Lake District Holiday - Day 7

Friday, October 2nd

The last day. (Sigh!) Still it is nice to see the cats and the Aged Parent again.

We decided to visit Holker Hall. It was raining intermittently which made a house with lots of rooms to see seem like a good option. It is, moreover, a house which is lived in which bodes well for lighted fires and light rooms with open blinds. And we were not let down, but more of that later . . .

But first we went to Cartmel Priory, which I had visited twenty or so years ago, but to which Joe had never been. Outside we were greeted by this piece of sculpture - it is certainly striking, but the jury is still out as to whether I actually like it or not.

They were in the throes of setting up the flower arrangements for their harvest festival so it was all very busy and active inside - as my mind tells me a church should be, but for wandering round as a tourist and for private prayer I rather selfishly prefer them empty of other humans. It's a magnificent building.

As we were driving through the town Joe spotted an antique shop which he visited while I found a new place to park my car. It turned out to be the sort that sells expensive furniture rather than cheap and cheerful bric-a-brac, but that didn't stop us both falling for a lovely old dresser which was huge, very expensive and already sold. Having parked again it only seemed reasonable to visit the pub next door (open fire, real coffee) for a cup of coffee which included gratis a small piece of cake.

On to Holker where I entirely neglected to take any photographs. This one of Joe and Carolyn in the garden was one I took in May 2004.

This time we spent only a very short time in the garden, which is a shame as it is one of the best tended and best laid out I have ever visited, but I am not so much of a garden lover that I really want to see them in the rain.

[Speaking of rain. I have said before that I am a weather god and if we go by my choice of holiday it doesn't rain. This was my choice of week and if we had gone to either of my choices (Northumberland and the Norfolk Broads) we would have enjoyed a completely rain-free week; Joe's choice of location brought occasional showers and a final day of intermittent rain.]

Inside, the house was its usual spotless and beautifully presented self, where you can walk around unhindered by roped off areas and notices. Joe and I were slightly surprised as we had both remembered ropes in the library, but it seems that these must have been mental barriers put up by an officious and legendary room guide (now thankfully retired) who, so one of the other guides told me, seemed to think she owned the house and made up all sorts of rules. The first time we visited the house my three little nephews were allowed to have a go in the beautiful rocking boat which they loved. On that particular day there were no other small children visiting, and when, after going round all the other rooms upstairs, they returned to the landing to have another go, this particular guide forbade them telling them that it was limited to one turn each despite the fact that the previous lady had said something which clearly indicated that she expected them to come back to it later. It rankles with Joe still though he was 8 then and is now 23. On a subsequent visit Carolyn and I were examining an art book left open on a table - a modern book, not a valuable antique - when this same woman came into the room and practically screamed at us not to touch, though we had been looking at it for some time in clear view of another room guardian. Sadly they have now decided that the rocking boat's unique status makes it too precious to allow small children rides, though they may still go supervised and held on the rocking horse provided they are when standing no taller than the beast itself.

On this occasion, though admission was not included on our HHA tickets, we decided to visit the Lakeland Motor Museum (in its last season at Holker before moving to larger premises elsewhere in the area). My fifteen year old guide to the exhibition was borrowed for the duration of our visit by the lady at the desk who wanted to compare its list to the current completely different exhibition and I had to expend a pound on a new one. While by no means a petrolhead, I do like nice old cars - no surprise that my favourite was a 1950s Jaguar - and I enjoyed remeniscing to Joe and anyone else who would listen (it was the sort of exhibition where you get chatting to strangers) of cars of happy memory. Do you know how many damp infants could be squeezed into a bubble car in the days before seatbelts by one determined mother on the school run on a rainy day? More than you would think, and Mrs. Toole (probably the only mother in the whole school with a car of her very own in 1960) did. Most days of course we all walked the half mile or so. Come to that I can remember my father taking two other adults and four of us children in a two seater Jensen all the way from Cleethorpes to Cambridge (some of the journey at in excess of 100 mph in those pre national speed-limit days) and taking between fifteen and twenty children home in a Morris Oxford after a party. None of this, of course, is to be recommended, but we all survived.

After this we drove back to the cottage for a meal of everything left over in the fridge which turned out to be chicken pieces which I roasted wrapped in bacon with buttered potatoes and fresh asparagus followed by tinned rice pudding - which I bought on impulse as a bogoff, one tin for father and one to take with us - the premiere brand which was OK but nothing like as good as either home-made or school rice pudding of blessed memory. I love rice pudding - any rice pudding, and tapioca, and semolina, and sago, and ground rice and - well you've got the message that I rather like milk puddings.

After that I packed up what it was reasonable to pack ready for the morning and stacked what I could in the back entrance ready to take up to the car. I then tidied everything I could tidy (though that wasn't much as we had been very good and very neat all week) and wiped down every surface in the kitchen. By which time it would have been time to veg out in front of the television if there had been anything to watch. So I had a pot of tea and went to bed. And so did Joe when he had watched Family Guy which is not going to grow on me the way The Simpsons did when - at the behest of my nephews - I watched it properly.