Kiwis and Fairy Bread

19 September 2025

After a lack luster Travelodge breakfast with terrible coffee we went seeking a decent cup. A two-floor coffee shop looked promising. We thought to enjoy it with a nice view. But the upper floor was closed, we were the only people in the place and the coffee unimpressive. To The Prom where the tide had come in so far it was splashing up the wall onto those octagonal tidal pools. Had we not seen it yesterday, we’d have never believed you could ever see the sand.

A woman who we had seen at breakfast was with her little grandson. He was sad that there was no sand to play in this morning, but he showed me his new fire truck. The family was on a short holiday and we recommended the all day tram tx.

And then we were driving north and before long the peaks of The Lake District were in sight. The first thing that struck us what how much it looked like New Zealand (which is ironic because the first thing that struck us about New Zealand was how much it looked like England. See post 13 December 2023)

These mountains are twice as high as the hills of The Peaks surrounding Glossop. They top off at almost 1000 meters (3300 feet). Formed by volcanic activity, glaciers and glacial retreat, the region has twenty one “major” lakes and countless small lakes, rivers, streams and waterfalls. The Lakes became a popular vacation spot after William Wordsworth published his Guide to The Lakes in 1810. Even with its annual rainfall of over eighty inches, it is a magnet for hikers.

Our first trip to The Lakes was about twenty years ago, when Mike’s sister Jan and her husband Brian lead us on a family trip. They did a fine job organizing a group ranging in age from five to seventy. While some of us camped, others stayed in a local hotel. Poor Ben was so bothered by the swarms of midges his head was covered in bites. Emi discovered a planters wart on her foot making walking painful. Mike did his best to distract her. The rain poured down. We were wet, bitten and in pain.

But I was enchanted. I was in the middle of reading The Lord of the Rings and I felt myself in Middle Earth. As we walked several miles in a valley of tall mountains and shifting mist, I imagined myself alongside Aragorn and Frodo.

On our second trip to The Lakes, Mike, Ben and I rented a cottage straight out of Sense and Sensibility (which, I know, takes place far to the south in Devon). We hiked along side Windermere, the largest of the Lakes, criss crossing the water by ferry when we got tired. Again, it was wet. Afterwards we dozed by the warm fire in our living room.

This time Mike and I had booked a pod at https://littletownglamping.co.uk/. Yes, we’re going glamping! But first, we stopped for lunch at the town of Keswick.

This busy town of shops and cafes was booming. And it all looked very familiar. I could swear I’d stood beside the clock tower in the rain before. When I looked around and found that the candy shop of the kids dreams was still there, I knew that is was indeed a stop on that family trip.

Camping stores abounded. Mike bought a warm merino wool shirt on sale. We strolled, shopped, and watched people and dogs. Rainy days are clearly good for business. We found a window seat in a cafe. Gotta love a place that melts cheese on top of their grilled cheese! Mike’s falafel was good too.

Now, to our rental. Many roads in this area were laid out long before the invention of the automobile. They are narrow, winding and lined by stone walls on both sides. These walls are so overgrown with weeds one can’t tell how much room you actually have. When a car comes towards you, there are sometimes pull outs, or sometimes one of you has to back up. Crazy! It was one of these roads that lead to Littletown Farm.

While Mike was doing his brilliant-as-always driving, we noticed some unusual sheep. They had black wool and white faces. Others in the herd had gray wool. Others were white. We would later learn from Shannon, our host, that these are a breed called Herdwick. The black sheep are the young ones. During adolescence their wool turns gray, then white when they reach adulthood at two years of age. Shannon’s herd numbers of 2500.

As soon as we entered the pod I became a fan of glamping!. Like the famed TARDIS, this pod was bigger on the inside than (it looks) on the outside. A large room with bed and a well equipped kitchen, a sizeable bathroom, heat, and a deck with a magnificent view. And sheep. Who could ask for anything more?

Once we settled in, we made tea and I just sat on the deck wrapped in my cloak and soaked it all in. The sound of rushing water. The changing cloud formations amongst the mountains of rust and green. The farm houses dotting the fields. The clean air. Even in the cold drizzle I was content.

Mike suggested we do a bit of exploring so we walked down the lane, across a bridge over the rushing river to a tiny, two hundred year old church. A small horse came to great us and we gave him some scratches.

Back at the farm we met Shannon who is a nurse, runs a guest house and these glamping pods, and with her husband Martin (a rugby coach) manages the herd. That is a lot to do to make ends meet. But they clearly love their life here.

As we pet Titan, their pony who was currently unhappy about having to be inside in the barn with hoof issues, they told us about their kids. One was on a survival hike as part of the prestigious Duke of Edinburgh Award. Another had emigrated to New Zealand to farm sheep there. Martin was negotiating with The National Trust who wanted to keep sheep off the mountains. His opinion was that sheep had been grazing there for over 1000 years (again, the history!). I do hope they can come to a compromise.

Then Patch, one of their dear little doggies found something in the hay at Titan’s feet. It was a sheep’s ear. “At least he didn’t eat the tag” said Shannon, apologizing that life on the farm was one of murder and mayhem.

We didn’t mind. These are people to respect. And to live all my days surrounded by such beauty, I too may well be willing to work hard and make such sacrifices. In another life perhaps I did. Or will.

A dinner of classic vegetable filled bolognese, which we ate while watching the conclusion of War and Peace. For those interested in the answers to the questions of last our post (dated 10-18 September) they are (spoiler alert), yes, yes, yes, yes (but he dies) and, Napoleon simply gets too cold.

But Mike and I couldn’t be cozier. The bed was the most comfortable we’d slept in since leaving NJ. The rain pattered on the roof of the pod. We were together. And that’s always the best thing.