|The Dying Bee|
On Wednesday it was suddenly decided at work that I would be sent to the Lake District to film the church weekend away. After moaning to everyone who would listen I then packed my kit and headed off to the Lake District... And had quite a good time! :) Got the best of both worlds! ;) Not that anyone was giving me sympathy for having to go to the Lakes, but still...
I don't know if anyone else saw the weekend from my point of view. I was there and not there, as it were. Most of it I saw through the eye of a lens, and therefore looked at the world differently, perhaps more objectively?
I suppose the biggest event (of many!) of the weekend was The Walk (drum roll please). I chose the 'medium' walk over the 'easy' or 'long', as did most others. Now, to the British 'medium' means 4 hours...up and down hills. No wonder they once ruled the world.
After driving along 'the scenic route' (to get to the foot of the hills) we eventually wormed our way along the 10 foot high hedges that line the roads and arrived at Low (Something) Farm, where we paid the farmer 3 pounds per car for parking and use of the outhouse. We headed out strong, an army of some 60? people, all ages. Armed with rucksacks full of sandwiches and water we headed up the 451 foot high Catbells hill overlooking the Lakes.
|Photo by DAVID ILIFF. License: CC-BY-SA 3.0|
Four hours later the troops trickled back in...not exactly beaten, but having sustained heavy losses.
Now, I'd headed off to the Lakes without a means to get home, counting on someone there having a free space in the car that had hitherto gone unnoticed or unclaimed. Everyone was full of faith that I'd find a ride, and I had other things to worry about it, so I didn't worry about it as much as one might think. Once there I scouted some options, trying to find a car that wasn't too full and cramped...and lo and behold, I was actually offered a lift from someone I didn't even ask! Amazing. I'm still trying to work it out. It ranks high with the time that a guy of about 23 that I hardly know asked me to dance at a ceilidh. Just doesn't fit with most of my life experiences, ie kindness from disinterested men who are neither family nor particularly close friends.
So that was the weekend...In other news, my brother has been blasting my reputation and self-importance with his monthly email update to friends and family. He covers the variety of jobs I didn't get and my feelings on the matter. If anyone is shouting my feelings to the world I'd rather it were I, hence yon blog.
I thought about asking him to stop including me in his family updates but I decided if he stopped mentioning me people would think there was something to hide...perhaps I had moved in with a one-eyed gypsy mass murderer or somesuch. Speculation is always worse than truth. So I'll just let him put me down as a frustrated job seeker, it's less disreputable.
The N. Irish contingent is coming round to mine this week. I mentally analyzing why I like them so much...It's not just because they're good looking...I think it's because they invite me round to their house and take the trouble to cook for me and try to make sure I and the other guests are engaged in conversation and fed. So yeah, I think it's how polite and attentive they are. I'm a bit rubbishy about attending to my guests I'm afraid...I'm always trying to juggle different dishes when they arrive and have a tendency to tell them to 'sit quietly and amuse themselves' until dinner's ready. Sigh.