travel

In the Footsteps of Uncle Monty

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Apologies for the absence of a blog post last week but I was having a short break in Keswick and despite my good intentions of taking my laptop with me… I forgot it. Never mind though. It was a lovely week, although a trifle too hot, and the views from the cottage we were staying in were gorgeous. Plus, I had a smashing time on the trip boat on Derwent Water on the Thursday. Nice to feel the breeze in one’s hair.

But its back to business now and do you recall me telling you that I would give an update on my progress with Slimming World? You do? Great. Well, here it is.

Despite having an unhealthy quantity of choice food and wine on our mini-break I still managed to come in at two and a half pounds lighter than I was before we went. How, I do not know. Well, I kind of know. We got home on the Saturday morning and since then I have been almost zealous in my determination to drop some more weight.

And so, I’ve been eating tremendous amounts of fruit and salad, without a single drop of alcohol passing my misshapen lips, since then and it’s worked! I’ve now lost 10 ½ pounds in total and am noticing it in my clothing a lot more. It’s the best feeling ever, well, apart from you know what, and I’ve had people remarking on how much better I look already and, with that in mind, I am absolutely determined to press on and reach my one stone target by next Wednesday.

One other thing about our break that was dear to me was that we took a short trip down the A66 to Penrith for an hour or two. Why is Penrith so dear to me? You ask. In a nutshell – Withnail & I. One of the best and funniest films ever made, part of which is based in Penrith itself. So it was kind of a fan pilgrimage of sorts.

Penrith itself is nice enough without being remarkable but I was struck by how friendly and welcoming people were. There was a lovely bookshop, appropriately called Withnail Books, which sold second hand records in excellent condition at amazing prices. Heck! I’m almost tempted to go back there this week and fill my boots. In the end though I just bought two LPs – Bob Dylan and Boston. In truth I could easily have gone raving mad and bought half the records in the shop but common sense managed to raise its wise old head before that happened

If you haven’t seen Withnail & I then I urge you to do so at the earliest possible convenience. Every single line in that film is utterly quotable, my favourite one being when Uncle Monty, over the dining table (pictured), says – “Oh my boys, my boys, we are at the end of an age! We live in a land of weather forecasts and breakfasts that set in, shat on by Tories, shovelled up by Labour, and here we are, we three; perhaps the last island of beauty… in the world.”

There are dozens of others I could have used but that’s the best one in my opinion. But you do need to watch the whole film to grasp the meaning in the quote.

As for Penrith, yeah, nice enough place and we will definitely go back for another pilgrimage at some point. Just need to find out if there is a Slimming World group there so we can stay for a few days and be encouraged to not overindulge.

Strange Phenomena x 2

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So we’ve been on another little break, Ange and I, and have come home in a state of being blissfully relaxed. Four nights in a log cabin near the Yorkshire Coast with a wood fired hot tub, plenty of wine, and BBQ food. It was heavenly, it truly was. We saw all sorts of wildlife, which made Ange’s visit, and I didn’t need pain relief at any time which I always find with a hot tub. It soothes my muscles like nothing else can.

If only I could get one on the NHS…

Anyway, we’re back home now and it’s back to business, which for me is starting the next Joe Wilkie adventure. But, before I get on with that, I’d like to draw your attention to not one but two rather strange phenomena that happened on our mini break.

The first one was a meteorological phenomenon, which I’m sure any self-respecting weather man could explain away in a few words but to us it was so strange.

On the Saturday there had been a stiff breeze blowing all day. We didn’t mind it; quite welcomed it actually. It was coming in off the coast and so it was refreshing in the way that only coastal winds can be.

Then, around six o’clock in the evening, we had a short thunderstorm. Nothing too startling – the odd rumble of sound, occasional flash of sheet lighting and some rather large raindrops. We waited inside the cabin until it passed, which wasn’t long at all really.

When we came out, after it was all over, that’s when the phenomenon happened!

What had been a robustly windy day had, in fifteen minutes, turned into the stillest evening I can ever recall. There wasn’t even so much as a breath of wind. Nothing! Just total stillness. No movement in the trees, no birdsong. It was almost eerie in how it had transposed from a swift breeze to absolutely none at all. Very weird.

Like I say, I’m sure there’s a positively simple and normal explanation for it but what I can say is that it enabled us to have our first BBQ of the weekend. I mean; I’ve heard of the calm before the storm but not after one.

The second phenomenon was a rather more lavatorial one.

Now, at home, my aging bladder calls on me to go to the throne room at least once every hour. I accept it, as a man fast approaching sixty years of age, to come with the territory. In fact, I can’t even enter our kitchen for anything without a sudden urge to run to cludgie (as they say in Scotland) and relieve myself.

Too much information?

Sorry, but it’s necessary, as you will discover.

The strange thing over the hot tub weekend was that my trips to the loo were reduced to just about three times a day and I can’t think why. I was drinking wine and coffee and beer and lots of water (one needs to stay hydrated in a hot tub) and eating loads of fruit. And yet, only a few khazi calls. Now why is that?

I do have a couple of theories, the best of which being that in the hot tub you do actually sweat, believe it or not, and so I may have held onto a lot of fluid that way via water retention. Perhaps it was my body’s way of saying I needed to hang on to some of my water.

I don’t know, but what I do know is that the moment we arrived home my bladder was back to its old self and the hourly flushing fanfare recommenced.

It was bizarre. If anyone knows a reason for it then I’d like to hear it so please do drop a comment below.

Now then, Mr Wilkie is in all sorts of bother again so I’d better get back and see what he’s up to. Expect a progress report soon. Also, don’t forget to buy BEASTIE and leave me a review when you’ve read the marvellous thing.

When in France

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Just a quick one – Oooh, Matron!

If, by any chance, you’re wondering where I’ve been for the last month then I can now reveal to you that a fortnight of it was spent in the Dordogne region of France. A desperately needed holiday, or getaway, or whatever you want to call it. And it was utterly sublime.

I have returned feeling inspired, gentle reader. In fact, I was so inspired whilst I was in France that I wrote seven poems and even worked out the plot for the next Joe Wilkie novel. How about that then? You can’t accuse me of being completely idle, even though I also spent large swathes of time crashed out in a conservatory chair on the patio. Ahem!

I’ve published the poems on Substack this week and you can read these French fancies HERE.

The thing is, where we were staying was so eye-wateringly beautiful it would be a hard-hearted individual who wouldn’t feel inspired. I’d heard the Dordogne was nice but it’s so much more than merely nice. It’s truly bucolic in every sense of the word.

*Bucolic – an adjective that refers to the pleasant, peaceful aspects of the countryside, country life, or rustic landscapes. It is typically used to describe idyllic, natural, and charmingly simple settings, such as rolling green meadows, grazing animals, or quiet rural villages

That sums it up pretty well.

Naturally, being something of a gourmand, I sampled a great deal of wine and cheese on my hols and have returned five pounds heavier than when I left. Take that Ryanair!!!

I even had a go at pétanque which ended in dismal failure of course. My wretched arms and back simply weren’t up to it and to tell you the truth I’m glad because a couple of local children were taking me to the cleaners at it which was tres embarrassing. Fun whilst it lasted though.

So yes, I’ve come back feeling refreshed. We ate well, slept well, and lived well for twelve days in the French sunshine and I’m now about ready to take on that next novel.

*Talking of novels, can I just prompt anyone who has read Beastie to please leave me a review on Amazon, Goodreads or Facebook. Thank you.

My fear of flying came fully to the front before and during our holiday and it didn’t help that our outbound flight was at 06:00 in the morning. I even had a pint of lager in the airport bar to try and stem the nerves and the thought came to me that the last time I had a drink at that time of day was somewhere in my mid-twenties. And it didn’t really help anyway.

The only thing that made me feel better was the woman sat next to me who was even more terrified than I was. I thought she was going to burst into tears when we landed. I did work out a little system though to keep my mind occupied. I worked out how long the flight was in five-minute increments and then counted them off one by one as they passed and actually, that helped. Yes, I know I’m a big girl’s blouse but we all have a fear of something or other.

Anyway, needless to say we had a nice time and got safely back in one piece. I now need to lose my holiday weight, which I have already started doing, and get some writing done.

It’s always great to go on holiday (unless it’s Skegness) but it’s equally lovely to get home again and back to a bit of normality. Blimey, if I were still there stuffing all that camembert and red wine down my gullet I’d be enormous. Oh! How silly of me; I already am.

Business as usual now.

On The Road Again

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Just a quick one today folks.

Hope you’re all having a great Monday so far. I know, I know, it’s the worst day of the week but seriously I hope you’re all having the best one you possibly can. As for me, well, I’m not having such a great time today. I’ve had a screamingly violent headache for 4 whole days now and it’s starting to wear a bit thin.

I know what it is – too much screen time and a badly overdue eye test. I’m a fool to myself at times.

However, I am in something of a good mood because Ange and I are officially back on the road again. Yes, we have a new car and we love it.

We had to sell our old car, Zebedee (don’t ask) a 2010 Renault Scenic after it got to the stage where the cost of repairs far outweighed the value of the vehicle. Basically, we needed to spend over £800 to get it fixed and the value of the car was less than £300. Just good economic sense at the end of the day.

The saddest part is that we loved that car. It was an absolute trooper of a machine and having a 1900cc diesel engine it mocked even the steepest of hills. A handy thing when you live in the Yorkshire Dales. But in the end our heads had to rule our hearts and we sold her to We Buy Any Car and got a measly £278.01 for her. Where the penny came from I still haven’t worked out. It’s a strange thing isn’t it?

That was in late March and since then we’ve been reliant on taxis, public transport, and the kindness of others where our transportation requirements are concerned. Thank you to all those who helped us out during that difficult time – you know who you are.

Fast forward to last Tuesday and we took possession of our new ride and we’re delighted with it. It’s an MG ZS, 24 plate, 1500cc, in burnt orange, and it’s got more gadgets and gizmos than I have ever known on a vehicle in my life. I’m starting to get my head around some of it now though.

And yes, in case you’re wondering, that is a picture of said new car at the top of this post.

We all love it when we get a new car, come on now, you know you do, and we’re just the same. But it’s not just that new car feeling that we’ve got. On a personal level it is a great boon for yours truly. It’s got more head height and more leg room than old Zebedee plus the leather (heated) seats provide a level of driving comfort I’ve never known before. It’s like sitting in your favourite armchair as the world zips by. And speaking as someone who has a physical disability let me tell you that is the best part about it.

I’m also loving the reversing cameras. I’ve not had a car with it before and what a smashing thing it is. It makes parking almost effortless.

I’ve even gone and bought one of those hand-held vacuum cleaners that plugs into the charging port so that I can keep it as pristine as possible. Honestly, I’ve never been that precious about keeping a car clean. I suppose the reason for that may be that now Ange is officially retired we need a nice, clean motor and not a workhorse. Our other cars were used to carting about sacks of coal, Calor gas bottles, and all manner of things that we required during our time boating on the canal.

The MG though, I fully intend to maintain to a high standard. That means there will be no flaky pastry sausage rolls, sugary doughnuts, or MacDonalds eaten in it. Not that we eat those things now anyway but it’s the principle that counts.

So, just wanted to let you know what we’ve been up to. We’re mobile again and I have a four-day old headache that feels like an imp is behind my eyes and trying to kick them out of my head with steel toe-capped hob-nailed boots. Other than that its business as usual.

I’m hoping to make a start on the next thrilling Joe Wilkie adventure soon. Beastie hasn’t made the splash that I’d hoped for and if you recall I was thinking of jacking it all in at one point. But I’ve decided to press on and build up the Blessham canon as it were. So expect Joe Wilkie 6 some time next year. It’s going to be nuts – literally!

Sorry to crow a bit about the car but I can’t even begin to explain what a great blessing it has been.

Pain Stops Play

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It’s a sad state of affairs but I’m afraid I must utter the F word again. No, not that one, I mean the other one. The one I get sick and tired of uttering…

Fibromyalgia!

Yeah, that one.

Its gone and got in the damn way again this week and I’m annoyed because prior to this flare up things had been going relatively swimmingly. I’ve got a new novel out in BEASTIE and I’ve been promoting the blessed thing as much as possible with the limited energy that I have and, furthermore, there’s been a few sales on the horizon (see what I did there – sales, not sails).

And now… well, its all ground to a juddering halt.

We spent last weekend on the boat (Friday to Tuesday) and I’m sorry to report that the physical nature of boating life has rendered me fatigued and in mortal agony. In addition, being absent minded, I forgot to charge up the new massage gun and so the pummelling I was hoping to unleash on my biceps and calves today never happened.

I’m sat here typing this to take my mind off it while it goes through its three-hour charging cycle.

It was a lovely long weekend in many ways. We caught up with a lot of old friends and spent quality time with our epic granddaughter and we imbibed a glass of vino or two along the way. And then, on the last morning, we had to get rid of our rubbish and take the cassette toilet to be emptied. Anyone familiar with canal boating will readily tell you that it’s not so easy as it is in a house.

You can’t just put your bin bags out for those nice chaps in hi-vis from the council to collect and likewise, one can’t just jettison one’s leavings any old where but instead the foulness you have collated over several days has to be taken to something called an Elsan Point and deposited hence.

It’s labour intensive and, in our case, involved a fairly lengthy journey on foot with a rickety festival trolley and an overly anxious labrador.

Now, having arm muscles that are about as much use as a drum kit in a library and legs that quiver and tremble with only the bare minimum of exertion, I found our mile long walk to the Elsan somewhat challenging to say the least.

In fact, challenging doesn’t really do it justice at all. Crossword puzzles can be challenging, what we endured during that hellish hour and a half was something akin to a forced route march at gunpoint. And I must be completely honest when I say that my lovely Ange did the vast bulk of the work. I held onto the anxious lab until my back couldn’t take anymore of his pulling on the lead and I had to stop at one point and have a quick blast of GTN spray to calm my pounding heartbeat. There was a brief moment when I honestly believed that an ambulance might be required.

Thankfully, I pulled through and with a gargantuan effort on both our parts we ascended Five Rise Locks like Hillary and Tensing summiting Everest. The fact that several elderly ladies with strollers and a small child on one of those pedal-less bikes with stabilisers attached overtook and got up there before I did is not something I am particularly proud of.

But praise be to Almighty God, the café at the top of the locks was open and we were able to refresh ourselves with sandwiches and drinks. That was quite pleasant, for a while, until the picnic bench seating we were sat on came up to meet my weight on the other side and my back end felt like it had been kicked all the way we had come. In short, I was in a mess.

How on Earth would I get back to the boat?

The solution was a simple one.

A taxi.

Ah! You may say, why didn’t you get a taxi up there in the first place? The answer to that is obvious to me. It’s hard enough to get a taxi in Bingley that will accommodate a dog but to get one to carry a plastic box full of sewerage is another matter altogether.

But with the cassette now empty and thoroughly cleansed it wasn’t too bad, although Ange and I had to take separate cabs due to said labrador being an absolute nob. But that’s a story best kept for another time.

Needless to say that our mission was a success. A slow, painful one but a success none the less. Then it was just the small matter of getting home and I really don’t want to go into details about that journey because I’m rather miffed about it. Again, perhaps a story best left for another time.

And so, we’re now into Thursday and I’ve done bugger all since that monstrous climb up Five Rise except take Bella out to do her business while her mum, Val, was out for the morning. I wanted to write yesterday, I really did. Unfortunately both the spirit and the flesh were weak in this one and I pretty much spent the day feeling terribly sorry for myself. The sheer effort of emptying a chemical toilet has left me stiffer than a vagrant’s underwear and even composing this blog post has felt like a struggle.

Oh I’ll be back, I know I will, but for now I just have to accept that my arse is being rudely felt by fibromyalgia and I desperately need to stop now and have a hot milky drink and a brace of tramadol. In fact, I’ve felt so physically horrendous that this morning I forsook asking Alexa to play some progressive rock in favour of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. That’s how bad it is!

See you all anon and don’t forget to check out BEASTIE or any of my books; they’re all thumping good reads.

Derbyshire Days

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It won’t have escaped your notice that there was no blog post from yours truly last week and whilst this may seem slipshod, believe me I have a ripping good reason.

Derbyshire to be precise.

Following what can only be described as a torrid time recently my good lady wife and I headed for the hills in need of a break and some peace and calm. And we found it in the High Peak.

So get yourself comfortable for a few minutes while I tell you all about it…

Ange and I were feeling very world weary after what can only be described as “a bastard of a time.” We’ve had illnesses, bereavements, worries and woes and it was definitely time for a holiday of some sort.

We like AirB&B and so we sought one out that was reasonably priced, wasn’t too far to travel to and would afford us the aforementioned peace and calm. We chose Curlew Lodge at Sitch Farm in the High Peak of Derbyshire, a few miles south of Glossop.

And we’re damn glad that we did. It was wonderful. Absolutely wonderful in fact. A delightful little lodge set in the most beautiful scenery you could imagine and completely hidden away from the hustle and bustle of life.

Perfect! Just what we needed.

Our accommodation was compact yet still spacious enough; even for my massive bulk. It was spotlessly clean, smelled beautifully of reed diffusers and was full of so many nice little extra “touches” that it made it feel almost luxurious.

All for sixty quid a night!!!

We didn’t find one single fault with the place. Not that we were actively looking for one but you know what I mean. There were zero downsides to the lodge.

Four nights we stayed – Monday to Friday, and we made it a mix of exploring and relaxing. My legs will only allow us to do small amounts of exploring but I’m a past-master at the old relaxing.

So we arrived on Monday afternoon to be met with by a rather shouty German Shepherd. A dog I mean; there wasn’t some guy in a Tirolean hat and lederhosen loudly mouthing off at us. But this dog was letting the whole world and it’s owners know that we had arrived. The big fella was just doing his job.

And if truth be known, as well as a clean lodge this was an incredibly clean farmyard. The whole place screamed neatness, in a good way. We then met Julia, our host, who couldn’t have been more helpful if she’d transformed herself into a High Peak guidebook. Her local knowledge was excellent.

We spent the rest of Monday doing some of that relaxing I mentioned and yes, wine and G&T’s were opened and consumed. We were on holiday after all and the weather (so shite all Summer) was quite glorious. We felt both blessed and spoilt at the same time.

I was so relaxed, in fact, that I didn’t even have the energy to turn the telly on and watch the BBC2 quiz shows. Instead we told Alexa to play some Jethro Tull and just crashed out and enjoyed the music and the ambience.

The next day we headed for the town of Buxton. The weather was again stupendous and it was a pleasure to drive over the dales to that bucolic little spa town. We paid for six hours of parking with the view that we were going to take our time. To be honest my legs weren’t feeling great and therefore necessitated that I go as slowly as possible.

Actually, it was so nice to merely amble about the place. It’s a gorgeous town is Buxton and there’s so much to see. We did a bit of shop browsing and I bought some records before heading to the park to eat the lunchtime samosas we had acquired from a market stall. They were as delicious as samosas can get and as we sat on the park bench under the shade of the trees Ange threw a little of the crust of one of her samosas to a plump little pigeon who was clearly no stranger to being fed by tourists…

 Within moments we were surrounded by avian beings of all shapes and sizes. There were ducks, Canada geese, crows, jackdaws and a host of even more pigeons. For a brief moment or two it felt distinctly Hitchcockian as these feathered friends all competed for our samosa crusts.

However, they were the politest park birds I have ever come across and they all acknowledged that the food was gone and slowly moved away in a most dignified fashion.

We moved away too and took a slow stroll to the pavilion where I had the most delicious pint of local porter and we sat in the sunshine for a bit whilst we had our drinks to top up the old vitamin D.

There were quite a lot of folks milling about for a Tuesday, which was nice to see. It seems to me that Buxton is doing well; thriving even.

We visited the Crescent and stopped at St Ann’s Well where I filled my own bottle of Buxton mineral water for £2.50 for 250ml. A bit steep for water but it was straight from the source. After a latte we made our way back through town at a snails pace, stopping for ice creams and a bit more shopping.

Look, when I say shopping, I don’t mean that we dragged ourselves round M&S and Fat Face and all those other high street regulars. Ange and I don’t do that kind of thing. No, we like charity shops and all those quirky little places that sell incense and hippie-ish things. We go into dusty old antique emporiums, second-hand bookshops and absolutely anywhere that sells vinyl. That’s the kind of shopping we do.

We arrived back at the car at half past four after a splendid day and despite having another 90 minutes on the parking ticket I was pretty much done in by now. The car itself was like stepping into a pottery kiln and we opened all four windows for a while before setting off on the scenic journey back to the lodge, stopping at the Lantern Pike pub for some “light refreshments” on the way. Smashing little place is the Lantern Pike. A proper old local village pub.

By the time Wednesday rolled around I was in quite intense pain and so we decided that a full day of rest was the order fo the day. And that’s precisely what we did. Yet again we were treated to the most magnificent weather of the week so far and so we sat outside on the decking all day with a beverage or three and just inhaled the pure, clean Derbyshire air.

We read a lot too. I began to re-read Vole and make little highlighter marks here and there where it needs cleaning up a bit. I don’t count it as work because it was so enjoyable and it reinforced my view of the book as a great piece of comic writing. I really enjoyed myself actually.

We ate too much during the day; of course we did, we were on holiday, but we did have a healthy evening meal – salmon for Ange, steak for me, broccoli and baby potatoes. Washed down with a very decent little cabernet sauvignon.

Spent another evening engaged in the fine art of listening to music and watching the little robotic lawnmower going erratically about its business in the paddock next to us. I don’t know why but every time I saw that funny little machine I laughed. If it had gone up and down in straight lines it wouldn’t have been so amusing but the fact that it went in every possible direction apart from straight lines made it hilarious. My sense of humour I suppose.

Thursday arrived and we were nearing the end of our short stay. We vowed to make the most of it and headed south to the Matlock area. That’s an area I know very well from childhood. My dad was from Belper and my mum is from Wirksworth so I spent a lot of my youth roaming that neck of the woods.

Our first stop was the village of Cromford. The village itself is not spectacular. It’s pretty enough and there are some great walks around the place but I wanted to go there for one reason and one reason only – Scarthin Books.

Without the merest shadow of a doubt Scarthin is the best bookshop in the known universe. Yes, even better than Thraags World of Books on Planet Skryk. Oops, I’ve said too much. Seriously though, it is a marvel of a bookshop.

The phrase Aladdin’s Cave doesn’t do it justice. The place is a veritable temple to literature both new and second-hand. The smell is enough to make any bibliophile wet themselves with glee and its almost as if you don’t know where to look. There’s just so much choice which at first seems random but you soon realise that it’s all actually very cleverly worked out.

It also boasts a small yet superb little café. We each had a bowl of green vegetable soup for lunch and I swear I could feel it doing me good even as it was going down my gullet! I felt most virtuous with myself at that point. Another time I’d have plumped for a less healthy option but that soup was incredibly flavoursome. I think it had mint in it as well.

And yes, I did buy some books.

After that we drove back up to Matlock and spent an hour or two roaming the town. I was struggling by now and desperate for a sit down. So after buying a very cute little antique kitchen cupboard from a shop called Junk and Gems (or something like that) we made for the park and had ice cream and a well-earned rest.

We left Matlock at four thirty and headed back North. We were booked in for a meal at the Lantern Pike at six and we made it with twenty minutes to spare. Not that we needed to worry about being a few minutes late if we had have been, they are so chilled out there that it wouldn’t have even been a point of contention.

Had a lovely meal. I can still taste the lamb shank with mint gravy and creamy mash in my dreams and the three pints of Guinness that I rinsed it all away with were pure excellence in a glass. If you’re ever in that area then you would be doing yourself a big favour by visiting the Lantern Pike. Not only is the food superb it is also very reasonably priced plus the staff and locals are so friendly.

Friday morning came, as it tends to do, and our little break came to an end. However we determined to make the most of the journey home and so we bid a fond farewell to Curlew Lodge and after having driven through some clouds (literally) we stopped for lunch in Holmfirth.

We dined in Sid’s Café, which of course was made famous in the long-running sitcom – Last of the Summer Wine. I was pleasantly surprised to see that the place hasn’t actually changed all that much since the programme began in the 1970s. The only major difference was all the “souvenirs” for sale. Mind you, I did buy a tin of toffee for my mum.

The journey back home was slow due to horrendous roadworks in Halifax. I don’t know what Halifax has done to deserve such ill treatment but it must have been something bad. However, it didn’t spoil things and we carried the memories of the last few days with us.

So home again and feeling very relaxed, thank you very much.

Ok, so we didn’t visit any famous landmarks like the Pyramids of Giza or the Taj Mahal and we didn’t get an all-over golden tan from lying on a sun-drenched tropical beach nor did we swim with dolphins, scuba dive with turtles or get off our tits on duty free or make berks of ourselves in a karaoke bar. We just had a quiet little time in North Derbyshire and we felt all the better for it. It had been our kind of holiday.

And now…

Now we’re already planning the next one!

Marley and Us

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It’s been a very educational week here for Ange and I. Well, regarding alpacas that is. I thought they were just under-grown llamas and seeing as how I’d heard a lot of negative things regarding the temperament of llamas I didn’t have high hopes that alpacas were all that different.

How wrong I was.

But let me start at the beginning…

As you know the lady of the manor, my lovely wife Ange, has had some serious health issues in the last year and a half. To wit, a heart attack, diabetes and breast cancer. Without going into too much detail she’s been through the wars. A lot.

Well, it was her birthday on Saturday and I wanted to give her a bit of a treat. Partly because I’m crazy about her and partly because after all she’s been through I thought she damn well deserved one.

Anyone who knows Ange will tell you that she’s an absolute nut when it comes to animals. And I mean all animals. She quite literally wouldn’t harm a flea. I’ve seen her shoo a fly out of the car window with the words, “Off you pop sweetheart” when someone else would have been trying to swat the thing with anything that came to hand as if their life depended upon it.

Not Ange though. All living creatures are special and all have a right to live on this earth in her eyes. And I concur. Well, apart from that little bastard of a gnat that bit my left leg in July 2014 and made it swell up like a balloon. I wished all the torments of hell on that one.

But I digress.

Anyway, I thought long and hard as to how I could bless Ange with an animal related surprise on her birthday and then I saw an advert for the Wood End Alpaca Experience. It was a lightbulb moment! I knew instantly then that we would be going to see those wonderful creatures.

And what wonderful creatures they indeed are.

And what wonderful people ran the farm as well.

I had been stressing the few days before the Saturday we were due to go as the car suffered a major malfunction and I began to panic as to how we would get there. It’s not far from us, just over in the Forest of Bowland, but there is zero public transport there and there’s no way either of us could walk 18 miles. Heck! I struggle with 18 metres.

Thankfully we had the car back on Friday afternoon and so on the big day itself we set off for the farm with smiles on our faces. I had done a sterling job of keeping it a secret. All Ange knew about it was that I was taking her for a surprise day out.

I must add at this point that the scenery on the journey was enough to make a grown man cry and in fact, I nearly did. It was beyond beautiful and then some. And, despite a bit of a contretemps with a total idiot cyclist who wasn’t watching where he was going, we arrived in plenty of time.

We were warmly met by Alison, whose family have run the farm for generations, and sat in the tea room as the other guests arrived. I hadn’t expected so many people to be interested in alpacas but there were folks there from all walks of life.

After a pep talk and some alpaca information from Alison we were ready to meet our alpaca for the afternoon. I must say that Alison knows her stuff. Alpacas are curious little things. Yes, they do spit but not at people. They tend to spit at one another and the only time Alison has ever been spat on was when she was caught in the crossfire between two of them. They don’t like being touched on their bottoms though, but then again who does, and will kick with their back legs if you pat them there.

They don’t like you coming towards them from the side either. It’s best to approach them head on and then you can gently move to the side and put your arm around their necks for a cuddle which they seem to rather enjoy.

Another interesting fact is that alpacas communicate between themselves by humming and it’s quite an amusing sound to hear. I wonder if they know any tunes.

Everyone in the group was carefully selected an alpaca that suited them best. I’d chosen to not have one myself as I had visions of being dragged screaming across the fells by it, but Ange was given a very placid and friendly little chap called Marley.

We were given a few more tips on handling these lovely beasts and then it was time to set off. I quickly called Alison to one side to enquire how strenuous the walk would be and was a little alarmed at her reply. It wasn’t too bad but there was a fair bit of walking involved. I told her that I would most likely be bringing up the rear… From a good long way behind. Alison very kindly offered to let me use the off road vehicle that they have on the farm for such occasions but I declined. Rather foolishly in hindsight; I wish now that I’d taken her up on the offer.

Nonetheless we set off and Ange was soon in her element, bonding with Marley and enjoying the sunshine. And by gum the sun was certainly doing that. It was a grand day to be out and about. I’d wisely worn my trusty tarp hat but it rapidly began to form a thick band of sweat where it came into contact with my forehead.

There was fun and laughter aplenty and everyone got along with each other. All the alpacas were marvellously well behaved and I witnessed only one minor spitting incident when one of them got too close to another for comfort. Still, they are very much like sheep in that they like to follow the rest of the herd.

Marley was very well behaved although he did keep stopping for a scratch as he’d recently been sheared. Well, you know what it’s like when you’ve just had your hair done.

We reached the halfway point and I caught up with the rest of them. By now I was sweating like donner meat in a kebab shop and my heart was going like the intro to Overkill by Motorhead. My legs were threatening to give way from beneath me and my feet felt as hot and hard as flat irons.

However, I’d made it thus far by sheer Herculean will.

We stopped for a break as it was time to feed the animals and bags of alpaca food were distributed. I think this was the part that Ange enjoyed the best. Alpacas have very soft muzzles and no upper teeth at the front so the chances of getting an accidental bite are virtually nil. Marley certainly enjoyed his lunch and I was about ready for mine.

After the feeding we made our way back to the farm. I was particularly slow by now and I told Alison that I would go straight to the tea room rather than the alpaca shed. I knew that if I didn’t sit down very soon then the chances of me falling down were seriously high.

I had two pints of Vimto and a further two pints of water in quick succession in the tea room.

Eventually the rest of the group returned. Ange and I ate a really rather splendid cream tea with scones, jam and clotted cream and then it was time to leave. We’d had fun with alpacas, seen kittens, lambs and calves and Ange had held a collie puppy. But there was one more treat for her on the way out. Two handsome looking rare breed pigs. Ange loves all things piggy and so it was a nice farewell to the farm to see them.

So what a right good day we had. I still haven’t recovered and I know its going to take a bit of time before I do. But it was worth it to see the look on my Ange’s face when she was walking Marley.

P.S – I’d recommend alpaca walking to anybody and you could do no better in my opinion than Wood End Farm. Here’s a link to their website: Wood End Alpacas.