rushing past getting soaked while we stayed dry and chomped chips.

Sadly three jars of neck oil put Hairyface over the limit so The S had to drive home! To say she was unchuffed was the height of meiosis (as the H may say at his job). She doesn't throw us around as much as Hairy does but we took much longer to hit Gilcrux.

This stage is right opposite the point where Donald Campbell's Bluebird crashed.

H did take a picture of the spot, but it's just water really and doesn't make a good pic.

It's all about being there I suppose.
H promised us that we'd go up The Old Man the next time we were in Coniston. (Sadly, I don't think we'll head that far south until next Easter.)

Each Way Breakfast (Sept 30th 2006)

Hairyface is a bit long in the tooth really.
He is getting on a bit.
His speed up fells isn't what it once was.
I mean, he's even had a heart attack, so he's got to be nearly a gerrie. (hat trick).
But today was a new one on me.
He had breakfast twice - once in each direction!

It was a gorgeous morning, so having dumped the Screature at Higham Hall (again) we zoomed across the valley to Orthwaite, where the H had decided to climb Great Calva. This is not to be confused with that fizzy stuff they both drink out of them wired up bottles. I have heard S say, "Great Cava!" but I think that's different.

This fence was the scene for his evacuation. I doesn't look much on the photo but it's really steep!. The fence made a great hand rail for the dozy bugger, and he counted all the fence posts to see how many there were to the brow (35). His plan was to do seven posts then stop, another seven then stop, and so on. After the first seven he wasn't puffed at all so he told us to carry on - we did. By fourteen he was getting a little tired but still told us to keep going. At twenty-one he was getting a bit panty but said, "We're over half way, come on!" On twenty-eight he couldn't say keep going, but the idiot did. At the brow, he stopped; made a weird groaning noise and looked like he was going to die.

Io got very worried. She doesn't know what to do when the pack leader goes funny. He did go quite pale. He looked like he was going to fall over but then he chundered over the fence. How inconsiderate. All that warm chuck and we couldn't get to it! He sat down for a while after that and I did the head rubbing dog trick, which he likes.

Io was still all panicky but I knew he'd be OK. I used dog logic. When we don't feel well , a good chuck makes all the difference and we're right as nine pence afterwards. He musta sat there for about ten minutes then got up and was right as nine pence. Here's H's sweater art!

The top of the fell was still about half a mile away and among the claggiest we've ever walked in. On the top Hairy found an old sweatshirt which he arranged over the fence. He does daft stuff like that. The view was great but weird as we were higher than loads of skimming clouds which kept covering Knott but missing us. We came off heading south, towards Skiddaw House. It got even sunnier and in the distance you could see Thirlmere glinting. It was really great. I'd've liked to walk along the valley to Mungrisdale but H was all for hitting The Sun Inn - the great pub in Bassenthwaite. (Where we sometimes get chips from the nice Scottish man who owns it.)

Guess who won?

Well, it is a Jennings pub. (And it always has at least four different Jennings ones so Hairy can get wobbly!)

Cross Lakes Shuttle (September 16th 2006)

Hairy found this interesting service which involved him taking a boat from Bowness and a coach from the landing stage on the otherside to where ever he wanted to go.
He decided to give it a try and go to Hawkshead then stroll back via the Claife Crier to the car ferry. We got to Bowness at about 9.00 and there was no-one about. Well, apart from a few outdoory types. The boat was just like those on Derwentwater, which was nice.

We pulled out dead on time and even had a running commentary from the driver explaining all the sights. Including stuff even Hairy didn't know. We landed just past the point where the car ferry lands and waiting right next to the landing point was the Mountain Goat bus for the next stage of the journey. About five other people got on the bus, most of them looking as though they were just going shopping, rather than serious strolling betwen pubs!

After a few stops only Hairy, Io and I were left on the bus. He got chatting to the driver who was quite surprised that we had got on the bus to go for a walk! Apparently most people who used it were tourists visiting the Beatrix Potter stuff and then retailing out in Hawkshead. We didn't retail at all in Hawkshead we simply zoomed off for the first fell top on the Claife Heights ridge: Latterbarrow.

It was a great climb, nice and steady and had this weird looking column on top. You can see it for miles around. There wasn't too many hewmings about but when we went to the western summit this party of girlies came along and started going on about how gorgeous we were. One of them was pretty gorgeous herself. Hairy's jaw started dribbling at her prospect. I could just tell he was going to do or say something stupid, so when this hewming vision bent down to stroke my head I gave her the head butt treatment. She was bowled over by it and H was so annoyed that I'd head butted her he forgot to gawp and started to be sensible again!

The rest of the girlies crowded round, it turned out to be a family outing - daughter, mother, aunt and gran. They all thought I was great, and of course I didn't argue. Hairy found his voice again and explained how he'd taught me that trick. Huh! Taught me! I wouldn't do it if I didn't want to! Luckily for them, they were off in the opposite direction, to Wreay, so H would get over his silliness pretty quick.

From Latterbarrow we headed due south to the tarns we visited in August. Still no sign of Beatrix Potter for Io and, yes, we still managed a bite and a pint at the Claife Crier. He really is getting predictable.

When we got back to Bowness it was worse the how's the tarn? It was like Blackpool in the Lakes. Hairy was the only one anywhere in walking gear. And I do mean anywhere. There was totty and bimbo staggering about on high heels. Chavs and dimbos in T shirts, trying to ripple their muscles and look hard. It was absolutely CACK. I had never really twigged why hairy likes back of Skiddaw so much, but seeing this hewming dross lolling about everywhere made me realise - he's not so stupid really, after all. (And he bought us an Ice Cream each - which was much appreciated.)

I thought it was interesting that none of this hewming flotsam had even managed to make it over Windermere to look for Beatrix Potter. At least at how's the tarn, the hoorahs had made the effort. I'm glad I'm not a hewming.

How's the tarn? (August 30th 2006)

We went to somewhere called Tarn Hows. Although Io didn't quite get the name and kept asking how's the tarn? Unless she was having a laugh. (I don't think she does jokes.)

It was totally unlike anywhere that Hairyface usually takes us. He tends to go where there aren't too many other people. How's the tarn was snided with people. Kids in prams. Loud yappy women yelling into mobile phones with totally hoorah voices and absolutely no brain. Their husbands were busy parking their 4x4s which was the closest they'd ever come to going off road! They'd then go back to the pissy south and brag about how they'd done Cumbria.

Ha. They would never do Cumbria in an entire life time if they kept coming to this place.

OK. It is dead pretty. There are no real bumps but there were loads of smells. They were mainly discarded food wrappers and dumped sangers and baby pooh.

I'm sorry. I shouldn't go on like this. We love how's the tarn in winter. When the lake is frozen and there are no oiks from London, around it's lovely. I don't know why Hairy brought us here at all. (Well, actually I do - he wanted to go to Hawkshead and try the beer. Then he was off to Windermere to Lakeland Ltd to buy something for the kitchen. I think he'd forgotten about the hordes.)

By way of a change he took us up Orrest Head after L.L. - which was much better. Hardly any oiks from the south. No mobile phones and no baby buggies. Plus no camera. He left it in the car. Still he took several at how's the tarn. The three photo's are at how's the tarn.

Hairy on his ass. (August 25th 2006)

Wowzer.


I have never seen Hairyface sacred but today he looked like he would fill his pants as we came down off Carrock Fell. We'd parked up at Calebrake Common and zoomed up High Pike. A great stroll and with wonderful smells for us and marvellous views for Hairy to gawp at. We had the usual sit on the seat at the top, for a photo and then off to the next summit: Carrock Fell.

High Pike is a brilliant top, it's got a cairn, a stone seat, a view point marker and views over the back of Skiddaw which are just sublime. Plus, you can see right over to Carlisle, the Solway, Scotland and the Pennines. Once you're up there's a choice of directions to go in, all of which keep your gained height. West to Knott, Great Sca Fell and Great Calva or south to Carrock Fell. We went south.

The pic of me on my profile was taken at Carrock's summit, so's this one. Io and I are at the summit cairn on top of Carrock Fell. There's masses of stones everywhere. Not like the stones on the giants' summits (ScaFell, Helvellyn, OMC et al), but stones that have been part of old walls and stuff. Carrock's an old iron age hill fort and great to explore, loads of prehistoric smells, although Hairy just sat and ate his sandwiches.

Coming off, he went south eastish and eventually down a gully which would bring him back to the road, well past Mungrisdale. The gully was grassy and really, really steep. Even steeper than coming off Great Sca Fell - and the overtaking bum! Normally this would have been no problem for Hairy, who has a tendency to chuck himself off things with gay abandon. (Can I say that?)

This grassy gully, however, was covered with small round stones, just like marbles. Hundreds, nay thousands, of them which made Hairy's boots like a pair of roller-skates. Every step he took was just perilous. He went flying onto his back around three times before common sense took over and he scrambled down crab-like using his hands and feet. He looked really awkward, and we had good old doggy laughs at how ungainly he was on all fours.

It took him about fifteen minutes to get past the marbly, stony, grass bit. His paws were all muddy, and you should've seem the back of his trousers!! Mr Incontinence Pants, or what?

We have told all our woofy friends about this and they have had a good old chuckle at his expense, but, do you know, Hairy hasn't told any of his hewming mates? At all. Ever. Wonder why that is?

As you can see, Hairyface isn't wearing the best coloured pants to get muddy all up the back. No wonder we didn't stop at the Mill Inn at Mungrisdale but went straight home to Gilcrux!

PS Io thought up the title for this entry. Sometimes she says stuff that's dead clever, like that. I guess she's not a bimbo after all!

A bof in the fells. (August 20th 2006)

You'll never believe this.
Screature, Jo and the bof's wife were off on the train to Carlisle for some retail therapy and The Screature asked the bof if there was a high fell he'd like to do.
Without even pausing for breath he said, "Gable."

I could've spit. I mean, Hairy was going to drive the three ladies to Aspatria for the 10.10 train, he had to be back at about 4.30 to pick them up again and the bof wanted to climb a fell over an hour away! (It's a bit less when Hairyface pretends he's Donald Campbell,but not much.) That meant that they'd have to get up and back from Wasdale Head in under three hours!! (Hairy won't go up from Honister as he says it's for wimps.)

Now to be fair, Hairyface could probably have climbed Gable and back in under three hours but the bof's only exercise was ruining a good walk (Golf!) in the flat boring bit down south and probably couldn't do there and back in five!

I wondered what H would do, but he simply said, "I'm not taking the girls up there, it's too stony and their paws are very tender already." This was true. I had really raw paws and so did Io. We would've gone up Gable but it would have hurt. He then offered, "We could go up back of Skiddaw. It's not quite as high, but very grassy. The girls will love it and it'll not hurt their paws." Given the time considerations I though that was a smart idea.

The bof had no choice but to agree, really. So after dropping off the shoppers at Aspatria we were at Longlands in under fifteen minutes. Hairyface set off at a pretty leisurely pace at first and the bof was coping quite well. Now, H doesn't usually stop when he's walking, he just goes on and on at the same even pace until he hits the summit.

After a steady climb we hit the branch of paths where the steepness started. H. started to stride out a bit, into his walking rhythm, and the bof started to get a bit breathless. H. kept asking, "Am I going too fast?" and the bof would say, "No." So he'd up the pace a little more.

After about half a mile he asked, "Do you want to stop?" The bof said, "No." so H got a little faster. By the time we made the depression on the top of little Sca Fell, the bof was quite away behind and panting like a knackered carthorse. H. and us sat in the shelter and we waited until puffing Billy caught up. I honestly thought the bof was going to have one of those heart attack jobbies - which H had about three years ago, although you'd never tell .

After a few minutes heavy breathing we set off to the top of Knott, (see previous entry) and lunch. There was no Jonathan Edwards on the way back down and there was very little chat as the bof seemed rather breathless.

We had a great day out and our paws were no more sore than when we set off. The girls had a good day's shopping in Carlisle. We had a great day on a very quiet fell, and the bof had been somewhere he'd never been before, guided by someone who knows the area well enough not to need a map to navigate - but do you know? I don't think he enjoyed it much at all. Still, he could now cross off four more Wainwrights!

Guess what, no photo's for this entry. Wonder why?

Ratting about again. (August 14th 2006)

We had visitors in August: The Screature's brother, wife and sprog. Hairyface's neice is OK. She's called Jo. Has typical teenage interests and has been surgically attached to her mobile phone. Her musical tastes aren't totally matching Hairy's taste but there are some points of contact - which is pretty weird, really. She and him like similar music, while her dad hates it as noise. I think it's cos Hairy is actually a big kid in adult's clothing, while Jo's dad is an accountant - that explains it all.

We took Hairyface's neice to Ratty. It was a lovely day. Clear and sunny.

We had the sprog with us and her folks went off in their car, to rendezvous at Ravenglass.

We are trying to be subversive and get Jo to rebel against her bof (boring old fart) dad.
She probably won't as she's too brow beaten but it's a challenge.

I don't know how hairy managed it but he was able to spend the whole day without capturing Jo's folks on film. Plus, he was only able to get one pint in! But it was at the Woolpack in Eskdale (again). Here's Jo on the stepping stones across the Esk, on the way to the pub. We'd got on Io sabo's favourite mode of transport - the little train to Dalegarth.This is where those wrinkles, sat on the bankside bench, last year, and the Screature were hoping Hairy would fall in. This year he actually went wading through, as he was wearing those stylish sandals again - he calls them his walking in water shoes. Don't know why Jo rolled her legs up but kept her boots on.

The pub didn't appear to go down too well with the bof and wife, they didn't seem all that keen on the beer or the food! Needless to say that Hairy got stuck in and had his usual sanger and pint, with a bowl of the brilliant Woolpack chips. He even managed to sneak a few under the table to us.

Io was a picture of self restraint and didn't chew anything on the train in either direction. We sat in open carriages and got the full benefit of all the smells. I just sat and hugged Hairyface which is something I don't do very often but he seems to like it when I do. Here's a picture of the soppy couple. Ha, ha.
The walk avoided Eel Tarn, but followed the river from Dalegarth all the way to the Woolpack. This was really in deference to the bof's wife who isn't a whizz on the bumps. Jo drove back home with us too, with Hairy playing a compilation CD and both of them rabbitting about Alien Ant Farm or Killswitch Engage or Avenged Sevenfold. Io said she preferred the noise of the train. I think I agree.