The Omens Aren’t Looking Good

L says she’s fighting fit and she’s run into work this morning to prove it. She’s not died, so she thinks she'll be ok for her big swim tomorrow. I’m still vaguely pencilled in as on the subs bench just in case but fingers crossed I won’t be needed.

I have the afternoon off work so that we can make an early start for the Lakes, just in case our treasured Langdale campsite has been hijacked by hoards of swimmers. The early start doesn’t gain us much, some of those infamous M6 road works slow us down to crawl. The resulting tail back is allegedly eight miles but as it spans at least the whole of the stretch between Junctions 32 and 33, a stretch of around 22 miles, that is a slight underestimate.

So we’re at least an hour later that planned and as we arrive at the campsite they have the ‘site full’ sign up. Surely not? In fact, it isn’t full but they have broken water pipes and are running the site at a fraction of capacity. We resolve ourselves to going back down the road to Chapel Stile to rough it at Baysbrown campsite. Last time we considered it, the site didn’t have much in the way of home comforts. This time though, apart from it being packed, it has a almost brand new set of facilities, hot water, free showers, the lot. Result.

We rush to the local pub for some food. Snecklifter is on the bar, so things are picking up even if it is four deep at the bar. The bar is terribly understaffed and the kitchen incapable of coping with the amount of food orders going through. The food service stops early before we can get in the queue and then the Snecklifter runs dry. L is all for going home. She says this is a sign and the omens aren’t looking good, she’ll drown and the house, by now full once again with partying hormonally challenged teenagers, will burn down. I consider mentioning that the state of the house would hardly matter to her if she drowned, but I don’t. Then there's the M6, anything is preferably to facing the M6 again so soon.