Incident at the Lake

After last week’s perils in Ayrshire, I was hoping for something a little more relaxing for the following seven days. Being stuck in a love triangle wasn’t what was planned while I was minding my own business hiking up and down the west coast of Southern Scotland. But the advantage I have now, is that I am once again alone and free of female involvement. But there is the small concern with my heart, and that is that it is in love with a very pretty ginger haired Scottish lass from Ayr.

I stood at the edge of the lake at Bowness, on a dull and grey Sunday afternoon. I had already figured out as to where I was going to lay my hat for the following week. My plan was simple - I was going to reminisce the time that I spent with Becky last summer. This may be a mistake, as it could bring on a depression of sorts. If this does end up being the case then I will quite simply change my plans.

The swan Liner had already left Bowness for Lakeside thirty minutes ago. This meant that I would either walk or wait until it returns, which would be another hour or so. I decided to take the dodgy A592 that ran parallel with Lake Windermere. I had already achieved this hike last year with Becky, and it totals a good two and a half hours of requiring good luck that you don’t get run over and totally forgotten about. The road is renowned for its adverse cambers and the unusual speed limit of 50mph. I have driven this road on many occasions in recent years, and I can tell you that you need to have the driving prowess of ‘Sir Stirling Craufurd Moss if you can take those deceptive bends whilst pounding the throttle at 50mph and still be observant of us careful ramblers. On at least three separate instances last year Becky had to pull me on from the road, simply because I was a novice at both driving, and most importantly at that particular time, a thoughtful country lane hiker.

“Bloody hell Geoff,” she would shout. “Don’t get killed just yet. I may need you again in the future.”

Becky was my lifeline last year, but there would be no girlie guide to help me through the lonely nights this time. This time I am alone again, and to be honest, pretty much content with it that way.

Before I set off on ‘Suicide Avenue, I decided to take a rather expensive lunch and a divine cappuccino at the lakeside cafeteria. All I had was sausage and mash with my drink, and that cost me £3, which is roughly a lot in today’s money. Whilst sipping my frothy cappuccino I glared out into the pretty lake, wondering if I can do the following week without the involvement of the opposite sex interfering with my plans. I put my hand into my pocket and pulled out the piece of paper that had Christina's phone number on it. I let my mind wonder into the future and dreamt of what the outcome of this week could bring if I were to get a caravan next weekend for romance. Do I really want to get involved with this young girl who lives in Ayrshire? I stared at the paper and seriously thought about throwing it in the bin. Besides, Christina had no idea where I lived, so if she was to produce a kind of fatal attraction affair and come knocking at my door in Birmingham, that meant that Jane had given her my address. Yes, I gave Jane my address in Birmingham. ‘Why?’ you may ask. ‘I don’t know,’ is my answer. Through male stupidity I returned the paper to the safekeeping of my backpack.

I took a stroll into Bowness before i set of Newby Bridge for some needed supplies. The sun made its acquaintance at 4.00pm, which was a little late. But it was a warm sun, and that meant that I had to take off my jumper. I tied the jumper around my waist, as I needed to keep my backpack as light as I could get it. The smell of male body odour was too apparent for me to enter the mini-market just yet so first I had to wash myself at a nearby toilet. There were a number of men either using the urinals or the much more needed facilities. There was just one washing basin which was being permanently used. This was going to be rather awkward and embarrassing for me, so instead I just filled a small container that I had with warm water and took it outside. I simply washed myself in an alcove in a nearby church and wiped myself down with some paper tissues that I had obtained from the toilet. A few people who were passing by observed my actions with intrigue, wondering if I were the local hobo. I then changed into my last clean t-shirt, which boasted my love for the rock band ‘Black Sabbath, which seemed inappropriate while I was in the grounds of St. Martin’s Church. All I need now is the vicar to arrive on the scene and perform some sort of exorcism on me. I need to get out of here.

Now odour free, I entered the supermarket and grabbed a basket. Unsurprisingly to me by now, I was being observed with a smile from a member of staff - yes, a female one. Was she being polite? Did she fancy me? Or was she eyeing me as a prospective shoplifter. Since I’ve been nicotine free and built up my body with a little muscle, plus I have a bronzed tan, the opposite sex (and very possibly men) seem to by undressing me. Well, that’s how it looked to me. When I got to the checkout, a short young lady with brown cropped hair welcomed me with a huge grin.

“Hi there. And how are you?” said Julie, my checkout assistant.

“I’m good thank you.”

As she scanned the dozen small requirements that I had purchased she asked me the now common question.

“Are you hiking the lakes?”

“Yes, I am.”

Julie (she had a tag above her left breast) eyed my frame.

“It looks like you’ve just come from Spain with a tan like that.”

“I’ve been working on a roof recently – making the most of the early summer sun.”

She nodded an approval.

“Lucky you. I wished that I had a tan like that.”

My filthy thoughts wished that she could have this very one that I owned right now, but I knew that that weren’t going to happen.

I paid the fine for buying expensive items, smiled and then waved Julie goodbye forever before making my way towards the A592 for game of Rissian Roulette with the idiot motorists.

I had more or less made my mind up concerning having a couple of romantic days with the delightful Christina. I really don’t need another love interest to distract my hike.

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 08.03.2016
ISBN: 978-3-7396-4218-5

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Widmung:
Thanks to Christina Webster and Jane McCoist, for allowing me to write about this northern adventure in 1991. You're eternal friendship will never be forgotten. And special thanks must also go to my faithful backpack that served me so well for so many hikes around the British countryside over so many years. And of course to my calor stove, which I finally threw way recently after keeping it for 25 years.