You cannot bear the pastoral charm: To Muncaster

You cannot bear the pastoral charm., originally uploaded by Phoole.

(From my paper journal 9 June 2007)
At the Pymgate, the only other guests when we arrived were a pair of German women travelling together, and I'd say that we breakfasted with them, but we really only breakfasted near them in the sunny breakfast room attached to the lodge.

We ate toast soldiers out of a silver toast-rack.

Few things delight me more than sentences like, "We ate toast-soldiers out of a silver toast-rack." But then I *was* brought up on Wodehouse.

And cereal and milk (American milk makes me quite sick, but I found that milk in the UK didn't upset me at all) and the cereal was called "Weetos," and I saved the box, which, like everything else, made me laugh out loud.

The lodge staff called us a taxi, but forgot to inform the dispatcher that we were transporting enough luggage to fill a lorry. So the poor cabman who arrived with a compact cab had a hell of a time with our giant trunks (mine for my costume, Jenny's for her camera, computer and gear). But we got to the airport train station in ample time, where we loaded our things onto carts and wheeled the monstrosities everywhere looking for food for lunch, and perhaps a little shop.

I loved the trains and the train stations in the North. Clean, modern. Stylish. Little shops. So many delightful conversations to overhear and dialects to sample. And dogs are allowed absolutely everywhere, it seems, so there were no end of dogs and puppies to look and and to pet.

It feels so good to remember and re-live the trip. I left part of me there.