London is, without a doubt, one of the two main financial centres of the known universe, and also a city that should be heaving with tourists at this time of year — particularly on a gloriously sunny day like this.
And it’s dead. We’re in big trouble. Ignore the politicians — they can’t think more than a week ahead.
In 24 hours I translocate from Cumbria and its sub-arctic conditions to the tropics of London, where it is about 30ºC. This sun-drenched scene is taken from outside McGlynn’s pub, which has featured on the blog two years ago (as linked). Then, there were people. Now, the place is only half-alive, which I guess I have not yet got used to and hope never to do so.
The sun deigned to make a brief appearance this morning, shining on the chairs of the breakfast room at our hotel. Though it was the last chance to see it on our trip to Eskdale, as we were back in Hebden by lunchtime. But even if the weather has been somewhat dubious, how good was it to have got away for a while.
This guy was very helpful today — not because he offered us direction as such, but because his bright orange and yellow gear was later seen heading up Harter Fell, our destination for the day, and this helped reveal the correct path. Hence the value of hi-vis. A good walk today but I never seem to experience Eskdale in truly good weather.
The beauty of Cumbria is not entirely found in its lakes and mountains. The coast is also very fine. After a terrible morning’s weather put the high country out of bounds, we got out anyway and Sandscale Haws, near Barrow, gave us something to enjoy as the weather cleared. Joe practices his ballet moves, it seems.
That was doubtless the thought in the minds of these two sheep as this foolhardy human (i.e., me) trudged into their territory in weather that could at best be termed ‘inclement’. I was certainly thinking it too. Taken at Stony Tarn, near Eskdale, at about the point I decided to give up on the primary target of the hike and go somewhere warmer and drier.
Over these months of lockdown it has become apparent that Our Glorious Leadership have been taking decisions on an arbitrary basis. What is ‘safe’, what is not? What is healthy, what is not? No one really knows. So, on the evidence of activities taking place in Fitz Park, Keswick, today, cricket is OK, including having spectators present — but not yet football, oh no. And I don’t mean here the type of football played in front of 30,000 packed together and sweaty fans, but the sort that keeps people fit and provides enjoyment for a few dozen. That is, the sort I like best. I am not griping about the fact there was cricket in Keswick today: I think it’s a good thing. But there seems no reason why, for instance, the football club (Keswick FC) that play in the same park shouldn’t be back in action soon. Unless you talk to Our Glorious Leadership.
The 15:35 heads for Ravenglass station, beside the estuary of the river Esk. And then leaves again — without me on it — meaning, I am about to have a first night away from home in Hebden for 135 days, since my trip to Lincoln on March 10th. The walls of the valley were beginning to close in. Here, the vistas are much different. Variety is a good thing. It is good to be on holiday in this mad year.
I too was having a day doing things around the house, but definitely do not share this guy’s head for heights.
Late July, a time of year when certain things are fated to happen. I have time off work and do as little as I can, and the garden begins producing fruit. Fate has done its duty with both in 2020, despite everything.
Being 42 