I am back in Canada, but still thinking about my holiday (in this case, York)

Yes. It is Sunday. I returned from the Britain, place of my birth and holding-centre for most of my 'loved ones', on Friday night. I drove nearly 1,500 miles in 9 days in a Ford Focus Titanium 1.6L (whatever the shit that means) and did not break it.  My companion was the ever-magnificent French-Canadian veterinary pathologist to whom I am married (today is our first anniversary!): he responded well to being in Britain, saying "pretty!" regularly and, by the fifth day, asking to "stop for a nice cup of tea" unprompted. Progress indeed.

We went from Inverness to Skye (v. lovely drive), from Skye to Glasgow (v. lovely drive, apart from the sudden-death risk of windy too-narrow roads down the side of Loch Lomond), from Glasgow to Windermere (efficient motorway, nice finish), and from Windermere to Yorkshire through the Dales.

I love Yorkshire so much that all I can do is put pictures up for you to look at with your eyes, because if I write about it I will start squirting inappropriately on my screen, and it is still a new computer that I would not like to break.

Here we go then.  (NB: sensible combination of Wensleydale cheese and fruit cake; Poppy the puppy; the house, which was our v. excellent B&B).

As excellent as mosaics are, however, there are some things that need to be in the 'close up'.  The photograph I am about to share with you, my loyal and adoring readers and/or fans, is of a man who sat in the window of Starbucks near York Minster for at least two (2) hours. No, I don't know either.

Talking of  York Minster, I spent more time there on our holiday than I ever did when I was at university (in York, obv).  It is GREAT. I spent a lot of time looking at the gargoyles, some of whom were surprisingly cheerful, and an inordinate amount of time looking at these memorial stones (is that the right word?).  I would very much liked to have know the last lady.  She sounds ace.

And to round this splendid post off, here is a Fat Rascal. What used to be called Taylor's - a place where I would have tea with unsuitable suitors who were either on army scholarships, double-barrelled and Christian or future Telegraph journalists -  is now Little Betty's, which annoys the tits off me, but no matter: the only thing that matters is that Fat Rascals exist, and they have almond teeth, and that I can eat a whole one with butter and a pot of tea and feel that really, all is right in the world. 

Pip "I wish I were in Yorkshire now" Pip

NWM

P.S. I know this is pathetic but I can't help it. Here is a photograph of some chickens talking about whether to cross the road or not. I laughed so much when I saw them I nearly drove into a pair of matching old ladies in tweed hats.

I interrupt my amazing Travel-Blogue

Yes it is true. Despite focusing all my attention(s) on delivering to you, my adoring readers and/or fans, the finest details (with pics) of our 21-day cross-continental cross-country 'holiday', I must also rest my brain and look at super things to keep myself fresh and alert.  That way, I will stay thrilling. 

One of the things that keeps me thrilling (and thrilled) is this most lovely of blogs, Topinambours. I cannot explain it, but it is excellent. And it contains things like this: 

I hope you like it too. 

Tomorrow: Yorkshire!!!

Pip "Pudding" Pip

NWM

I am on holiday, Day 18

I should point out that the days (i.e., Day 18) does not refer to today (Monday), but to the day I am writing the post about (in this case, Saturday). Why do I do this?  I know you do not care, but in the olden days people would notice such things and write me odd emails. I didn't know what to do with the emails then, and I wouldn't know now, so I thought I would "head it off at the pass", as I believe Alexander the Great once said.

We drove from Inverness to Skye and from Skye to Glasgow (both very nice routes if you are looking out of the window and/or used to British roads; neither are advised if you have only ever driven on American highways).  Our final morning in Glasgow was tinged with whisky breath and sadness knowing, as we did, that we must leave our pals and go South, but before we left we received two special gifts of love: an unexpectedly foxy statue of Darwin and his monkey friend (both are in the Botanic Gardens in Glasgow, should you wish to see Darwin's carved buttocks up close):

 




































And this sign of excellence, depicting a shop owned by a man whose teeth were not a good advertisement for his services:

We left Glasgow and drove towards the Lake District, remembering to stop at the Tebay Services, as recommended by our excellent Glaswegian hosts. My word! If only all motorway service stations were like this! The world would be better, and full of people eating delicious lunches and coffee cake and buying nice pottery on their way to somewhere organic. All they would need to do is add some bedrooms and I would spend all my holidays there eating their fruit cake and looking at their pies.

Our B&B in the Lake District was an Inn, i.e. a pub with rooms upstairs and food and all of that - clearly the best idea in the world ever (apart from Tebay Services).

 Here is the bed we slept in:

To get to this quite nice room, you leave the nice pub and cross a tiled floor that smells of loo cleaner left over from 1972. It spoils the effect somewhat, as does the hair of the previous guest stuck to the wall with lemon shower gel.

This was the view out of our bedroom window.

Dinner was strange. The potted shrimp were hot, the lamb free of lambyness, and the potatoes so abundant that I could have set up a chip stand out of the back of the horsebox across the road.  An American lady at the table came in sweating, and leant saucily across the table to whisper loudly to her Spanish lady companion that she "found the steak was looking most provocative".  We did not wait to find out what happened next, and, weighed down by potatoes, spent the night in a sweat thinking about the hair in the shower.

The next day, fortified by strange toast, we set off for Yorkshire.  Yes. Yorkshire. The best place in all of the world, perhaps.

Pip "hiyaaaa!" Pip

NWM

I am on holiday, Day 17

Before I met the the French-Canadian veterinary research histopathologist with whom I share my life (and fleas), I thought of moving away from London, to either a) Glasgow (practical AND possible) or b) a farmhouse in a dangly dell in Wales (possible but definitely not practical).  Anyway, I ended up in Canada which is nothing like either of them, but it doesn't mean that I don't often think of Glasgow and/or Scotland in a wistful style. Why? Because my oldest (and one of the most loved) friends, her husband (who I also love) and her children (who I am stealing) live there, and ALSO I like all her friends (who I would also attempt to steal).

For this post, there is no need for chitchat, just pictures. We stayed with the friends I describe in such loving terms above, and it was great. Really great.

Here is the bed we slept in when we were staying with them. It is a very bad picture that does not do its comfort and loveliness justice at all because I was, not to put too fine a point on it, shitted, and the pathologist had had so much whisky he got is whisky finger out* and told me, as I was putting him to bed, that what I needed was a donkey to look after.

And here is what I mean by not needing words. This outfit was put together by the two sons of our lovely hosts "as an homage to the visit of the Non-workingmonkey":

See these animals? First ones ever made by Naughty Lolo.  They are made from marzipan and the colour was hand-mixed.  They are astonishing. We laughed until our undergarments could have done with a freshen-up.

See? Nothing to say, is there.  Apart from "amazing", or perhaps "very fucking good indeed".

Now we are in the Lake District, except we are leaving to go to Yorkshire in a minute. It is "all go".

Pip Marzipan Pip

NWM


* 'Whisky Finger' is what comes out when you have had too much whisky to drink and you are pointing at people and ranting or saying "no but just listen right" with your hair standing on end.

I am on holiday, Day 13

I have lost track of time a bit and keep forgetting to take photographs of breakfast, but things are going well: we sleep well (although I have dreams of playing a gigantic cat in a play with Sienna Miller and Jude Law, and last night I dreamt that I was the leader of a band of vampire killers on the Upper West Side - the vampires could see me when I was on the loo, which disabled my vampire-killing powers), and watch television in our pants at night. In the day we go for walks and look at the sky.

Here is the bed we are sleeping in.  This is an ungenerous self-catering cottage that does not provide sugar or a teabag or oil or soap, so it is a blessing that the water is hot and the bed comfortable despite the non-feather duvet and furniture made out of sticks. Please note the excellent tartan detailing:

If you look out of the window, though, you soon forget the tartan ribbon round the lampshade:

Yesterday we drove through rain and looked at things and went for a walk and ate lamb chops. Today the rain was not here and the sun was, so we drove the opposite way and looked at different things. The things included Dunvegan Castle, which was MUCH better than I thought it would be - mainly because of the walled garden and this letter:

After that, we did a vague sort of walk to the  coral beach and had a picnic.  As you can see, the quality of foodstuffs supplied (by me) was moderately high; you may also see (by looking at the backgrounds) that we were in quite a nice spot. It may not be clear that we were also in a force 100 gale.

Delightful smoked salmon sandwich nestled in foil, moistened with cream cheese and made vicious with pepper.

Prince of Snacks, the hard-boiled egg, with salt and pepper from A TWIST OF FOIL. In the background, a hill.

My "husband" triumphantly holds aloft a ham and lettuce sandwich against a backdrop of sea. 

We are now once more in our pants watching the television. Tonight, it is leftovers out of the refrigerator (O the joy of cooking for oneself and having a washing machine after 2 weeks of travelling!) and more television; tomorrow, to Glasgow to see my oldest and one of my most beloved friends. We shall bestow wooden snakes upon her sons (who are probably too old for them) and jump up and down with excitement. After that, to the Lake District. 

Soon, I shall write more about anoraks and how I feel about owning one. I may also introduce you to Mr Stick. But that is for another day. 

Until then, I remain, in my pants, eating tablet and watching TV,

NWM