Tapp's Travels

It’s that time again.  Off on our tour of Northern England, but first a reminiscence of a wild party and ghoulish happenings in Worcestershire.   A very spooky county by all accounts!  Reaching our temporary resting place in Flyford Flavel, near Worcester, late in the afternoon, we stumbled into a birthday party – as we seem to!  It wasn’t our fault this time.  They were gathered in the bar area at the narrowest point.  To get past them we had to sit on their laps and swivel into the wider area beyond.  It transpired we had to do this several times.  Any excuse would do!  First it was to get upstairs, then we needed a key (the main one was nowhere to be found).  We eventually got the spare one!  Then we needed soap, then it was to get a breakfast menu, then to book a table for breakfast… and so on.  Like I said, any excuse for another lap-dance would do!

Gradually, we got involved in their conversations.  We discovered that one of the ring leaders was called John.  And one of the ladies had a dog – also called John.  When she called “John” twelve heads swivelled.  John’s, obviously, and mine and the dog’s.  But also, nine others’ just watching the confusion. Peter (not his real name!) was the birthday boy.  His wife, (let’s call her Marjorie) commanded the bar buying drinks for everyone, including us by the end.  “Peter!  Credit card!”  “Thank you!”

Marjorie’s sister was called Sheila.  M and S had prime seats at the bar with a row of empty wine glasses in front of them.  I’m not sure when the party had started, but I’m guessing it had been in full swing since lunchtime.  As we eventually left for our room at 11 o’clock, our NBFs warned us of two things.  The disco due to start any moment, and the Flyford ghost!  “You’ll hear him on the stairs.  Good night!”

(For the record most people’s names have been changed to protect their innocence.  We decided John was not totally innocent – and the dog can’t read …. probably.)

Ten minutes later we were naked in bed.  I was asleep and Glenda was reading her book on her phone in the dark.  “John, I can hear footsteps on the stairs!”  “It’ll just be our NBFs acting the goat – or maybe it’s the ghost!”  John, there’s a key turning in the door!”  “Well, that rules out the ghost.  He’d just come through the wall!”  The door creaks open.  I leap out of bed clutching one of Glenda’s dresses for protection.  There’s a couple coming in claiming it’s their room!  Well, they do have the main key, which sort of explains why we ended up with the spare!  However,  possession is nine tenths of the law!  Please push off and leave us alone in your room!

At breakfast, they were still complaining.  Wimper, wimper.  Some people just can’t take a joke!  Or maybe they were just angling for a free breakfast, already having had a free room upgrade!  How cynical can I get?

John (not the dog, obviously) had carelessly told Glenda that he was building a house.  As in building it himself!  The directions he gave us were “up the hill, turn left then right and on to one of the last houses in the village.  Come and see it tomorrow morning.  One of the ladies gave Glenda alternative directions involving intestines and polyps in.the colon.  The house is in the polyp!

Amazingly, we drove straight to the polyp!  However, John was still in sleep mode in his caravan – something to do with partying till after midnight!  We heard a few expletives and a lot of scurrying about as he dragged some clothes on.  His house was beautiful – not bad for a mathematician – and not far from completion.  He has another 50 planned on his extensive property!  Good luck with that.  We left him in peace having been given an invitation to the house warming party in late October – and a (rather careless) offer to let us park our caravan on his acreage whenever we were passing.

Regular readers of my ramblings will know I normally have to fabricate this sort of story – but not this time.  Just a little exaggeration here and there and a bit of manipulation of the facts…

Well, that was two weeks ago.  Now back to the present.  And, while we were booked at a campsite only a few miles away from Flyford Flavel, we did vaguely think about testing his offer!  But as we left Worcester some time before 5 am in the morning, we realised we might not have been flavour of the month!

As always, the fortnight leading up to our departure was fraught with diversionary activities.  A three day trip to Cranage Hall Estate in Cheshire to meet Glenda’s brother and his wife.  Several visits to various hospitals, blood samples in Brixham for me, two visits by electricians to install new security lights which don’t come on at 20 minute intervals all night long, and one to sort a cable I had accidentally cut while pruning the bamboos.  Another by a plumber to install a water filter.  We also fitted in a couple of walks and a visit to a local National Trust property.  There was a bit of stress booking a house for a family visit to a flight simulator oin November.  And a gardener came to give our silver birch and back hedge a hair-cut.  Oh, and that reminds me.  Glenda cut my hair (both of them) to neaten me up for our travels.  At the last minute, Glenda hurt her back and ended up at the osteopath!

Anyway after two days traveling north on the last weekend before the schools go back, we are safely ensconced in the Lake District some ten miles from Keswick with fabulous views in all directions.

Us in a pool of sunshine!

Facing Blencathra and the high fells.

The view from our front door…

… and from the loo!

So the saga commences!