A very Lancaster conversation

Overheard yesterday. A woman talking to another woman she was hosting for the weekend.

Woman 1 I thought we could all eat out together tonight. My treat. There's a good pizza place round the corner. It does gluten-free pizzas too so it should suit everybody. Would that be alright for you?

Woman 2 Mmm ..... I don't eat grains. Or potatoes.

Woman 1 Oh. Let me think ..... I know! There's a good pub down the road. There should be something on the menu there you'd be happy with. Let's have a look. [gets menu up on phone]

Woman 2 I should add I don't eat turmeric ..... or goji berries.

Woman 1 [ignoring those details] Here we go. Starters ..... sauted mushrooms .....

Woman 2 I can't eat mushrooms. My mum's got arthritis, you see, and the trigger seemed to be mushrooms.

Woman 1 [ignores this and continues determinedly] Baked camembert.....

Woman 2 I DO eat cheese, but only unpasteurized ..................... Can I just say that I do want to take responsibility for my own needs here. If I end up not eating tonight, it's no-one else's fault. 

Woman 1 [Puts phone down and tries a new approach] So ..... if you were at home and you were eating out, what type of restaurant would you go to?

Woman 2 I don't eat out. It's not a pleasure for me. I prefer to go to the supermarket and cook what I want. 

Woman 1 [Getting assertive] Well, there's no supermarkets round here. And you see, I don't enjoy cooking, and I will have been working all day, so I'd just like to go out and relax.

Woman 2 Well, if I HAD to eat out, I'd probably choose a fish restaurant.

Woman 1 [relieved] Okay! I know a great fish restaurant [gets up menu on her phone] ....Starters .....Thai prawn and cod cake ......

Woman 2 Oh, I don't eat shellfish. I'm not sure, but I THINK I'm allergic.

Woman 1 [Exasperated] Do you eat meat?

Woman 2 [Like it's a silly question] Oh yes, I eat meat.

Woman 1. Perfect! We'll go the pub and you can have a steak.

Woman 2 I only eat proper steaks.

Woman 1 [Incredulous] What's a 'proper' steak?

Woman 2 Grass-fed.

Woman 1 [getting up and walking off] Well, I'll get you a normal steak, but if you want a grass-fed snake, you can buy it yourself.

Thursday is cheesy chips day

I like Thursdays.

Me and a woman from my street who is doing a PhD go to the Gregson (pubby community centre, not to be confused with Greggs the bakers) to work.

We have a little coffee-chat-work-tea-work-chat routine going.

And we always share a big bowl of cheesy chips for lunch.

She also seems to know literally everyone in Lancaster so I get to hear the life story of anyone who comes in.

So I'm settling nicely into some sort of not-working-at-home routine. A deliberate move on my part to get myself out into the world where I can meet people:

TUESDAYS - I work at The Hub in the city centre.

WEDNESDAYS - I work at the The Hive in the countryside. I walked all the way there yesterday along the river in the sunshine (yes!) with someone else who works there who is endearingly bonkers about wildlife. She even rescued a tiny frozen snail on the path and gave it a lift on her hand to thaw it out.

Turned out it was dead.

THURSDAYS - cheesy chips day.

MONDAYS & FRIDAYS - I try to work at the University of Cumbria library, a 10-minute walk away, because there are huge windows with views of the sea and Lakeland hills.

Not bad for a woman who thought I would only ever be able to concentrate at my Witney 'work station':

on my memory foam cushion
on my wicker chair 
at my ancient clunky PC 
by my window 
with the cactus
and this view.....



I'd worked in this spot for 16 years after all.

Seems you can teach an old dog new tricks. Especially if you offer them cheesy chips.

The W word

I have already got a reputation here for being the woman who moans about the weather.

In fact, I've even been banned from using the word.

But Sweet Begeezuz! I knew that Lancaster was a rainy part of the country but I didn't expect it to have so much effect on how I felt. Those first few weeks, I stomped my way through the puddles in my new red boots, mumbling I've made a terrible mistake, a terrible, terrible mistake.....

First thing I did when I got out of bed every morning was check and compare the forecasts for Lancaster and Witney. Why are you torturing yourself like that? asked Jim. You know Lancaster is never going to come out tops. He thought I was doing it to prove to myself that I'd made a terrible mistake. I wasn't. I was doing it to prove to myself that some days Lancaster got equally good or better weather. It did.

Once.

As a result of my weather forecast obsession, I have come to think of my days in BBC weather symbols.



I reckon barely a day goes by without a Double Drops or a Single Drops episode at some point in the 24 hours. But I've noticed that it's often at night, so that's okay. No, it's not the rain that bothers me the most. At least when it's raining, it's making some sort of statement. And the pitter-patter can feel cosy when you're indoors.

No, it's the Dark Cloud days that get to me the most.



What is the point of them exactly? In between the rain, why can't we at least have a Light Cloud day, a nice Farrow & Ball Elephant's Breath or Skimming Stone shade of sky that leaves you with some kind of will to live.

I'm not the only Suvverner here who struggles with the weather. The light's different, they say. Spring comes three weeks later. Some have lightboxes. Others spend lots of time looking on Right Move at houses in sunny places they might like to retire to.

Like London.

The Northerners are much more matter of fact. It's just a bit wet, they say, or I don't like hot weather anyway. But my favourite was: It's why it's noticeably more open and friendly up North. We have to create our own sun. 

So where am I now with it all?

Well, I have developed some coping strategies (Definitely in Stage 3 of my culture shock now):

1. If it's Full Blast sunshine, I grab it. Even if it means sitting in the garden like a twat with my face upturned like a solar panel for five minutes. You can't think I'll go out later. It might be Double Drops by then.

2. I plan to choose holiday destinations with a high sunshine index.

3. I will meet with my weather-moaning buddy (a fellow Suvvener) regularly and moan. Therapy, innit.

4. I will bathe in the warmth of the people. I think it really does outweigh the crap weather.

Oh, and then there's always Jim's golden nugget of wisdom to cling onto:

Denmark is the happiest country in the world and they don't have good weather. It's not that important. Put a coat on.

Yeah, thanks Jim.

ComYooNitty

I've always thought 'a sense of community' was a very wishy-washy phrase. What did it actually mean? What did it actually feel like? Was it a feeling I was meant to get when I watched the Witney carnival floats go through town? Was it a feeling I was meant to create myself by becoming a Brown Owl or something? I loved (still do!) my friends in Witney, but I always felt at odds with the population as a whole.

Now, I think I get it. The community here scooped me up here before my feet had even touched the ground. It started with cards through the letterbox and invites to come over for a 'brew' from neighbours, peaked with the Advent Window plan (still smiling about that!), continued with a Halloween party in our street for kids.....



and grown-ups.....



and a neighbourhood Trick or Treating gang with pumpkins - and more - aglow in people's front gardens.



Even the pet shop round the corner stayed open and joined in the fun with real snakes and tarantulas on the loose in the dark!

But then it spread wider. The whole town turned out cheerfully and chattily for Light Up Lancaster, a yearly event of light installations all over town.....



including a story projected gigantically onto the castle accompanied by a live choir.....



Though my favourite bit was the library, in darkness, lit only by tangles of fairy lights along the bookshelves.



It was a real mix of very professional and very amateur - which added to the home-grown feel - culminating in a fireworks display over the castle for Bonfire Night.

So what does this sense of community thing feel like then?

Warm, with mushy bits.

Like herding cats.....

A summer ago, a friend of mine in Witney spent a week in Lancashire on a sheep farm with her family. Every day they had a session with Thomas, the champion sheepdog-training farmer, who taught them how to get the sheepdogs to round up the sheep. Turns out this farm is just three miles down the road from us.

Now, my poor pet-deprived daughter is crazy about Border Collies. So, forever on the look-out for unusual and fun things to do, I managed to book us a one-off family session with Thomas.

He started by teaching us the commands: Come by and Away or Get out and Here-ya. Then he presented us with a star line-up of highly-skilled and eager sheepdogs. Our job, he said casually, was for us to have a turn at getting a dog to guide the sheep in and out the slalom he'd set up.

LIKE IT WAS NO MORE DIFFICULT THAN MANEOUVERING A SUPERMARKET SHOPPING TROLLEY.

What a flippin' comedy show!



The dogs didn't take a blind bit of notice of us. The sheep ran wildly about until they were huffing and puffing like they were about to have a heart attack. And me, Jim and Lola were just shouting randomly in a stronger and stronger northern accent (as if that was gonna help). It was like It's a Knockout meets Last of the Summer Wine with animals. Utter chaos.

As you can see from the pictures, I was stressed, Lola was bemused, and Jim, in the end, went for a Jesus-turning-water-into-wine approach.

All the same, it was a fascinating insight into a world you don't normally get to step into. Here are some Fun Facts:

🐶 A trained sheepdog costs around £2000. Thomas buys and sells them all the time to try and find the one that's going to make him champion again.

🐶 You know a puppy is ready to be trained when you take it to the field and it stops being interested in getting your attention and becomes more interested in chasing sheep .

🐶 You should always say the commands to the dog in a neutral voice - not angrily or loudly - so that it doesn't have negative associations with rounding up sheep.

🐶 Whistles carry a lot further than spoken commands so you have to learn those too.

Ah, that must have been the problem. Our voices weren't carrying far enough. 😉

A shark came into my goldfish bowl

When I first moved here, I wrote about living in a goldfish bowl - how our big-windowed back door opens directly onto a back alley which all the other neighbours use too. Oh, how positive and jovial I was about the communality of it all.

I hadn't thought about the flip side. Other people - anyone in fact - can also come down that back alley.

Last night, about 7pm, I jumped out of my skin when a face appeared through the darkness at the back door. I was both relieved and alarmed when I saw it was a police officer. She knocked at the door to tell to me there had been a burglary last night a few doors down about 12.30am. They'd broken in through the back via the back alley.

I want to go back to Witney, squeeked Lola, who was listening. I instantly felt the same. In Witney, we  actually left our back door open all time without any incidents, ever. Apart from the baby blackbirds who came into the house every bloody spring and shat everywhere.

I suddenly felt very vulnerable and alone. Jim was away for the night. And I was living in Crimeville.

Coincidentally, that very morning I had been chatting with the guy in the Buttie bar round the corner about crime in Lancaster. It's such a safe place, he told me, like so many other people here have told me. All we get is burglaries, really. We only get a murder about once every 18 months.....

Once every 18 months? That didn't sound like a 'safe place' to me. If we're comparing with the Murder Mile in London, maybe. If we're comparing with Witney, it sounded f*ckin scary! But it was all theoretical at that point.

Not now. Spent the evening googling anti-burglary measures and went to bed to lie awake listening for noises.

Update: 

Spoke to two neighbours the next day. They said there hadn't been a burglary in the street in the 20+ years they had lived here. But one said that as times are getting harder for people, burglaries are going to increase, and we are living in what is considered a wealthy neighbourhood. Also that student houses are always the most targeted because they generally have the most up-to-date and valuable gadgets.

Update #2:
It wasn't a burglary!!! The old woman who lives in the house doesn't have all her marbles and often reports seeing people in her house. Sad, but phew!!!!!!!!!!!

I went stalking (accidentally-on-purpose!)

On Friday, we took the railway from Morecambe to Skipton, a scenic(ish) journey through the Trough of Bowland and the Yorkshire dales. Jim was going to take Lola and her friend to the castle. I was going to have a mosey around town - AND, I half-joked to Jim, stalk Lucy from Attic 24, a mega-successful blog that I dip in and out of occasionally. I knew she lived in Skipton.

I reckoned I had all the information I needed from her blog: She had a private art studio above Coopers Cafe. And she walked along the canal to pick up her children from school.

Now, you have to understand that Lucy is mega-famous in the middle-aged women's world of crochet, baking, house decor and upcycled clothing. I once met two women crocheting by the fire in a youth hostel living room in Arnside. Have you heard of Attic 24? I asked. Ooh yes, they said, suddenly all flustered and excitable. I once saw Lucy at a craft fair and wanted to say 'Hello' but I came over all star-struck and red-faced and couldn't bring myself to go up to her!

So off I set into the town centre from the station along the canal. And what do you know? Within three minutes of walking, without any effort on my part at all, THERE SHE WAS! WALKING RIGHT TOWARDS ME! With her tell-tale red boots and multi-coloured crochet bag!

And what did I do? I came over all star-struck and red-faced! I actually looked away. My head was saying: Talk to her - say something - no, don't - she probably gets people coming up to her all the time - leave her alone - no talk to her - no don't - do - don't - do - don't - do - don't.....

Oh. Too late.

So, what did I do instead? I took this sneaky but pathetic picture of her from behind.



Then my head went: I know - she's probably going to pick her kids up from school - I'll wait here on this bridge for her to come back - then I'll zoom in without her knowing and get a proper full-front photo of her.

So I waited with camera poised. And waited, and waited, and waited. This must be what it's like to be paparazzi, I thought. Ten, twenty, twenty-five minutes passed and still she didn't come back. But I was determined. I stayed put, motionless, staring, camera poised, finger on the zoom.

Until a man sidled up to me. I'd been aware of him watching me the whole time.

You look like you're expecting the QE2 to come sailing round the corner, he said quizzically.

My head went: Shall I explain?-yes, he'll think it's funny - no, he'll think you're weird. No, definitely no.

Well, you never know! I said. And we both went our separate ways.

A second stab at the Lake District

It was only fair to give the Lake Distict another chance before I wrote it off. So this time I set out on a clear mission: to do an utterly FLAT walk.

While Jim and Lola climbed the Via Ferrata, I planned to walk around Buttermere lake. A 4.5 mile walk with an ELEVEN METRES gradient (now we're talking!). And a cafe at the beginning and end. On paper, it sounded perfect.

Unfortunately, Jim and Lola were running late to get to their Via Ferrata booking, so they didn't have time to drop me off at the cafe and instead threw me out the car at a random spot on a B road - without money, a bank card or a phone signal, and only a loose arrangement to pick me up at the same spot sometime between 3 and 4. I got out the car, looked at the mountains all around me and thought F*ck.



I'm used to Cotswold-cottagey-countryside with manicured gardens and pubs serving poncy food round every corner, remember.

Come on, you can do this! I told myself. Think of Wainwright! And off I waddled. I even worked out the right way to walk round the lake so I was on the right side of the mountains to get the sun. Get me, I thought. I'll be shopping at Mountain Warehouse next.

Two hours later, with a stop for my packed lunch, I'd done it, and was sitting reading my book on the sun-trap of a verandah of the (closed-down) Buttemere YHA close to my pick-up spot.

So, did I enjoy it? Do I 'get' the Lake District now? Would I do it again? Well.....

I loved the sunshine and blue skies. I'd craved them for days - no, weeks - and they made me insanely happy.

I loved the reflections of the Autumnal mountains in the water.

I liked the natural tunnel in the rock I had to walk through.

I liked the utter clearness of the water.


I liked the twisty, golden, tree-lined paths.



I liked the waterfall tumbling down the mountain.



I liked the sheep with the super-curly horns that were often in my way.

And I liked that every section surprised me with a very different vista.

But - and I know this makes me odd! - I do not feel an affinity with this landscape. To me, even in the beaming sunshine, there is a bleakness and bareness about its beauty that does not do it for me. I know that this is exactly what draws other people to it. It is nature in the raw. A reminder of our insignificance. But that is so not my thing!

I like to see where humans and nature meet: a sculpture in the woods, a pretty front door, a quirky gate, a treehouse, a scarecrow. I guess I prefer COSY countryside. Why this is, I don't know. But I can't be the only one, can I?

I will definitely do some more (flat) walks in the Lake District. I might even set myself the challenge of walking round all the lakes (I say that without a clue of how many there are!).

I might even [ahem] come to love it.

But for now, I think we can safely say, I did not move here to be close to the Lake District.

All my Christmas dreams come true...

Yesterday, this note came through the door and my heart skipped a little dance of joy. It was inviting me to take part in a communally creative event in our street in the lead-up to Christmas.

It sort of sums up the spirit that drew me to Lancaster. I don't mean the Chritmassy side of it (I am Queen Bah Humbug, after all). I mean the urge to have outside-the-boxy fun with and for other people.

So I have emailed the woman to bagsy number 11 on the Advent Window Calendar (who invited me for a cup of tea in her reply).

Here's our window where the action will take place. I do have an idea, but I'm wide open to suggestions.....

Mischief at the Model Village!

Oh, I love how one thing leads to another and before you know it, you're leaping over fences and past signs that say KEEP OF THE GRASS with your husband as lookout and your heart pounding in case the man at reception catches you at it!

It all started with a Facebook post from my sister who recently went to Great Yarmouth Model Village for someone's wedding day (IKR!). She found a model person there that she thought looked exactly like me (Mmm.....debatable).


A friend wrote a comment saying wouldn't it be cool to visit every model village in Britain and put a model of yourself in it.....

BOOM! Right. Up. My. Street. The exact mix of creativity and sneakiness I love.

Next thing I know I'm emailing my nearest model village (Blackpool) to find out the scale of the models (1:12) and squidging and shaping Paper Clay to make a mini-me.....



Into the oven like the Little Gingerbread Man she goes, to dry thoroughly.....



And she's ready to be painted in my tell-tale yellow raincoat, red boots and multi-coloured scarf.

A ride on my lap up the M6 and in we go to Blackpool Model Village, me and 'er.....



So, let's run riot....

The blokes outside the pub look a bit suspicious of the new girl in town, don't they?



But the ladies outside the tea shop are very happy to chat.....



The beer delivery man even offers her a ride.....



.....to the castle. Turns out she's a good little climber.....



Oops, in fact, got herself into a bit of a scrape.....

There's just time for bit of people-watching amongst the hustle and bustle of the market.....



A stroll along the pier.....

A quiet moment of contemplation outside the garden centre.....



Before.....no.....surely not....

Yep, she's off. Where'll she land, nobody knows.....