Mooching Around

We have driven today, to "mooch" about various villages nearby.  What makes these Lake District villages so much appealing than Australian country towns??  I may have discovered the answer!  We waste too much space.  Forget nature strips and wide footpaths.  Forgo huge front yards and driveways.  Eves and varandahs, no way.  Here, roads through townships are barely two lanes wide.  And don't count on a footpath either side.  If there is one, half it so two people passing have to negotiate carefully around each other.  Now the real trick is ... build houses right to the edge (there goes any eves) of the road or path, and use stone!  Instant charm.

We first stopped at Gtassmere and by chance found the churchyard where lies William Wordsworth and his family.  A poster revealed that he and his wife Mary both taught in the local school, as they believed that education for children was a way out of poverty for them.

Grassmere is Mooch Heaven.  Plenty of lanes and tiny streets to wander around.  Stone bridges cross babbling streams below.  Lots of buildings were white-washed. There were small open green spaces too.

Now people round here seem keen on two things: dogs and walking.  So many had dogs on leads.  Is is a national obsession?  Plus hundreds were all outfitted, sturdy boots, weatherproof jackets, some with long, thin poles, to traverse the many walking trails all around.  These country roads are narrow, so any widening would have abandoned vehicles, their drivers off to tramp to some spot then return.  Tiny carparks are scattered about too, beside fields, for these hardy types.

At Thirlmere we pulled into one and walked a while.  Thirlmere, proclaimed the large sign, was not a lake but a reservoir for the North West.  This morning the water was still, with wonderful reflections
of the trees that grew right to its far edge.  Along the road when driving, we had seen several narrow waterfalls, cascading down the craggy face of surrounding hills.  We walked towards the sound of 
gushing water and saw it bubble and bounce over rocks towards the reservoir.  Further on, water seeped between rocks, into narrow streams that quietly flowed to the reservoir.

The track beside Thirlmere was wide and edged by bracken, trees and sprawling blackberry bushes.  It is for use by walkers and cyclists.  That reminds me of a cyclist's top I saw yesterday.

OLD FART

CYCLING TEAM

Age and Treachery

Will always triumph over

Youth and Agility

I have to admire the sentiment.  I suppose I have a grudging admiration for all those determined walkers  today, who clog up the local roads, as they stomp along, wearing their backpacks, moving towards the next narrow break in the stone fencing, to head up another trail.

Woodsie loves the stone fencing.  Just looking out from the tiny yard we can park in behind our B. & B (The Gables in Ambleside) we can see across the tips of four such fences.  They are about waist high, of grey horizontal stones of various sizes, topped with more stones laid back to back at a 45
degree angle.  Apparently these top stones were sharper and prevented animals escaping over the
fences.

We had lunch in Keswick.  I guess it is a sign of English summer.  We had potato and leek soup.

I love the house tops, where there is a row, with matching roof lines, each topped by matching rows
of chimney pots.  From there we decided to see a Village Fair.  We had passed the sign yesterday, so I plugged Coniston into the GPS.

Next thing we are on tiny winding lanes, climbing higher and higher.  It was really scary when a

vehicle came the other way.  Woodsie would flinch, waiting for the sound of his driving mirror being knocked clear off our car.  There was no room for error, but he drove well.  How do people live up
here and drive these goat tracks each day? 

By now it had been drizzling rain for ages too.  This isn't quaint and delightful anymore.  We finally arrived at Coniston and too, the road further to Torver.  Across the field we could see a collection of white tents.  Tis Village Fair promised ferret and terroor racing, an all breeds dog show ... real English country event.  We drove to the gate to see our sign covered ith the word CANCELLED.  Seriously?  We had risked life, limb and side mirror, to have our show cancelled.  It was only drizzle, not even heavy rain.